In this moment we must appear as insane as my good friend, hunched side-by-side with shoulders pressed tight together and whispering in loud voices, like we are messily swapping world-shattering secrets.

"It's not the fact that you have no purpose. It's the belief that you have no purpose. It's thinking that you have no purpose. That's the problem! Gregory did not die because you killed him. He could have easily knelt by the bonfire and used the effigy I gave him. He died because he believed that he had no purpose for living any longer!"

Seamus is more quiet than I've ever seen him, staring hard at the ground like he expects it to open up and reveal all the answers of life and death to him. "Where did this all come from?"

"I wasn't talking to that man up there to hear his opinion on things. I was talking to him to hear how he spoke about them. When he went on about how things don't matter and how we will all learn the truth eventually and how we should give up, it occurred to me. That man up there does have a purpose; everyone in life has a purpose! But by his way of thinking, he doesn't, thus making him closer to the curse."

Seamus shakes his head in a slow, confused stupor. "...I don't understand."

"It's all mental! It's all about the way you think. Hollowing is a mental process just as much as it is a physical one, if not more so! We both were lost and thought we didn't really have a goal, but this way of thinking only furthered us from having one. You said it yourself! If I'm questioning my goal and my choices, it weakens them, makes them seem insignificant. That is hollowing. That is what is happening to me; to us, from what you explained to me earlier. When you lose your way on the path of life; that is the catalyst for hollowing.

"I was with the Rats but I left them because I was convinced it wasn't my true purpose. Then, after everything that happened, I joined the Knights of the Blue-"

A disturbed, disgusted look appears on Seamus' handsome face. "The Knights of the Blue?"

I don't even bother rolling my eyes. "I joined the Knights of the Blue, but ended up leaving them as well, because once again, I was coerced into thinking that wasn't what I was meant to do either. How could I have been so stupid! I was hollowing ever since I left the Rats. And when I finally caught up with you, I let you live. After all that time, thinking I was meant to kill you and making it my goal, I thought to myself if you died, what would I have left to chase? I had made you my purpose for living. I don't know... This is barely making sense anymore, even to myself."

The disgusted look has increased tenfold. "That last bit sounded grossly romantic..."

"Shut up. I know you understand it, too. There's a reason people aren't suppose to wander in this land. It's a good way to drive yourself into the depths of hopelessness. It's rumored that even Pharros fell victim."

Seamus reaches back to pull at one end of his bandage, smoothing along its softness and yanking at it, and I suspect he has developed a new nervous habit. From this close to him, I can see the individual hairs of the short stubble on his chin as he opens his mouth. "Look, I don't know about you, but there's one thing I already know about my fate and it's that I'm meant to be a great and feared warrior."

All at once I want to scream in frustration and yank the bandage from around his head and punch him in his missing eye for being so incredibly daft to the gravity of our situation. Of course he is only thinking of himself. I've got to stop believing I can confide in him absolutely because every time I have, he has gone to amazing lengths to prove me wrong.

Mist laps at the edge of the bonfire in front of us and assumes the form of a man's tall frame; one whose frame I immediately recognize to be my friend's. I don't even have to look at Seamus to know that his hand has found its way to his sword and that he's bristling with weariness.

When my friend has straightened himself and taken in his surroundings, brushing off the lingering air of ash and flames, he is the first to speak, and quite loudly at that. He spreads his arms like he wishes me to stand up and embrace him. "Hey! You're back here! I guess I talked to you enough that you decided to stay in Majula. Nice."

I find myself standing up to greet him, but not accepting his offer of a hug. He barely seems to take note of my rejection though, as his arms drop easily to his sides and a smile remains on his face. "Hello again," I greet. " It's nice to see you here as well. I'm not staying in Majula, only visiting."

He nods as he looks down to dig around in the bag at his waist, though when he glances back up, he looks directly at Seamus. "Who are-"

With a quick side step, I position myself between the two men, if only because I foresee Seamus replying with something aggravating, and although I don't question the patience and kindness of my friend, Seamus has an impeccable talent for igniting confrontation.

