Chapter 34:

Breaking Point

Dark souls is owned by From Software.

"Talking"

"Thoughts"

"Demon/deity speech"

"Whatever the Daughters of Chaos speak"

Line Break

Garret gulped as the stone helmets of Gwyndolin's sentinels slowly rose with each step he took. "Moment of truth," he mumbled beneath his breath. He waved as he reached the top step, "Hey boys! We cool, or did Gwyndolin squelch on me?"

The two solid illusion shifted their heads in-synch towards Garret. Reflexively, he summoned his Pyromancy Flame, heat coursing through his body. Thankfully, the two giants turned back o staring out into the abandoned city.

"Oh, you're here."

Garret turned slightly to his left see Smough push open the ornate gate blocking off the Giant Blacksmith's—Boram was his name, he reminded himself—dwelling. He waved to the demigod, "Yo. You visiting Boram too?"

Smough shrugged, hefting his hammer and tracing along the head, "Always a good idea to fix-up your weapons and armor after people try and stab you with swords."

Garret smirked, "Fair enough." As Smough made his way to the main entrance to the palace—he should really ask what its official name was—Garret said, "By the way, and feel free to ignore me if you'd like, but I've got to ask, why the hammer?" After Smough stopped in place, Garret continued, "I mean, for an executioner, I'd think an axe would be more appropriate."

Smough chuckled, "Yeah, but I prefer to mash people into paste and add it to my food." Garret paled slightly, making the demigod chortle, "You see that too, Seer?"

Garret slowly shook his head, "I've, uh, heard the rumors, but never directly seen you…eat people." The sorcerer took a deep breath, then said, "But, for what its worth, I don't," a brief pause, "Well, no, I do care that you eat people, but I don't think it's all that important at the moment."

Smough scoffed, "Really now?"

To which Garret replied with a shrug, "Sure. I mean, yes, I think cannibalism is a terrible thing, but compared to the shit Gwyn did—you know, branding an entire race as, essentially, slaves, committing genocide against the dragons for reasons I'm not entirely sure are justified—eating the dead is fairly tame."

That threw the demigod for a loop. He laid a hand across the belly of his armor, staring down at his feet. After a long silence, he said. "You know what the pay is for an executioner—at least, what it used to be?" Before Garret could answer, he continued, "twenty-five silver coins per execution, with fifty gold come the new year." He chuckled mirthlessly, "I know it sounds like a lot, but fo someone living in the 'City of the God's', that's nothing. Especially when you've got a family to feed," he finished somberly.

"You're married?!" Garret couldn't help but blurt out.

Smough shook his head with a derisive snort, "No. But I did have a father, and a mother, and siblings." A mirthless chuckle, "My family have been executioners since…well, since Lord Gwyn got tired of doling out the punishment himself!"

"Oh," Garret gasped, "So…you eat people because you…don't get enough food?"

Smough growled, tightly gripping the shaft of his hammer, "One time. One time!" he bellowed, slamming his hammer against the gorund, his rage sending a shiver down Garret's spine, "A plague sweeps through the land, killing crops and animal alike. We'd already been starving for a week, so in an act of desperation, Father cuts up one—one!—dead man, so his family doesn't waste away to nothing!" He shook his head, voice going hollow, "I know you don't like him—for legitimate reasons, I will admit—but Lord Gwyn wasn't a terrible man. Once he found out what Father had done, what he had to do, he immediately did his best to ensure that we had enough food and raised his pay to that of the average civil servant. But," a deep sigh, "the damage was already done. My family, already pariahs, were now treated with active scorn." He lifted his head, staring out towards the illusory sun, silent.

Garret gulped, wringing his hands together, "So…what about the…rumors…that you would use your hammer to grind people into paste for consumption."

Smough scoffed, "I used to have an axe—passed down from executioner father to executioner son. But you Undead have proven to be…resistant to decapitation. It took some trial-and-error, but I found that slowly and steadily crushing you folk to paste keeps you from coming back."

Garret blanched at Smough's words; yes, a demigod steadily beating your body with a hammer would be a great way to break someone's spirit and cause them to fully embrace the Curse.

"Of course," Smough continued, "I couldn't just leave the remains where they were. So, after every execution of an undead, I'd collect the pasty remains, and dispose of them later. But when people see a 'known cannibal'," he hissed, "gather paste into a barrel, well," he chuckled, spreading his arms wide, "What else are they supposed to think?!"

