The two had approached the High Wall of Lothric, merely by chance.

Gwyndolin had never been outside of Anor Londo, merely following his intuition on where he could go. It was night time now and the moon was full, illuminating their path to safety.

He had shot down the last of the Knights stand in his way, nearly falling to his knees after he fired the final arrow. Even the illusion of snakes for legs had faded, he was so weak. At least Yorshka knew of that particular deception.

His real legs, pale and thin with moderate disuse, burned with his exhaustion. It was sheer willpower that kept him standing. He could feel it. Asylum was so close now.

He allowed himself this one moment of recovery, closing his eyes behind his helm and trying to steady his breathing.

'How much more can I take...?'

That was the only thought running through his mind. He refused to think of the possibility of giving in to his body's weakness.

If he thought of it, he would ponder, and pondering would lead to doubt. Any blow to his current resilience would put Yorshka in danger.

She didn't know how to protect herself as he never thought it to be needed that she did. That, was his own fault, but what's done is done. She was magnificent as emotional support for the both of them anyway.

Speaking of her emotional support, he felt her soft, nimble fingers wrap around his hand, squeezing it firmly. She was trying to ground him. How perceptive she was. He taught her to read others very well.

He finally opened his eyes, squeezing back for her own reassurance.

"Solace is near, Yorshka. Art thee prepared to truly rest?" Gwyndolin asked in a gentle voice, smiling weakly. Even that was an arduous task. He'd give the effort for Yorshka's sake though.

"I am. I want you to rest as well. You've done so much for us...you deserve it. I hope that I'll be able to protect you like you've protected me one day. I want to be as strong as you." Yorshka spoke with delicate conviction, nodding to her own declaration.

Gwyndolin had never been prouder of anyone, not even his father.

Getting inside of the castle was surprisingly easy. Gwyndolin was sure the Pilgrim Butterflies would have come down to attack them, but they didn't. He couldn't complain. He took advantage of the peace, walking as fast as he physically could inside the slightly decrepit palace.

The inside was dark. It was evidently luxurious, seeing the tattered velvet tapestries and disassembled knights' armor against the dirtied marble pillars lining the corridors they travelled down.

It was a while before they approached large doors. They were clearly made of the strongest of stones, ornate designs carved into the material. It would provide good protection for them.

But how would they get inside?

Gwyndolin was a god but he was rather small considering who his father was and physical strength was nowhere near his forte.

He sighed deeply, putting up his scepter and reciting a miracle, robotic in the way he did so. He only needed it open for a little bit and only enough for them to fit through. Investing too much emotion and energy into it would be a waste.

The doors rumbled open after the miracle was casted, Gwyndolin scurrying through when the opportunity presented itself.

The doors had closed just as quickly as they opened. They'd be in here for a while, until his power came back.

A hooded figure had raised its head in attention, crawling to the edge of its platform like a predator.

"Yet another seeking to throw us to the Flame?" The figure spoke with very obvious disdain, exasperation so obvious that Gwyndolin's empathetic soul had felt a little irritated himself.

"I have no intentions of giving anyone to the Flame." Gwyndolin defended easily. Abandoning Anor Londo had resulted in a halt in his plans, his reason for existing. He had momentarily forgotten, becoming completely focused on relocating Yorshka and himself. Though the unknown person's accusation raised questions. He'd save that information for later.

Yorshka had lowered herself from her place on Gwyndolin's back, standing behind him at only half of his height, peeking from behind his arm at the figure above them. Were they invaded too?

The figure laughed bitterly, turning his attention to the large, armored man crawling out of a dark blind spot. His sword was flaming and black like the soul of a demon, sizzling and crackling. The sound was so loud in the otherwise quiet hall.

Gwyndolin had backed away instinctively as the (he assumed) knight, crawled to the center of the room, seemingly protecting the platform from the bottom. Yorshka had squeaked in fear, taken by the fiery sword he brandished.

"Regardless of your intentions, you are not welcome here. You can either leave here or we will remove you forcefully. The girl may be spared." The figure said with finality.

Gwyndolin tightened his grip on his wand, gritting his teeth. He'd have to fight harder than he has been. He didn't want to. He couldn't possibly survive this battle, by the knight's hand or his own body simply stopping.

He thought of Yorshka, who was looking at him for guidance on what to do. He would cut down anyone who put her life in danger, even someone five times his size. His body was her shield and sword. He turned to Yorshka and whispered to her.

"I will distract him. Go to where he emerged and be silent. Doth thee remember mine spell?" Gwyndolin muttered, so soft that Yorshka strained to hear. But she understood, tugging on his robe as a silent indication. Gwyndolin had taught her to teleport as he did, primarily to get to the libraries and to him easier. The god didn't think it would come in handy at a time like this.

He barely nodded and readied his wand once more before turning around. He raised his head, looking straight ahead at the knight, who carried the hooded figure on his back. Yorshka took this as her cue to get out of the way, reciting the spell her elder brother had taught her. The knight had teleported and so had Gwyndolin, shortly after. Yorshka was surrounded by still darkness at the side of the platform in the nick of time.

She stayed against the wall, looking out into the hall to see her brother holding his own against the ruthless barrage of slashes coming for him, using nothing but his magic. His bow would do no good for him here.

She could only pray that he would win this battle, so that is what she did.

'Big brother, you are so strong and honorable...I hope that every power in the world finds you, and lends you their strength now.'