"He's a friend of mine," I blurt out. Surprisingly, Seamus doesn't make a peep behind me.

A gentle smile from my friend's kind face warms my fears of him pressing further. "Ah. Cool." He's wearing a new chest-piece, I notice; a red cape no longer licks at his back. "You changed your hairstyle."

Interesting that we seemed to notice new things about each other simultaneously. The painful self-consciousness that I first felt when locks of hair drifted away from my neck and onto the floor of Titchy Gren's blood-chamber collides inside my stomach with the force of a storm, and I'm not entirely sure why. "No. Well. Yes. I mean, it wasn't really- Yes, I did."

The laughter that spills out of his mouth sounds like pure, trickling water. "Yeah, yeah. That's really cool, though. I wish I could do that. Short hair looks good on you."

I stare at his hands for favor of looking at his face. "Oh. It used to be much longer."

"Man," he sighs, "if only there was an option in this game..." Before my mind can start to work on dissecting what exactly he meant by those words of insanity, he is turning his hand over and dropping something to the ground at my feet.

It is a bundle of something tied up in a little, dirty, red pouch, and I bend over to scoop it up and see about ten small, red rocks have been stuffed inside. "Um."

"Red eye orbs," he says, "for your new covenant. I know I didn't have to, but I had a few extra and thought of you."

I really do not know what to say. "Thank you," are the words that I find tumbling from my stunned mouth. I don't let him know that I didn't join the Brotherhood. I just pocket the orbs and settle into a staring contest with a dent in his armor.

"Yup. Don't worry about it. Anyway, I should get going."

"Okay," I say. When his feet threaten to carry him away in the direction of the woman in green, wild impulse swoops upon me and I take a step towards him. "Wait. What is your name?"

The sight of his smile as he angles his head to look at me over his shoulder distracts me from something that flits by at the corner of my vision. "My real name?"

"Yes," I confirm, bidding his honesty. "Not an alias."

His body leans closer to me as he rocks his weight back on his heels with a smile on his lips and whispers light as a fading soul. "Jonathan."

As the ground carries him away from me and leaves me with the warm gift of his voice and fiery life in my breast, I whisper his name to taste it on my tongue and it turns my saliva saccharine.

Seamus is gone when I pivot to look behind me, which is not surprising, but throws me into an indescribably weird panic of what can only be similar to a mother losing sight of her child. I turn in foolish circles as my eyes survey my surroundings and finally spot two figures up by the stone monument, where the man with no hope resides. They are both standing.

Seamus is the one with his back to me, but I know he knows I'm there even as I slide like a snake up the stairs behind him.

"-not a matter of life or death. It's a matter of suffering or suffering perpetually."

Saulden's eerie voice is preaching infinite wisdom again, it seems. For such a crestfallen man, every word he says seems to burrow itself into my being, and I covet it like a precious metal. The way he speaks of things is otherworldly, like he's lived in this land for thousands of years. Perhaps he has.

"There is only one thing that could help you, that could help us all, and that thing does not exist. Many men believe they know just the thing. I've seen so many men set off on incredible journeys, but in their travels, they all lose themselves to the truth eventually. They all end up feeding the curse, in the end; exactly the thing they fought to avoid..."

I wonder how Seamus has summoned the patience to listen to these wise yet honestly taxing ramblings. "Right, first of all, shut up."

Ah. He hasn't.

"Second of all," he continues, "I'm not askin' you about the cure, alright? I'm askin' you what you know about hollowing."

Saulden is silent and contemplative, as if Seamus' stupidity has rolled off his back like rainwater. I envy him. "I know plenty of it. I know it is coming for you, as it is for me... Inescapable, though if you think yourself brave enough to make a difference, the souls of four Giant beings are within your reach. When the young man fails, it'll be a miracle if you succeed. Unbelievable, really. But putting faith in the Blue Sentinels can go a long way..."

His words are a twisted maze of prophet-spoken destiny. I can almost hear Seamus' mind scrambling to make sense of them. "The Blue Sentinels..?"