Garret frowned, averting his eyes to stare at the stone floor. That was a…far more intense and awkward conversation than he'd expected. He pursed his lips, "Do you…Do you still want to become a knight?"

Smough exhaled tiredly, "Like I told your friends down there, there's more important things to worry about than my own wants, at the moment."

Garret nodded. "For what it's worth," he said after a moment, "you're a…a better man than everyone that used to live in this city combined."

Smough grunted, "I've found that the words of dead men walking have very little worth…But," he added in a soft tone, "thank you." With that said, he walked past Garret, heading towards the double-doors leading inside the main building.

Garret stayed there, watching as Smough banged his hammer against the ground, patiently waiting for the doors to open up and let him enter. Garret had never really noticed, but the demigod's armor was pretty dull for what he assumed to be a gold-alloy. Everything else in Anor Londo had an almost divine glow to it—the buildings, the sentinels, Ornstein—all but Smough.

Yet another thing to talk to Gwyndolin about, it would seem.

"Ah, Garret," the young sorcerer turned to see Havel rising up to meet him, "Have you already met with Boram?"

"No, actually. I was talking with Smough; he'd just finished up his own appointment."

Havel hummed, climbing to the top step and peering into the main building. "I'll be honest, I'm still surprised that Ornstein offered to train him."

"Ornstein offered?"

Havel nodded, leading the way to Boram, "Surprising, I know. He'd never taken in so much as a page in all the years we'd worked together." He chuckled, "I still remember the look on Gwyn's face when Ornstein said he wanted to train the man."

Garret crossed his arms, "Any idea why?"

"No, he kept his reasons to himself." Havel stopped, just before Boram's tower, and drummed his fingers against his breastplate, "Not even Artorias was able to get him to reveal why. I suppose he just…saw something in Smough. Something that he wanted to cultivate."

Garret drew inwards, thinking on his conversation with Smough. Yes…there was good there. Buried beneath rage and indignation, but there all the same.

He silently followed Havel into Boram's abode, where he—draped in rusted and broken bits of armor, and old worn helmet fully covering his head—was bent over a far-too-small anvil, delicately hammering some weapon into shape on it. Garret expected Havel to growl or say something negative about the scene before them, but the Bishop was oddly silent. Before Garret could question this, however, Boram, without turning around or stopping, spoke. "Hmm?" he said, voice slow, methodical, "Back so soon?"

Havel spoke first, saying, in a soft, warm tone, "Actually, it's been quite a few years, old friend."

That got a reaction out of the giant. He froze, hammer resting atop the anvil. He slowly turned, looking over his shoulder. He leaned down, rattling the chain-link holding his clothes together. "…Havel?" he breathed.

Havel nodded, and answered in the giant's native tongue.

Boram bellowed joyously in turn—an odd, but strangely, not cacophonous mix with the haunting tone of the giant language. He swept an arm out, and Garret jumped back as he grabbed Havel, pulling him into a tight hug.

Havel, for his part, laughed joyously, continuing to speak the giant's tongue. This continued for several minutes, until Garret coughed into his hand, "Uh…should I leave?"

That made Boram focus his attention on him; the giant leaned closer, and crooned something in…giantese? Whatever it was, Garret replied, "I, uh, can't speak your language."

"Oh," Boram leaned back, putting Havel down on the ground in the process, "My bad."

"Ah, no harm done," Garret replied.

Havel brushed his shoulders, gesturing between the two. "I believe," he said, warmth still shining through his voice, "that Garret had something to ask you, Boram."

The giant hummed inquisitively, dropping his hands on his knees and leaning forward expectantly. Garret then said, "I was wondering if you would be willing to allow other blacksmiths set-up shop in Anor Londo? So long as they accept, at any rate."

"Other smith's?" the giant repeated. Then, he nodded his head, "Yes. They come, share craft! Help friends!" He punctuated his words by gesturing to both Havel and Garret.

"Great!" Garret smiled, turning around to look out into the city, "So, what? You have an abandoned space they can hang out in, or—"

"They work here!" Boram happily shouted, slapping the ground and shaking some of the loose weapons and armor scattered on the floor.

Garret frowned, turning back to Boram. "Um…" he swept his gaze across the room, "a bit small, isn't it? I mean, there's three other people—well, two people and one skeleton—that might accept, after all."

But Boram merely laughed. "Watch," he said, reaching up and to the left. He extended his pointer finger, and delicately tapped it against several stones.

