"You, who link the fire, you, who bear the curse… Once the fire is linked, souls will flourish anew, and all of this will play out again. It is your choice… To embrace, or renounce this… Great Sovereign, take your throne. What lies ahead, only you can see."
Those were the last words she said to the one she called "bearer of the curse." The one who had come to this land so long ago, searching for a way to rid themself of the curse. A curse that has plagued the world for far too long. The curse of the Darksign. The bearer of the curse this time around seemed no different than any of the previous ones. Not at first. She told the cursed soul the same words she told all the others. "Are you… the next monarch? Or… merely a pawn of fate? Bearer of the curse… I will remain by your side. Till this frail hope shatters…" She had said this to Saulden, who had already given up his frail hope. She said this to Lucatiel, who had already begun to forget her past. So, why would this undead be any different?
These were the memories going through her mind as she descended the elevator into the tomb of the monarch, the Undead Crypt. She had decided to visit the new ruler of Drangleic, the ruler who was finally supposed to lift this curse. She had already known what would happen. The same thing that has happened since the beginning of time. The new ruler would link the fire, and keep it alight. However, they would slowly forget why they came to this accursed land, just like every other undead. This ruler poured everything they had into the fire, without really knowing why. Just as Vendrick had done before.
Her memories continued to flash through her mind as she made her way through the crypt's foreboding entry halls. What had set this undead from the rest was their soul. She called it "frail and pallid." Little did she know how wrong she actually was. How could she have any idea what this undead would accomplish? One soul of a great one was more than most undead could say, but to be blessed with all four, that was when she knew. She had made the right choice in leading this undead here. The Chosen Undead, who would finally rid the world of the curse.
Or so she thought. She knew all about the cycle. The cycle that this world has always, and will always be stuck in. The Chosen Undead would appear, vanquish the previous ruler, and link the fire. They would keep the fire lit by any means necessary, even if it meant sacrificing their entire soul. Like Vendrick, and the ruler before him, all of this would play out again and again. Even though she knew all of this, she had hoped this Chosen Undead would be different. That's why she came here. She had promised to stay by their side, as long as there was hope. These were the thoughts that were crossing her mind when she heard a familiar voice.
"Halt. Human, do not produce light. Light, and all those who bear it, are unwelcome in this place." The voice was rough. It was that of a man who had said those words countless times before. "Ah, it's just you." He realized as he came out of his usual spot.
She turned to face him, and bowed, as if trying to avoid talking with him.
"My apologies for speaking so rudely," spoke the man. "You know how things are down here. Light only agitates, we have no need for it."
"Do not apologize, Agdayne," she said. "That's the way things have always been. I have no desire to disrupt your tradition." This was one of the few traditions she didn't want to change.
"You're here to see the Chosen Undead aren't you? Many castle servants have come to fetch our ruler, and now they rest here forever, put to death by the royal guards. You may end up being no different," Agdayne explained.
"I do not think they will be much of a bother." She said, reaching into her hood, and removing a feather from behind her ear. The once white feather had already started withering away, and turning a dull brown color with age. The feather had previously belonged to the Chosen Undead, but it was left behind with the defeat of Nashandra. Since then it was reclaimed by its previous owner.
Agdayne was confused by the paltry looking thing. "If you believe that will help you, so be it. But I shall accompany you if you wish."
"That won't be necessary, I think. I feel as if I must do this on my own."
"Very well," said Agdayne. "I wish you good luck, Shanalotte." He retreated back to his hiding place.
Shanalotte. That was a name she had not heard in a long time. The last time she heard it was when she spoke it herself, to inform the Chosen Undead of her identity. Because, unlike many of the other inhabitants of Drangleic, she wasn't cursed, nor was she undead. Sometimes, she doubted whether she was even human. Her birth was unnatural. No, it wasn't even a birth, more of a creation. She struggled to push the memories out of her head. However, just like the rest of her past, she just wasn't able to forget.
Long ago, back when this land was barren and empty, two Chosen Undead ventured here, searching for a cure to the curse, just like all the others before them. Their names, once deserving of praise and adoration, are hardly spoken of anymore. She remembered, but that was only because the eldest of the two, who happened to be brothers, had raised her. His name was Aldia, his younger brother was known as Vendrick. They conquered the land together, linked the fire, and constructed a magnificent castle to keep it safe from any potential usurpers.
Their kingdom, which they called Drangleic, flourished. However, no kingdom can last forever, and this one was no different. Ravaged by the war with the giants, Drangleic began to crumble. Vendrick gave his soul, and his very humanity, to keep the fire safe from the queen, who betrayed the king in order to take it. She was a piece of Manus, father of the abyss, and wanted to put out the fire and create a new age of darkness.
Meanwhile, during all of this, Aldia remained locked away in his keep, searching for his own way to cure the curse. He wanted nothing more than to protect his brother. He peered into the very essence of the soul, studying its secrets, searching for a way out. He believed that the secret lie in the souls of dragons and giants. He almost succeeded, too. But something went horribly wrong.
