I:

Contrary to what The Ashen One expected, it wasn't pain that was coursing through his body; that would have been a relief. If he felt the flames slowly consuming his tired body, that meant he was successful in the end. If instead, he felt the decreasing pain that accompanied resurrecting, that meant that he was damned lucky that the stress of dying several times in short succession hadn't forced his body to completely shutdown just yet.

But there was no pain.

Instead, he felt…strangely numb. No...no, that wasn't it, if that was the case then he would hardly be feeling the (strangely soft) ground beneath him, it was just…There was no agony of something peeling his flesh, no ruptured organs impeding his movements, even his broken bones weren't angrily demanding to be mended before the next fight…

Nothing.

But why was he feeling like this? He was burning, wasn't he? He had to be, wasn't the warmth he was feeling right now that of the First Flame? it...was not as painful as he expected?

And were those…bird calls in the distance…?

Wonderful. Not only had his body finally been battered and broken so many times that his sense of feeling had gone with his sense of taste (a very real concern he had hoped to avoid; he remembered the various Hollows he passed in death-like states, and probe them as he might, they did nothing—up to even refusing to cry out in pain when stabbed and putting up no resistance when parted of their belongings), but the Curse had started to affect his-

The mounting frustration The Ashen One felt vanished, transformed into a creeping dread as the sound of footsteps that were muchtoo close to where he was reached his ears.

His eyes snapped open, and just like that, whatever minuscule hope of having completed his task was snatched away from him.

Instead of a sea of fire raging against a void of nothingness, what greeted him was an unfamiliar, wooden ceiling free of any rot or damages that accompanied most buildings he'd ever stepped in.

Far from a dead wasteland swallowed by a pitch-black void, The Ashen One found himself in a hut, and not a very spacious from what he could see, being little more than a small room with a roaring hearth next to where he currently sat. Across from him stood a table overlooking the closed latch that must have served as the sole window of the building, and out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed a bundle of thick blankets that looked quite similar to the ones he was currently laid on—and where what little remained of his battered equipment rested, he realized—neatly made and folded in a corner, no doubt courtesy of the sole other person in the room.

Who now was staring at The Ashen One with an expression of surprise-or was that fear, maybe?

Doesn't matter. he was in a very very very vulnerable state while in Flames knows where, and not even just in a vulnerable state, he was unarmed to boot!

His eyes darted throughout the hut, landing on a wooden broom which he immediately lunged towards.

Holding it like a spear, The Ashen One jabbed it forward towards the other undead, who seemed to have read his intentions and backed away slightly, his hands raised in front of him.

Neither made a move for some time, The Ashen One silently evaluated the undead before him.

Try as he might, he couldn't discern the presence of any sort of weapon on the undead's person—no dagger, no handaxe, not even a wooden ladle to attack with should things turn violent. While him having a catalyst was still a possibility, it was an extremely unlikely one, seeing as both of his hands were open and in front of him in a display of surrender and the fact that nothing had happened. Yet.

Even if anything did happen, well, he was the one with a weapon-for what it's worth, anyways. The dirt covered, brown tunic seemed to be the only protection that the other undead had, something that would do little to protect him from sword stabs, club bashings, or Soul Arrows mercilessly tearing into him. His body was not overly muscular, meaning he could be easily overpowered in terms of physical strength. And if he managed to get away from him? His reddish-brown hair reached his face, not enough to impede his vision, but enough where it could be used against h-

Panic swelled within him as he heard the other undead begin to speak in a strange, garbled language that had no bases in any of the places he had visited on his travels, or any of the scrolls, tomes and runes he found scoured throughout those long dead kingdoms.

The Ashen One watched as the undead continued speaking in what he could only assume was a placating tone, seeing as he was gently attempting to lower the blunt end of the broom.

A second warning jab ended that. He certainly looked the part of a harmless undead, but the last time he fell for something like that, The Ashen One had almost been-

A new sensation overtook him, one that was nowhere near as pleasant as the stillness he felt before regaining full consciousness. A pain that spat in the face of the healing properties of the faded gold ring on his finger.

A shrill ringing began assaulting his ears, drowning out the sounds of his makeshift weapon crashing to the floor and causing his clenched teeth to rattle in his mouth. The Ashen One screamed, his head exploding with a pain not to dissimilar to taking an axe to the skull.