There was a low rumble, and the tower began to shake. Garret felt his legs, pull apart, and looked down, yelping at the gap forming at his feet. He rushed over to Boram and Havel, turning back to stare in awe as the hole expanded to reveal a stone staircase leading further into the tower.

After the hole stopped growing, Garret knelt down, staring down the revealed addition. He gasped at the sight of dozens, if not hundreds, of chests filled with all titanite of all kinds—shards, chunks, slabs, red, twinkling—creating a veritable rainbow of stone. Garret loosed a low whistle, "Gonna be honest, did not expect anything like this!"

Havel chuckled, "Few ever do."

Line Break

Solaire hated feeling worried. It was a terrible thing; the paranoia that something might go wrong. But it was something he'd been forced to become familiar with recently.

He wasn't foolish enough to believe that things could easily go back to how they were before ringing the second bell. Not after all they'd learned about Garret. But, the tension that had been radiating off of Oscar did lessen after they reunited with Garret at Sen's fortress.

And then that mess with the Bonfire happened.

Solaire didn't believe for one second that Garret had an 'accident'—neither did Ornstein, given his grumblings. But what was disconcerting was the fact that Garret specifically sought out Oscar and Siegmeyer; whatever it was, he didn't want it to spread out to the rest of the group.

That actually hurt a bit; didn't he assist them in dealing with Petrus?

But then, maybe its best he didn't know. Siegmeyer acted like his usual self, jesting and laughing at every slightly amusing word and action. Yet, throughout it all, he kept his spine rigid, and he held his blade in his hands. And Oscar, he was just silently sitting at the Bonfire, not even bothering to talk with Beatrice.

Which was another…oddity. He'd briefly seen her face pale, before setting it in stone and marching over to Garret. And then she slapped him. Multiple times. No one believed Garret's lie about insects, but she was tight-lipped about what was actually spoken between them.

But…Havel was speaking with Garret before Beatrice took him away. Perhaps he knew?

Solaire lifted his head up, only to pause and remember that Havel had left a bit ago to meet with his giant friend, the blacksmith. And as soon as he came back, Garret would want to head out. And Solaire knew that he wouldn't be able to get anything out of Garret; the only reason they'd even found out about Ana was the man's own carelessness. He doubted such a thing would happen again.

He clicked his tongue, a defeated sigh passing through his lips. It was then that he caught sight of Ornstein. The knight was leaning against a pillar, inspecting his weapon. He'd been there when Beatrice pulled Garret aside. He had to know something.

Solaire was hesitant to approach the man. He did try to kill Garret at least twice. But…he was all he had. Thus, Solaire rose to his feet, slowly but surely walking to the Captain of Gwyn's knights—well, the one knight left.

He came to a stop just before the knight, coughing into his hand, "Excuse me, Sir Ornstein, but I have a question."

Ornstein's masked face tilted downward, its snarling visage sending a soft tremor down Solaire's spine. Eventually, the knight said, "What, human?"

"I, um, I just wanted to ask a quick question. If you don't mind, of course."

Ornstein stared down at Solaire, and the human knight did his best not to fidget under the demigod's attention. "Very well," Ornstein eventually said, "so long as you answer a question of my own."

Solaire quickly nodded his head, "Of course." He paused, "So…wh—"

"Me first."

"Okay then."

"Why do you where that sigil?" he asked, pointing to the sun on Solaire's chest.

Solaire blinked, looking down, "This?" He was silent for a moment, before chuckling.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Just, well, you're the first person in a longtime to ask why I branded myself as such."

"None of your…companions have?"

A shrug, "I suspect Garret knows why—what with his ability to see into the future and past. And no one else brought it up because…well, they all know that I am a Warrior of Sunlight and—"

"What was that?" Ornstein suddenly interrupted

"Hmm?"

Ornstein leaned down quickly, making Solaire stumble back a few steps, "What did you call yourself?!"

"A Warrior of Sunlight," Solaire hesitantly repeated.

The demigod took a sharp breath, "Why do you call yourself as such?" He slammed the butt of his spear against the ground, leaning down to stare him in the eyes, "Where did you hear of that title?"

"Solaire!" Siegmeyer suddenly shouted, "Are you alright?"

The Astoran rapidly waved his hand, "I'm fine, I'm fine. At least I hope so," he added beneath his breath.