He created an abomination. A creature with the soul of a dragon, but the body of a man. Or, to be more precise, a woman. The creature, despite looking normal, was unnatural. Aldia called it a failure, and she grew up believing him. She was kept hidden from the world, too afraid to show herself. Her creator's words continued to gnaw away at her. She was alone and afraid. By the time she came of age, Aldia's own soul was starting to fade. Aldia didn't want to die, so he tried to overcome fate. He combined three souls, a soul of a giant and a soul of a dragon, as well as his own. Yet again, he failed.
Aldia was trapped within a dragon, both blessed and cursed with immortality. He sat at the top of the world, watching his brother's kingdom collapse in front of his own eyes. His only hope lie within another failed experiment. He gave it a name, "Shanalotte," and gave it a task. She was to find the Chosen Undead, and save Vendrick from the curse. He realized that the only cure is death, the same thing that had started the curse in the first place.
Shanalotte reluctantly left her home, in search of some place that would take her in. She continued to doubt her existence. She was never supposed to exist in the first place. However, She found refuge in a ruined village on the coast of Drangleic. She called this place "Majula," and she stayed there, waiting for the Chosen Undead, so she could fulfill her task. She waited for decades. Countless undead had come to this land, and countless undead had failed. She had almost given up hope, if she even had any in the first place.
Shanalotte had made her way through the crypt, while these thoughts continued to race through her mind. She had come to terms with the fact that she was unnatural. She was an accident, but she was okay with that. She gave the chosen undead hope in their darkest hour (which ironically turned out to be every hour). But they hadn't seen each other since the Chosen Undead became ruler. She felt guilty. Was it her fault that the person who owed everything to her had ceased to acknowledge her very existence? Perhaps that's the way it was supposed to be. She shouldn't have existed in the first place.
After sneaking past the royal guards, she looked at her feather. She had never found out where it came from, but she kept it her entire life. It served as reminder of her past. That is why she gave it to the Chosen Undead, so she wouldn't have to think about it anymore. She had later found it in front of the Throne of Want, left behind to further grow old and withered.
Shanalotte sighed as she approached the entrance the the ruler's tomb. She questioned going any further. Was it really worth it? Did the ruler even want to see her? What if she gets shunned again, just like she had all her life? She shook her head and drew further closer to the portcullis that led to the ruler's room. It was the same room Vendrick occupied when he ruled this land, even though by then he was nothing more than a mindless hollow.
Finally, she stood at the top of the stairs overlooking the tomb. She stared at the ruler, a towering hollow, at least twice her size. The hollow wandered in circles around the room, dragging behind them a sword used by Vendrick himself. Like all hollows, the ruler's skin had become a sickly shade of green. The eyes, blank, lifeless, and pale. The hair was old and grey, just as withered as the rest of the ruler.
For a moment, Shanalotte found herself unable to believe what she saw. She thought this undead would be different. This undead was supposed to find a cure for this curse. But, of course, the cycle must continue, and, whether she like it or not, this is the way things would always be. This ruler, just like Vendrick, had put his entire being into keeping the first flame alight. And this ruler, just like Vendrick, just like the ruler before him, and just like every other ruler before, did not succeed. So, why would this undead be any different?
She wanted to reach out her arm, take the hollow's hand, and help them. To see light. To see hope. But it was too late, the only person who had ever trusted her was gone. No sooner had these thoughts crossed her mind, that the once great ruler seemed to turn and face her. She gazed into the eyes, once filled with light. Once filled with hope. This ruler had needed her help at one point, and she wasn't there. She had failed them, that was her fate. Shanalotte was born a failure, and that's the way things would always be.
The ruler continued to pace around the tomb, failing to notice the one walking past and ascending the stairs. Shanalotte recognized this one, the two had spoken many times before. This was the new Chosen Undead, destined to be the next ruler. This Chosen Undead was going to link the fire, cure the curse. She almost chuckled at the thought of it. This one would be just like the previous. As the undead walked past, the two locked eyes. The Chosen Undead stopped and continued to stare at her, both expecting the other to speak first. Shanalotte smiled. She recognized the ring on the undead's left hand.
"That ring is the symbol of the king. Use it to gain passage through the king's gate, and venture to the far east…"
The Chosen Undead looked at the ring. It didn't look very impressive.
Shanalotte continued. "Bearer of the curse…" The two locked eyes again. Her eyes were filled with sadness. She didn't want the cycle to continue. She wanted the Chosen Undead to stop her, to tell her that things would be different.
"If you are to be the next monarch, then one day, you will walk those grounds…" Shanalotte felt like crying. Her eyes were beginning to tear up. But the Chosen Undead didn't notice, they just looked back at the hollowed ruler.
"Without really knowing why," she finished. The Chosen Undead sighed, and began making their way back to the entrance of the crypt. Shanalotte reached out to him, but was left unnoticed. She wanted to be set free. She wanted the Chosen Undead to free her of the shackles of fate.
A tear slid down her cheek, but was quickly wiped away. She was stupid to think that. This is the way things have always been, and would always be. One cannot change fate, she had already learned her lesson. She, too, started on her way back through the crypt. But not without a farewell glance at the ruler.
Shanalotte, the emerald herald, walked in silence. Her heart was weighed down by the reminder that she was now stuck in this vicious cycle, just like every other inhabitant in this world. Upon her return to Majula, she sat at the bonfire and waited. Waited for the Chosen Undead to link the fire. For once the fire is linked, souls would flourish anew, and all of this would play out again.