He could not hear him, but he felt the undead man violently shaking him. Whether he caused this and was trying to finish him off or sincerely trying to aid him was irrelevant.

Staying here was not an option. He needed to get away from here, to familiarize himself with the land. Heal his wounds…

He needed to find a bonfire.

The Ashen One steeled himself, pushing past the pain as much as he possibly could before moving, shoving the undead aside and disregarding his old equipment as he bolted towards the heavy curtains that could only lead to the outside world, not even sparing a thought as to what he would find outside.

And in hindsight, that was a mistake. If The Ashen One stopped for only a moment and looked, really looked, at his surrounds properly, maybe he could have prepared himself for what was out there and what came next wouldn't have come at all; maybe, he would have been more prepared for the fight he would find himself in come nightfall, maybe the next few days would have been significantly less agonizing for him...

But at the time, how could he have known?

The Ashen One threw the the blinds open, and almost immediately wished he hadn't; a blinding light causing him to shield his face and quickly lose his footing. The next thing he knew, he found himself crashing to the ground.

(If he could think comfortably right now, The Ashen One would have wondered if it was strange that he almost welcomed the small jolts of pain that accompanied the impact-at least that was a step back to normalcy for him. Alas, his ears continued their song, and the pain in his skull became almost unbearable)

Greeted by the sounds of hushed voices, The Ashen One quickly lifted his head off the ground, and while he couldn't exactly see what was in front of him, the sounds nevertheless caused him to rise back to his feet in alarm.

For a moment, he thought he had returned to Lothric's Undead Settlement, with its rundown, decaying buildings and Hollowfied settlers, who mercilessly slaughtered their former friends and family as easily as they would an outsider—like himself.

However, the settlers here had yet to take up their sickles and pitchforks, likely waiting to see what he'd do before striking. Murmurs quietly floated in front of him, and the Unkindled One found himself unsure of what to do: he needed to leave, now, yet where would he go, mostly blind and in uncharted territory?

And the Hollows, why weren't they approaching him?

Were they…were they sane?

…How? To have such a number of non-Hollowed undead together in one area? That was unheard of these days. Could they be unkindled themselves? But then, I should have been able to-

It was then that he noticed how hot it actually was, much much hotter than anywhere he's traveled to save for the demonic ruins beneath Carthus. The Ashen One watched as the shadows running along the ground continued to lengthen, and a knot begun forming within his gut as a memory from a life that was no longer his forcibly resurfaced.

No.

It couldn't be…

Against his better judgement, The Ashen One ignored the group of undead before him before shielding his eyes with his hands as he glanced to the heavens, letting out the first gasp in his second life as his breath caught in his throat.

He had cut through a horde of Darkwraiths, had a long, tedious,and drawn out battle with the Mad Pontiff of the Boreal Valley, and barely survived an encounter with the deified manifestation of the First Flame itself-almost one right after the other, with little to no rest inbetween…

Where undead far greater than he would have despaired, he survived with his will unbroken.

But this? This sight that to many would be considered so typical, so mundane, caused all the fight within him to suddenly fade. Before he knew what was happening, The Ashen One found himself collapsed on his knees, staring in silent awe at the sheer impossibility that looked down on him now, warming the entirety of his body.

Even mostly blinded by it's radiance, he knew what he was looking at.

That which hadn't been seen in Lothric and it's neighboring lands since long before the Unkindled began awakening from their tombs, that which was worshiped by both Man and Divine as equal to the First Flame itself:

The Sun.

….

Fighting back another yawn as she she weaved through the sea of people currently inhabiting the passing streets, Felt continued to scan the area; the description given to her by her current client replaying in the back of her mind like a mantra:

Violet eyes, silver hair. Violet eyes, silver hair...

Nope, not her….not her either, Wait! Is that h—no…that last one was close, but the light gray hair knocked her off the list too. Damnit! Geez, you'd think such a high-profile target would be easier to pick out even in this crowd! Her so called 'unique appearance' wasn't doing her enough favors as she would have liked, not with the absolute mess in the markets right now.