That seemed to jolt Ornstein, who quickly leaned back, gripping his spear in both hands, "My apologies. It's just…it's been a long time since I've heard the specific phrase."

Solaire coughed into his hands, "Right. Anyway," he paused for a moment, "Uh, I first came upon this symbol when I was a lad—recently knighted, actually. I was with a small platoon, patrolling the southern border of Astora. It was fairly routine for the first week, but on our way back to our main encampment, we were attacked by a band of Hollows." Solaire then frowned, reaching under his helmet to rub his chin, "How do they coordinate so well anyway? They are, after all, mindless husks—you'd think they'd just as soon attack one another instead of banding together and—"

"The point, human," Ornstein said with a low growl.

"Right, right. Sorry. Uh, where was I…Ah yes! We were attacked, and a great many of us fell. Then, when it was down to me and four others, a man burst in through the forest, hurling lightning at the Undead. This gave us the chance to fight back and turn the tide against our foes."

"This man…did he have the same sigil your wear upon your armor?"

Solaire nodded, "Yes. He never gave us his name, merely called himself a 'Warrior of Sunlight and Jolly Co-Operation'." Solaire laughed as memories came rushing back, "A bit odd, but a fine man nonetheless. He actually introduced me to Soapstones as well, which were a great boon for the Astoran forces when the Curse really started to spread."

"So, you gave yourself the same brand and moniker in honor of this man?"

But Solaire shook his head, "Not at first. It was only after I'd contracted the curse, some years after that." He reached into his satchel, pulling out a golden coin emblazoned with the symbol Ornstein was obsessed with. As he gave the coin to Ornstein, he said, "Before we parted ways, the man gave me some of these, and told me 'If ever you should feel lost, or helpless, merely gaze upon the Sun, and know that it's light shall guide you to your true path.'" A soft chuckle, "Just the sort of thing a burgeoning Undead needs, really."

Ornstein stared silently at the coin after he finished his tale. He shifted in place occasionally, but still said nothing.

"Is there…anything special—to you—behind the symbol?" Solaire asked.

"It's…it's nothing," Ornstein's voice was softer than Solaire thought possible for a man that size, "just a lot of…things I'd thought long buried have very abruptly come to life." He snorted derisively, "That seer of yours doesn't do things by half."

Solaire laughed lightly, "No, he does not."

"Princess Dusk," Ornstein suddenly said. At Solaire's questioning grunt, he added, "That is who your friends were talking about." Another snort, "Speaking of things thought buried," he straightened, and once more his helm's blank eyes bore down on Solaire, "Why did the Princess of the former kingdom of Oolacile appear and vanish in a shower of golden light?"

Solaire shrugged, "Magic." At Ornstein's growl, he quickly added, "She was trapped in this crystal creature created by Seath. I don't know the specifics, but her ring allows her to, briefly, travel through time to be with us."

Ornstein tightened his grip on his spear, "Wait, she's the actual Princess Dusk? Not some sort of elaborate illusion?"

"Oh yes, she's quite real." He blanched, "Er, don't mention the whole 'Abyss overrunning Oolacile' thing. It's something of an unspoken rule among us; don't want to freak her out."

Ornstein gasped, "You mean she's from before Artorias halted the Abyss?"

"Yes."

"And you haven't told her what's about to happen?"

A shrug, "There's little point; after all things…work out…in the…end." Solaire trailed off, a cold chill running down his spine.

"Hmm, perhaps you are right," Ornstein sadly acknowledged, ignorant of Solaire's change in mood. "Besides, meddling with time is a dangerous affair; even Seath abandoned all attempts to investigate it after a while."

'It just wasn't convenient'. Those were Garret's words. Solaire may not have been as harsh as Oscar, but he did agree that it was a terrible excuse. Yet…Garret's hesitation was understandable; he was burdened with so much knowledge. Too much, really.

He gasped raggedly; but the rest of them didn't have that same depth of information, that fear holding them back. Why didn't they say anything? Havel, at least, was stuck in a tower for ages, he couldn't have known. But Oscar, Siegmeyer, Beatrice, himself?

...Indifference. Nothing held them back but their own indifference.

"Hm? Are you alright, human?"

Solaire blinked, jerking back slightly, "Wha—yes, yes! Just…remembering," he said softly.

"A dangerous pastime," Ornstein commiserated. He perked his head up, "Ah, looks like you'll be leaving soon."

Solaire whipped his head around, throat tightening as Garret and Havel entered the room, chatting about something he couldn't hear.

