"You know, I was thinking... About leaving for another round of thieving. There must be something of use in Lothric Castle. I-I'm aware of the danger. That castle is a death trap. Not a single man has returned from the castle unscathed, even back in the day. But I don't want sit around and die a petty rat. And I consider myself your friend."

No.. No, don't go!

"Well, I'm going to have myself a little nap.

The only thing to do, really, after a nice toast.

You are a true friend. Best of luck with your duty."

Siegward? No! Don't leave me!

...

Siegward..?

...

Greirat?

"...Ahh, it's over... ...My Sun...it's setting... ...It's dark, so dark..."

That voice.. Solaire?

...

I'm sorry..

The unkindled sat upright with a loud gasp of air, ash falling and unsettling all around him.

What happened? Those voices.. They were of his friends, the friends he... failed to save.

His shoulders shuddered as a chill ran up his damaged spine.

Dust and ash flowed freely from his armor as he rose, some pooling in his boots and annoying him greatly.

I hate ash. It's coarse and rough and it gets everywhere.

He sighed, taking off a boot and emptying it of the ash inside.

Why did it have to be ash?

He overturned his other boot, dumping out another tsunami of finely crushed bone.

Alright then, now, where is my sword and dagger?

He turned to face the larger portion of the kiln, expecting to be met with the dreaded eclipse.

But it wasn't there, no darksign, no sun, and definitely no moon. It was also significantly dimmer aswell.

Ah, right, Age of Fire is over. That's gonna take some getting used to.

He sighed and his eyes narrowed in on his discarded blades, embedded into the ash at the center of the kiln, glowing with a deep orange hue.

Is that my greatsword...?

On fire!?

He rushed over to his sword to find that, it was indeed ablaze.

No! My baby!

He wrenched the huge blade out of the ground with ease, cradling it in his arms as it glowed red hot.

My poor sword! Wait..

He jumped up and flailed his arms around as his arms were set on fire from direct contact with the flaming greatsword.

Oh Gwyn it's like being smacked by Gael's cape all over again!

He eventually managed to quell the fire on his arms, before realizing that he had taken little to no damage from the blaze.

It was strange, but he wasn't about to complain.

He once again grasped his greatsword by the untorched handle, and swung it widely in attempt to put out the fires.

Instead, a massive arc of unyielding fire was sent flying across the kiln.

That's insanely awesome, but how do I turn it off!?

He plunged the sword into the ground in anger, only to hear a satisfying sizzle as the metal cooled.

Okay! Finally!

He decided not to question it, he wouldn't get any answers anyways. This was Lothric afterall.

He strapped his greatsword to his back, and his dagger to his side before pulling out a homeward bone.

He paused, eyes narrowing in on the coiled sword still embedded into the center of the kiln.

He briefly put away the bone and approached the coiled sword.

Destroying a bonfire is a really bad idea.. But they shouldn't work anymore because the Age of Fire is over...

He gripped the handle of the coiled sword two hands and took a deep breath, and then he pulled.

It felt wrong, so very wrong, but he kept pulling with all his might.

Even with thousands and thousands of souls to boost his own abilities, pulling the sword still felt like a monumental task.

As he pulled as hard as he can, the ash holding the sword finally started to give out.

With a loud gust of wind and a swoosh of flame, he wrenched the sword from the ground.

And then fell flat on his back from the momentum and force.

Agh, damn it... My back..

He slowly rose back to his feet, rubbing at his lower back while holding the coiled sword in one hand

He grasped the handle in his right hand and cradled the twisted blade in one hand, for the most important part of a bonfire, it wasn't very impressive.

He pulled his bottomless box out from a satchel on his waist and gently inserted the sword into the box.

Hmm, there sure are a lot of swords in the kiln...

He swiveled his head around to look at all the discarded armaments, before his eyes landed on something that made his heart sink.

It was the corpse of the Firekeeper.

He had accidentally killed her.

The unkindled rushed to her body, and fell to his knees beside her.

No... I-I didn't mean to..

To kill her..

He gently moved the corpse so that her face was not buried in the ash below.

His arms fell limply to his sides, he knew that he would have to get a little violent with the keeper, he knew she would not relinquish the fire to him.

But he never intended for his blow to kill her.

It was ironic, really. The strength that she had helped him to achieve had been the same strength that had ended her life.

Maybe... Maybe it's better this way...?

On the bright side... She won't have to live in these forsaken lands anymore.

He shook his head and silently laughed at his own stupidity.

Who am I kidding? She's just another victim of my mistakes.

He reached out to collect her firekeeper soul, guilt clawing at his heart.

He slowly deposited her soul into his bottomless box, and retrieved a homeward bone.

He crushed it with his hands and felt the winds pick up ash all around him, before his pitiful form faded from existence.

...

The dim hub of Firelink flared into existence around him, or rather, he blazed into existence inside of it.

He rose to his feet, dusting off remnants of ash from his armor and sighed heavily.

Well, let's not waste this 'Soul of Cinder'

He made his way up to Ludleth's throne and stood infront of the transposing kiln. Retrieving the soul from his box, he cupped it in his hands and hovered them over the kiln while closing his eyes.

A brilliant golden spear of arcing sunlight.

Miracle of Gwyn, the First Lord.

Hurls a sunlight spear. The tales of Gwyn's Archdragon hunts describe the inception of the Age of Fire.

His brow furrowed, he wasn't very good with miracles... But maybe Solaire and Irina would have appreciated that he got it..?

A twisted greatsword of bright flaming steel.