She was at a huge disadvantage here, and for the nth time today wished she'd pressed for more details, even if the lady paying her kept giving her—

Ah! But her contact had mentioned something else (begrudgingly at that—seriously, the amount of probing to get that little tidbit was a bit much for her liking)! The person she was looking for was one of those upper-class twats and so it was…likely she wouldn't be alone out here…Great, so all she had to do was scout out a group of knights clustered together and making everyone part….

And somehow get close enough to grab that damned badge without being seen, and somehow not get her hand chopped off while trying to pick little miss princess's pockets. Child's play really.

…..If I wasn't so desperate to leave I swear to Volcanica…"'Oh, you'll know it's her in one look!' my ass!" Felt huffed in an attempt to rein herself. It was fine, she could work with this. It might be a little crowed to rely on her usual strategy, but she could definitely use-

"Hey! The hell are you doing here?" a gruff voice cut through Felt's careful planning, causing her to face the owner with a frown.

When she realized it wasn't some of her previous targets coming to confront her with guards in tow, Felt relaxed, though not by much considering who the voice belonged to.

Her earliest memories, besides clinging onto Old Man Rom's massive back, were of pestering Kadomon and bombarding him with questions. The massive fruit vendor had changed little over the years, save for now keeping his long hair in a hairband, the partly healed scar that split his tan face…

Oh yeah, and the massive stick up his ass.

Crossing his arms over his massive chest, he fixed Felt with a glare she was sure was especially reserved for her-although he may as well have been saying hello, for all the intimidation she felt right now.

"Would you stop staring at me like you're about to shit yourself?" she huffed, already fishing inside her patched pocket to produce the meager change she had, "See? I'm not askin' you for a handout."

Kadomon eyed the offered coins suspiciously before placing them in his pouch. "You snag these from Vel? Heard his purse got snatched in one of the alleyways near here…"

"I scrounged that up off the ground," she corrected with a growl. "And as if I'd seriously do something as predictable as mug someone in one of the alleys!"

Kadomon simply grunted, leaning against the wall behind his stand. "You can read the labels. If I catch ya swiping an extra, I'll-"

The man was cut off by a cheerful laugh as a small turquoise blur latched itself on to his waist.

"I found you, papa!" a little girl no older than six cheered, and the normally perceptually grumpy Kadomon's scowled melted into a smile that caused Felt's jaw to drop, gingerly ruffling the hair she inherited from him.

And because there wasn't enough surprises in Felt's day yet, the Dragon decided to give her another: "That's the lady who helped me papa!" Felt barely heard the little one say, "The one with eyes like mama's hair!"

Wait a minute…

Her hand frozen above a particularly large appa, her eyes flickering towards where the girl was pointing.

"She managed to find her way back almost one her own," the woman in question called out, relief clear in her voice, "I thought for sure she would get lost again when she ran off again, but it seems all turned out for the best."

Besides her, a taller woman chuckled. "That's my Plum alright, always brimming with energy. I always tell her never to run off like that during the busy season, it's her pa's the one who can keep up with her, not me."

The two continued to converse, but it all went over Felt's head.

She didn't mean to stare, but the woman was odd. As much as she wanted to excuse the clothing, seeing as her own patchwork rags didn't turn heads either-actually no, they did, now that she thought about it, but for every wrong reason imaginable-she just…couldn't. There was "trying to blend in", and there was "making yourself stand out", and the layered clothing and veil obscuring her features practically screamed out that this woman was unintentionally doing the latter.

"There is no need to thank me, truly." the woman almost insisting at this point, clear bewilderment in her voice, "I was, I-I was simply…"

"My! Not only formal, but modest!"

"Easy there 'sha, you're making the poor thing nervous…"

"Husband, we can't just let miss Emilia here leave empty handed, can we? Here, are you hungry?"

It wasn't just the way she spoke either, Felt realized. She moved like…like one of those nobles who never set foot outside their estate? Yeah, that sounded about right. The well-kept, delicate (not to mention, spotless, so unlike her own) hands that refused every offering given were also not helping her case.

But so what, nobles like that in the capitol city are a dime-a-dozen. Felt mentally gave a groan, biting into a chunk of her appa as if to punctuate it, the tangy flavor of the fruit distracting her momentarily.

"Is there something the matter?"