"Thank you." Solaire turned sharply, to which Ornstein said, "for your tale."

Solaire gulped, bowing slightly, roughly, "And thank you for you…information. Ah, you can keep the coin," he said as Ornstein held it out, "I've got more." Then, without waiting for a reply, he hurried over to his friends.

"…don't bother cutting off its limbs, they'll just grow back—ah! Solaire, there you are." The seer gestured to the group, "I was just telling Havel, Siegmeyer, and Kirk how to best kill the Centipede demon in Izalith. Also," he snapped his fingers, "I'm grabbing Nito before we enter the painting; that way I never ever have to enter the Catacombs again. Ever." He repeated with a wide, manic smile.

"Er, right."

Garret frowned, leaning forward to lay a hand on the knight's shoulder, "Hey, you alright?"

Solaire gently shrugged off the hand, "I'm fine. Just…I…thank you Garret, for all you've done thus far. I kn—" he cleared his throat, rubbing it to ease away a bit of the constriction, "I know it could not have been easy."

Garret blinked, a small blush coloring his features. He bashfully turned his head away, scratching his neck, "Uh, thanks, Solaire." He turned back to the group, "Where was I?"

"Don't cut off its limbs," Oscar supplied. Garret thanked the man and continued the small meeting.

Solaire only half payed attention to the conversation. Garret ended it by gathering those going to Izalith beside him.

"I don't care what your reason is," Kirk's loud, irate voice pulled Solaire's attention back to them, "I am not holding anyone's hand!"

"Kirk," Garret sighed, pinching his nose, "it's the only part of your armor not covered in spikes. Unless you're willing to tak—"

"Not on your life!"

Garret threw his arms up, "Fine! Just, put your hand on top of Havel's helmet."

"Come again?"

"…Fine," Kirk eventually said.

As the Knight of Thorns and Bishop entered a rapid argument, Garret said to the rest, "Hold on while I get ready to move," and hunched over the Bonfire, staring deep into the flames.

Just then, a gloved hand clapped Solaire's shoulder, "Hey friend," came Tarkus's deceptively soft voice, "Guess we need to wait a bit for our time to shine."

Solaire grunted, "Suppose so."

"Hey, you sure you're alright?" Solaire hummed but said nothing. "Cause let me say, bottling negative feelings up only leads to disaster. It's like when my Mother and Uncle were young. A strange child he was, she'd tell me, always so quiet and unresponsive. Her mother—a woman I never had the fortune to meet but am told would have gotten along swimmingly with—was worried that he was slow in the head. Course, he and my mother were close and she…"

Solaire slowly tuned the famous knight out, stewing in his own thoughts.

Line Break

Dusk clicked her tongue, "Oh, c'mon! Of all the times for you to break!"

"Patience, Princess," came the calm, matronly voice of Elizabeth, "What have I told you? Your crown—"

"Is not some sturdy human metal you can freely bend and not break," Dusk snarked. She then sighed, dropping her crown in her lap, "I'm sorry Elizabeth," she laid a gentle hand on the mushroom woman's body, "I didn't mean to be short with you." She picked the crown back up, carefully twisting an end, "I just—I need this to be perfect!"

A sigh, "Princess…" her caretaker began.

"Unless you're going to give me some sap to fix my crown I don't want to hear it."

"Princess."

The princess ignored her in favor of other, more pleasing thoughts.

"Princess."

Like Garret. Oh yes, he was the source of very pleasant thoughts.

"Princess!"

And anxious thoughts, admittedly. But that anxiety was more akin to butterflies fluttering about in her stomach; it wasn't a great feeling, but neither was it a terrible one.

"Dusk!"

"What?!" the princess shouted, glaring at her old caretaker.

Elizabeth narrowed her milky, pale, approximations of eyes in turn. She then sighed, wriggling in place; a sign of discomfort, Dusk knew. Her anger quickly faded, and the princess hummed, gently rubbing circles on Elizabeth's body.

"My dear," the living mushroom said, "I'm…worried about you." Dusk pulled away, after which Elizabeth continued, "You're spending so much time in the future—my, but that's still strange to say," Dusk smiled weakly, "that I fear you're forgetting about the present."

Dusk straightened, "It's not interfered in my life."

"You haven't hosted a public event—nor even been seen in public—in weeks. Lucky for you you've a well-established history of long absences," she added beneath her breath.