The Lords of Cinder linked the First Flame, and this Greatsword was wielded by their deific manifestation.

This coiled sword, found thrust in the bonfire, existed long before the throneless lords themselves.

A greatsword? He had one already... But this sword, it was old, it was very very old.

Maybe it held some ancient power within it's blade?

Maybe I could even create my own bonfires with this thing..

He quietly laughed to himself, such a thought was ridiculous. Or was it? He knew very little about the rules of the world, afterall.

He sighed as he neared a decision.

I'm sorry, Solaire.. Irina.. I wish I could take the miracle in honor of you both, but it's just too risky.

He parted his hands, allowing the great soul to fall into the basin of the transposing kiln.

After a moment of visualizing the Firelink Greatsword, he reached his gloved hand deep into the bowels of the kiln, and closed his hand around an iron hilt.

He slowly drew the blade up out of the depths of the soul, fire crackling and embers falling all around.

He pulled the rest of the sword out, and walked down towards the center of the shrine with it in hand.

Let's give this thing a whirl.

He grasped the hilt with two hands, and held it behind his head and over his shoulder.

He channeled energy into the blade, and swung downwards at the ground.

Flame erupted from the depths of the sword, blazing and igniting a trail of destruction in line with the blades strike.

Woah... That was underwhelming.

He pulled the sword from the ground, examining the blade, it seemed to be set ablaze with a lingering flame.

Still underwhelming...

He sighed and inserted the Firelink Greatsword into his bottomless box and moving to sit on a set of stairs.

Now what..? I've ended the Age of Fire and took the power of the flame for myself.

Am I just.. Stuck here?

He leaned forwards, fists below his chin and elbows resting on his knees as he sighed.

He suddenly bolted upright in realization.

The little painter girl! I forgot to give her the pigmet!

He quickly rushed over to the unlit bonfire in the middle. He held his hand out towards the sword and lit it without a second thought.

So the bonfire network still functions, I'm going to hope that's somehow because I'm in possession of the flame's power.

He focused in on the bonfire that sat in the room where he faced Friede and he familiar feeling of warping encompassed him.

...

He suddenly appeared in the room with a gust of wind, and he sprinted across towards the staircase at the opposite end.

Gael would probably be so pissed right now!

He ran towards the ladder tucked away in the corner, and started to climb it.

"Those who aren't ken to fire cannot paint a world. Those absorbed by fire, must not paint a world." The girl's voice echoed through the room as the unkindled reached the top of the ladder.

"Don't worry, I haven't forgotten, Mother..."

She spoke

The unkindled pulled himself up off the ladder and took a moment to regain his energy when he reached the top

I hate long ladders!

He straightened his posture and reached into his bottomless box, retrieving the portion of Gael's breastplate, still stained with Pygmy blood.

He approached the girl slowly, and with extra care to not damage the pigment. He cleared his throat as he stood beside the painter on her tall stool.

"Here it is.." He spoke in a scratchy, yet gentle and heavily unused voice.

"My thanks, Ashen One. With this will I paint a world." She spoke, gently taking the Blood of the Dark Soul from his gloved hands.

"Please tell me thy name. I would name this painting after thee"

"I have no name." He spoke solemnly, his head lowered in sadness.

"I see. We are much alike." She spoke softly, and turned her head towards the canvas.

"Then I will name this painting 'Remnant.' Twill will be a cold, dark, and very gentle place."

"And one day, it will make someone a goodly home." She turned and gave the Ashen One a small smile.

He nodded respectfully, and started to slowly walk towards the ladder with a weight lifted off his shoulders.

"I wonder when Uncle Gael intends his return? I hope the new painting will be to him a gentle home."

He froze in horror, he knew that he had no choice in killing Gael. In fact, he was doing him a great favor by not only ending his suffering, but by delivering the pigment to his lady.

"Wait..." He spoke, slowly walking back to the painter.

"Gael.. the Slave Knight.. You knew him?" He asked weakly

The girl simply nodded, and the unkindled's face contorted with guilt.

"Were you both.. close..?"

"Yes, I suppose we were." She answered with a brow raised.

The Ashen One choked and reached into his bottomless box, retrieving the damaged soul of the Slave Knight, Gael.

The girl gasped at the sight, and covered her open mouth with a free hand.

"I-I'm so sorry.. you should take his soul..." He apologized sadly, holding out the soul for her to take.

"Oh, Uncle.." She cried, taking Gael's soul and holding it close.

The unkindled looked down to his feet in shame as the girl silently cried.

I should comfort her... but I'm the man who killed him.. what right do I have to express my condolences?

The girl quietly dried her tears and looked at the Ashen One as he mentally berated himself

"Ashen One, I ask of thee.. A favor" She said quietly, almost a whisper

"Anything." He looked up with hope in his eyes.

"I bid thee, return after resting, and take Uncle Gael's soul.. Lay him to rest in the world I will paint" She asked softly, as if she may start to cry again if he refuses.

The unkindled fell to one knee and bowed his head deeply "Of course.. I shall return when your painting is finished.."

The girl nodded sadly and turned to face the painting again, Gael's soul still cradled close to her body.

The Ashen One rose and made his way down the ladder, gripping the sides and sliding down.

I should be the one thanking her.. I may have even ended up like Gael if I there was nothing I could do to repent.

He walked down the stairs and back into the large room, floor still stained with blood and outskirts still raging with flame.

He neared the bonfire and sat down to rest, knowing that he would have a new adventure to attend to when he arose.

And yet... another friend to bury.