It took Felt more than she cared to admit to register that yes, the words were in fact being directed towards her, but when she before she could formulate a response to that, her eyes widened-and not because of the combined weight of four sets of eyes on her.

The shawl and the veil might have hidden the majority of her features from the world, but unfortunately for the woman, they failed to completely hide away the damning detail that Felt needed to conclude that yes, this was the girl that was going to make her and the old man 20 Holy Coins richer:

Not only were her eyes a deep purple hue, there were a few strands of silver hair spilling from the veil that wrapped around her face-a combination rarely found in humans.

Felt opened her mouth, but whatever words she was planning to say seemed to just evaporate into thin air. She had a foolproof explanation in the unlikely event she got caught, but that was meant to be used after the attempt.

"Don't even think about it you," Kadomon warned, "I'll call the guards right this second, so help me-"

"I wasn't gonna do anything!" Felt protested, which was technically true for the moment, "I just…she…she reminds me of someone I know, alright?"

Kadomon's stare hardened, while his wife let out a small gasp, even the little one seemed to have sensed the sudden tension, as she glanced worryingly between her parents, The veiled woman-Emily, was it-on the other hand recoiled as if she had been burned, trying to burrow deeper into the protective cover of her hood. Had she said somethi-

Oh. Felt's face blanched with the realization of her mistake, and a cold, hollow feeling settled in her gut.

"I-I didn't mean it like that!" she insisted with a shake of her head, freeing some of her blonde hair from the loose bun on her head. "On the Dragon, I didn't mean to compare you to-"

"I apologize for any intrusion I might have caused," she muttered quickly, her voice cracking slightly as she gave a small bow, "but I really must be going now."

Felt watched her leave in a brisk pace, not even realizing that she had ended up accepting one of the gifts offered to her in the rush to get away.

"Mama," she heard the little girl ask in a quiet voice, "why did the nice lady look like she was crying?" As if Felt needed that particular knife dug further into her back…

For a moment, Felt considered just letting her go. Royal brat or not, it must be a shitty existence-to have to hide yourself away from the rest of society, and be reminded of Her, of all things, every time you looked in the mirror…

It was only for a moment, however, as the memory of the falling apart shack and thin, moth-eaten bedroll that awaited her at the end of the day renewed her will. If the woman came to hate her, so what? There was a list of people longer than the roots of Flugel's Tree that did already. What was 20 Holy Coins to a girl who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth?

She needed that money. She couldn't stand living like this for one more day. Not knowing when she'd eat next or if she when that excuse for a house would finally fall, or if she'd finally have to explore…other alternatives to make ends meet. She could stay with Old Man Rom for a time, true, but…would her situation really be any different than before?

And really, what were the chances of them ever meeting again after today?

….

Adela gave a sigh, running a hand through her golden hair as the sun began to set behind her.

Today had only become stranger and stranger as it wore on.

It wasn't that she was complaining about the extra company mind; no, if anything, Adela was glad that her husband was the one who chanced upon their temporary guest on his way home days before-even if he himself might be regretting it right now due to the man's…episode this morning. Yes, better Kay than any of the more unsavory residents of the slums, those thugs would've left the poor soul out in the streets to die before stripping him of his belongs to trade in the loot house for a few silver coins—that is, if they didn't kill him themselves first, the brutes.

Then again, that was the current state of the Lugnica at the moment: Foreigners were treated almost as bad as the Demi-humans by many, and until the new monarch was appointed or the isolation was lifted, it would continue to be that way.

Having an extra member for a short while wasn't a problem-it was crowded and they would have to ration slightly, but it wasn't something she and Kay hadn't done before. His black hair didn't bother her any either. Honestly, he could be from Vollachia, or part dog for all that it would have mattered. They were all struggling in the end, weren't they?

No, the real concern was his…current state of being.

Adela glanced back at the man behind her with a frown. "Hopefully we can find someone to help you soon…"

When Kay found him, the man was practically lifeless on the floor, with heavy burns and cuts across his body. Whatever caused him those injuries clearly also took a toll on his mental state. He was here with them physically, but one look at his dull amber eyes told them that that his mind was another matter. It almost reminded her of how some of the old soldiers that survived the Demi-Human Wars looked when they remembered. Her husband mentioned that he was more lucid-with a harsh look in his eyes-before the incident in the morning, but, maybe the trauma of whatever happened had yet to set in?