Dusk scoffed, "People are too afraid to leave their homes after those plant-men started to appear—to say nothing of the rumors of a dragon roaming about our borders. The people are scared, and I'm not about to force them outside the comfort of their homes to ask how they are doing."

"Fair enough," Elizabeth stated evenly. "But pining after a man who—by his own admission—is set on immolating himself is nothing short of folly!"

"I'm not—" Dusk began, only for the words to die in her throat. Elizabeth had practically raised her since birth, there was no point to denying the truth to her. Instead, she said, "Haven't you always told me to follow my heart?"

"I've also told you that the heart's desires must be tempered by the mind's discipline!" Elizabeth had started to shout, ending her declaration with heavy pants. "Dusk…you need to stop this. This boy—"

"Garret," Dusk automatically supplied.

"Garret will not be worth the pain he will cause you."

Dusk scowled, "You don't even know him!"

"I know that he was perfectly willing to let his friend's only sibling suffer at the hands of a madman because he didn't care otherwise."

Dusk clenched her fists, only pausing when her crown crackled under her grip. "He made a mistake," Dusk conceded, "but he's started to make amends. Besides, he's under so much pressure!" She drew her knees close to her chest, "Can you imagine what it must be like, to know all that has been, is, and will be?"

"No," Elizabeth said, "and I will admit that his choice to knowingly subject himself to the First Flame's fury for the benefit of the world is admirable. But that doesn't change the fact that his is a doom-driven path!"

Dusk scoffed, glaring at the ground. She then felt a pit in her stomach form, and smiled as golden orbs of light circled her body. She dropped to her feet, dusting off her dress and putting on her crown, "It appears I am needed." She bowed to Elizbeth, "So long, Elizabeth."

"Dusk!" But the golden lights had grown, completely enveloping Dusk, sending her hurtling forward through time and space.

As always, her body seized slightly as the transportation spell ceased. She shook her head slightly, blinking to cast away the spots in her vision.

Then, she saw him. Her lips curled into a wide smile, "Hello Garret."

"H-Hey Dusk," Garret slightly stuttered, rubbing his left elbow, looking down at his feet. Dusk looked around, noting that they were in Firelink shrine. Alone.

She did her best to keep her smile from widening further, slowly walking towards him. She sat next to him, but not right against him, and asked, "Where's everyone else?"

"Up in Anor Londo, or down in Izalith with Quelaag and her sister," he replied, gazing up at the sky, "Thankfully, everyone—from Patches to Ana—was amenable to the move. Only reason I'm still here is because there's a few people I need to meet down here. Plus…" he trailed off, and Dusk found herself blushing.

She gently coughed into her hands, scooching closer to Garret. "So, everyone is alright?"

"Oh, sure." Garret leaned back, still not looking her in the eyes, "Patches looked about ready to pee himself at the sight of Ornstein, though. And Rhea, Vince, and Nico were quick to drop to their knees in front of Gwyn and Gywnevere's statues in the throne room and start praying." He chuckled, "Well, Rhea was, I think Vince and Nico are a little disillusioned with the gods." He blanched, "Gonna need to keep an eye on those two, don't want them going mad on us."

Dusk shrugged, shifting closer once more, "They seem devoted enough to Lady Rhea; going mad would cause her a great deal of pain, and I'm certain neither of them would allow that to happen."

"I guess so."

Dusk gulped and moved until their shoulders were barely touching. "I—"

But this caused Garret to jerk back, "Wha—when'd you get so close?"

Dusk blushed, giggling, "I thought you'd noticed."

Garret gulped rubbing his neck, "Well…I've got a lot on my mind." His eyes briefly locked onto to hers, before he looked. Dusk's heart fluttered, and she leaned forward to grab his hands on her own. At least, that was the plan, only for him to rise to his feet and turn his back towards her.

Dusk blinked, "Garret," she said, standing as well, "what's wrong?"

He sighed, but didn't turn around, "I…there's something I have to—need to—tell you, before I lose my nerve." Dusk gasped, clasping her hands over her heart. "I…god," he groaned, "I should have told you this a long time ago!"

Dusk sniffed, wiping a few stray tears from her eyes. "Garret," she said with a smile, "you can tell me." She knew she felt the same.

He was trembling now, "Dusk…"

"Say it," she thought fervently.

"You….you are…."

"Elizabeth is wrong! Well, maybe not entirely," she bitterly admitted, "but I know we'll be fine!"