Saulden's eyes meet mine before he continues. "The Way of the Blue. Or 'of the Meek', some say. When death comes knocking for them, they'll wish they thought otherwise. When you face danger, the Blue Sentinels will come to your aid. Protection is yours, if you wish..."

Seamus looks insulted by the mere thought of such a thing. "And you're sayin' this'll all help? That findin' these four souls will somehow help with hollowing?"

"It's an impossible journey," Saulden sighs out. "Impossible journeys are always a good treatment for hollowing. Temporary, of course, but who's to say you shouldn't try while you've still got your wits about you. Although, what do I know..."

While Seamus nods in thought, Saulden takes a breath and speaks on. "We all have a place in this world... that much is certain. Who's to say who goes where and who does what? Although, if you ask me, I don't think a pact with the Blue will be any good for you at all. No, not a man like you... In fact, just the opposite will do wonders."

He describes to Seamus that upon a ledge along the cliffside there rests a "Victor's Stone" bearing an inscription for those who seek challenge and an arduous path of danger. Such a pact is not for the faint of heart he specifies, though before he can even finish his warnings, Seamus has taken off with long strides to this "Victor's Stone", always a seeker to prove himself a great warrior to those around him. I wonder when he will realize that nobody even doubted his abilities in the first place.

Now that we find ourselves alone, I look Saulden in the eye and tell him I would like to join the Way of the Blue. An impulsive, split-second decision to join the Covenant of the Meek, but the only one here to judge is him, and his eyes are as sympathetic and thoughtful as they ever were. It's strange how different it is being on the other side of this two faction alliance; being the protected instead of the protector. Although its purpose is the opposite, I feel more weak and unsafe than protected when I slide the Blue Seal onto my finger. I feel vulnerable.

When Saulden looks at me with honest eyes and promises me that I made a wise choice, I can't help but ask him if he will come with us.

"I couldn't," he insists with a shake of his head. "I haven't the strength. What help would I be? I've quite grown to like this place, as well. It's lonely here... It suits me just fine."

In juxtaposition to the first time we spoke, I am taken by the desire to drop to my knees before him. "You're going hollow. You said that you know it. Don't you want to do something about it? I know you've tried before, but you could come with me. Try to change your fate with me. You said that you haven't the strength but your wisdom is breathtaking and powerful, and I can tell you are self-aware. Most hollows aren't even aware of what's happening to them until it's too late. I can tell you are special."

The corners of his mouth curl into a tiny smile that looks like it pains him to make. "What a sweet girl you are. I can tell that you, too, are special in some way I can't describe. Though..." His voice drips away as he glances to his right, to the cliffside that carries the Victor's Stone. "Your friend worries me..."

I sigh and tilt my head forward to scuff a boot at the clean stone. "He worries a lot of people..." I mutter. "As much as it pains me to admit, he and I are not so different. He's just as aware; in fact, he caught on before I did."

Saulden gazes at my face the entire time he thinks his decision over, which is unnerving, to say the least, but oddly admirable. "It will make no difference," he says, but he moves further away from his stone seat and adjusts his gauntlets, hinting that I've won him over.

I ask him if he carries a weapon and when he tells me he does, I take his word for it and say nothing else on the matter.

Seamus makes a face of displeasure when he learns of our new companion, which was to be expected, but neither of us cared in the first place.

"Why's it always have to be like this..." he murmurs, as I lead us down to the bonfire, and I know he's thinking of the time he and Gregory took me in as a stranger, but I still can't understand why he doesn't think of things on a larger scale. Some things are just more important.

Saulden turns to me after Seamus has been whisked away by flames and wraps his hand around my arm, boring into my soul with his eyes. "You really shouldn't have done this," he frets. "I have knowledge of the world because I have experienced it. I know what ugly future awaits you. What awaits us all. Trust me, this will not end well..."

"How do we know we can't change it unless we try?" I ask him, and I watch his face fall with the hopelessness and gravity of a boulder being dropped into a endless, dry well.