Regardless, she wasn't sure if he even realized what was going on around him; and how could he, when he's given no reaction towards anything for the majority of the day?

"As soon as he saw the sky he just…stopped," she remembered Kay's words as he gestured towards their guest, then huddled near his equipment, staring vacantly at the wall ahead of him. "If I hadn't dragged him back out here, he'd still be there, on his knees, staring at the sun like he's just seen it for the first time in his life..."

She had, of course, reprimanded her husband for his awful humor, but the more she waited for the stranger to snap back to reality, the more she actually began to consider that something to that effect had happened. The man had been suffering from nearly fatal injuries across his body-what in Volcanica's name was done to him, and for how long?

But as the day continued on and he showed no sign of improvement, she dragged the man (Not even figuratively at times. When Kay had mentioned he hadn't moved a muscle since the morning, he was being literal. Sage's Breath, at times she swore he was a statue with how still he was) outside with her to find a healer, a priest, or…someone who knew how to help him.

"We're nearly to the entrance," She even gestured to the gradual change from the shabby, cobbled together huts and shanties to larger, yet equally falling apart, homes and taverns in a vain hope to get his attention.

The man continued to gaze at her, yet showing no signs of having heard or even registering her presence at all. Adela shook her head, continuing to gently lead him forward.

Adela knew several things for a woman of her lot, but a miracle worker, she was not, no matter how much Kay teased her when recounting her various knacks and talents outside of the "traditional" skillset of a spouse: she was literate because of him, learned to treat, as well as bandage, minor wounds (in no small part because her husband loved to forget that he was only one man and would try to move mountains if she didn't remind him of his limitations)…and she knew metalwork.

Yes, really.

Her father, Volcanica bless him, had been a blacksmith, and Adela had accompanied him at his forge, even assisting him in shaping the metal if the need ever arose, since as far back as she could remember—so she could say with some confidence that she knew a thing or two about metal, she had the rough hands to prove it, after all. But this person's armor, or what was left of it anyways…there was something else imbued within the burnt, ruined steel: a type of metal she's never seen before.

One more thing to make him stand out, it seems. "You have a habit of doing that, don't you?" she asked softly, knowing he would give her no answer. "Well, at least you no longer look like you lost a fight against a furnace," her gaze moved towards the small elaborate gold ring on his finger.

It looked like something that her husband would have worn once upon a time, but unlike most small pieces of jewelry, this one had more functions than just looking nice

Indeed, that deceptive little thing could easily put a Water Mage's skills to shame. She knew, because she saw it herself

It was strange and just a bit unnerving, watching the cuts and burns that adorned the stranger's face (and presumably, everywhere else on his person) slowly heal themselves before her eyes, until the only noticeable mark left was the long-healed gash that ran across the left side of his face.

That such a tiny thing could bring a man from death's door was something out of-

Loud crashing sounds reached her ears, bringing Adela out of her head; the hairs on her neck standing upright as she processed several things at once:

They were standing in front of Old Cromwell's tavern, and it looked much worse than it normally did, with most of the windows broken and shards of ice impaling the ground, some having reached only a few feet where she currently stood. Even from that distance, she could hear the unmistakable sounds of furniture being thrown and various objects-likely the various trinkets and weapons that were regularly sold to him-clattering to the ground. All of this accompanied by Cromwell's telltale thundering footfalls.

Then a loud crash-louder than those that came before it-caused the entire structure to shudder. Adela's eyes went wide as scream of pure terror pierced the air.

She knew that voice all too well, that was Felt's-

The hand she had been holding since she left her hut broke away from her grip then, leaving the stunned woman to watch as the formally broken man rushed forward, with neither weapon in hand nor an ounce of fear in his step.

...

A/N Well, here it is: the first official chapter. Wanted to post this a couple of days back but alas, real life kept me busy something fierce. I can't promise how long the next one will take, only that you'll get it.

The fight with Elsa's next then, oh joy…not my forte, witting fight scenes but, I gotta get used to them eventually, don't I?

Oh, and to those wondering what the Unkindled One wore before making it to the Kiln: It's the starting gear for the Knight. No Fashion on this Unkindled Ash, I'm afraid.

Hmm…I should remedy that eventually…