He took a deep breath, "…Oolacile is about to be overrun by the Abyss."

"Garret, I—" she froze, her declaration dying on her lips. Her heart seized, and she could feel the blood rushing away from her face, "W-W-W-What was that?"

Still with his back to her, he said, "Your people…found something," his voice was dry, dead, "a corpse, buried beneath Oolacile. At a serpent's urging, they dug it up and…woke it up. They then experimented on it. Tortured it."

Dusk gulped, "N-No, what are you saying, Garret?!"

"They pushed it and pushed it—"

"G-Garret, stop."

"—until, finally, it snapped. Became something else—"

"Please, stop!"

"—a monster. Manus, the Father of the Abyss."

"I said stop!" She stomped forward, harshly pulling at his shoulder to turn him around. His face—stony, eyes dull and lifeless—were no doubt a sharp contrast to her own sorrow-filled features. "W-What are you saying?" she cried, "That you've known that Oolacile—my kingdom, my people—were going to be attacked by a monster of our own making?"

He smirked mirthlessly, "I know more details than most, but yes, I've always known."

Dusk took a step back, his words all but slapping her in the face, "W-W-Why didn't you—" the words died in her throat.

A dry, hollow chuckle, "I think you know the answer to that."

Dusk held back a sob, turning away from Garret. She heard him step closer, but she swiftly swiped her hand at him, "Don't!" she screamed. She drew her hands upon her shoulders, breathing haltingly, not quite sobbing, but still shedding tears. "What else?" she eventually asked, "What else is going to happen?"

"…"

"Garret!"

"…Manus captures you."

She loosed a harsh, bitter laugh, "It what?"

"Crazy, right?" He sighed, "Best I can figure, you remind him of—"

"Do you think I care what it thinks?!"

"No…" he said, "I suppose you wouldn't."

Dusk gasped raggedly, "Would you have told me this had you not let slip your folly with Ana?"

"…No," he admitted sadly.

Dusk's heart seized at his confession. Firelink Shrine seemed to grow silent; the wind stopped blowing, the fire stopped crackling, even that giant bird stopped squawking. Then, she let out a small, desperate laugh. It rose in pitch and intensity, until she was all but doubled over. Then, she stopped. "Send me back," she eventually whispered.

"Dusk, there's m—"

"Send me back!" she screamed.

Garret said nothing, but she did feel a pull in her gut, and golden orbs of light quickly assaulted her vision. Her resolve crumbling just as fast.

"Ah," she heard Elizabeth's voice through the light, "that was fast. Barely even a—Dusk?" her voice gained a worried, heartfelt tinge, "what's wrong?"

Dusk, within the safety of her childhood abode, finally broke down. She sobbed, rough, ugly sounds, and stumbled forward, falling to her knees and curling against Elizabeth's body.

"Shh, shh," her caretaker whispered soothingly, "it's okay, it's okay. Shed your tears, Princess." And she did.

LINE BREAK

Garret stared at the ring in his hands, heart heavy and self-loathing at an all-time high. He sniffed, angrily scrubbing away the tears threatening to spill over. "Well," he scoffed, "least she didn't hit me."

CAW CAW

Garret lifted his head up, quirking a brow and holding his arm out parallel to the ground. Scant seconds later, Benito landed on his arm. The bird shuffled slightly, loosing another cry.

"And just where have you been?" Garret half-heartedly teased. The bird eyed him critically, after which he sighed, "C'mon," he started walking to the cemetery, "let's go meet your…master? Father?" Benito cawed. "Father it is."

"Hrnng…Mnng," someone snored.

Garret blinked, frowning slightly, "Oh right, Frampt."

He stopped a few feet in front of the toothy, Primordial Serpent. Frampt gurgled in his sleep, prompting Garret to step back, waving his free hand in front of his face, "Ugh, talk about morning breath."

Benito flew down from Garret's arm, landing on one of Frampt's…flesh staches'? Questions for later. The bird rapidly pecked the mass of flesh, making it quiver and eliciting a soft gasp from Frampt. But though the serpent stirred, he did not wake. Benito repeated the action and achieved the same results. Eventually, the bird looked up at Garret, squawking softly.

Garret waved at him, "Leave him; we're burning daylight, and there's nothing he can say or do for us anyway."

Benito squawked softly, but nonetheless flew over and landed on Garret's shoulder as he walked away.

A/N: So…that just happened. Be sure to leave a review. Later.