Faith

There was a silence that smothered the castle when Lothric left his chambers; he had so much to do. The very first servant he saw was sent to retrieve any of the knights that had assisted Lorian in his efforts from the previous night. As he walked through the castle halls, he heard the unmistakable sound of metal armor as a knight ran to catch up to him.

Lothric recognized Knight Commander Estrid as she saluted him before falling in-step. "You summoned me, Your Highness?"

"What was the result of last evening's task?"

"Prince Lorian didn't tell you?" She asked before rushing into her explanation. "Of all those accused, the majority elected for servitude; half as many opted for conscription; the rest chose death. We are currently holding the conscripts near the barracks; the first group will begin training today. Those who chose servitude have been divided between the fields and the remaining work on the High Wall. High Priestess Emma has taken the bodies of the dead as an offering."

He took a moment to acknowledge the gravity of what had occurred, but he knew he could not allow himself to linger on the thought. "Pontiff Sulyvahn is set to arrive anytime within the next several days. I want to be the first to be informed when he does."

She opened her mouth to speak, apparently struggling to find the correct words, "He's already here, my Lord. He arrived not even an hour ago; he said he was here to speak with King Oceiros, and said you were expecting him."

Annoyance rang through him, but he managed to calmly ask, "And where is he now?"

"He is already at the Grand Archives. King Oceiros demanded they not be disturbed by anyone, including you, Prince Lothric."

It would do Lothric no good, he knew, to force his way into the Grand Archives to demand an audience. He would have to wait to speak with Sulyvahn until he concluded whatever business he had with the king. But while they were busy with whatever twisted research his father was conducting, Lothric had more pressing matters to attend to.

"Is that all, Your Highness?"

"There were records of the fates of all those who received judgement last night I presume?" She nodded. "Good. Gather the list and meet me in my study."

"As you command."

He dismissed Estrid and made his way through the castle, trying to ignore the effort it took to keep a steady breath and the dull ache that had recently begun to reappear in his legs. As Lothric crossed the short bridge to his study, he paused to look down at the rest of the castle below. It was late enough in the day that in the past the streets would be full of people milling about, but now they were eerily empty.

It was early afternoon when he entered his study, gathering all the lists and information that Gotthard and Lorian had compiled regarding all those suspected of supporting Gertrude's cause. Estrid arrived shortly afterwards, working alongside him to match each name on the list with their fate. All but a handful had been accounted for, and those whose fates remained unknown appeared to have slipped out of the castle.

Lothric made note of their names to give to Gotthard and his hunters to track down at a later date.

"Estrid, how is morale in the barracks?" Lothric asked, setting down the list of names.

She absent-mindedly pulled at a buckle on her gauntlet before replying. "Truthfully? There are those who are uncomfortable with recent events, and at the thought of those accused of heresy fighting alongside them, knowing they are at odds."

Lothric steepled his fingers, resting his chin atop them, "Understandably so. You have served longer than almost any other, what measures do you believe would help set their minds at ease?"

"Prince Lorian has the correct approach I believe, slowly bringing them in as recruits. But at the core, they did not offer their service of their own free will. They did not take the blade into their own hands, offering their service - their sacrifice - to the kingdom. The scars they bear around their throats do not hold the same weight as those the rest of us accepted with pride." There was anger in her voice as she raised a hand to her own throat, scar hidden under her armor. "They should be marked as the outsiders and heretics that they are. We wear the red colors of Lothric with pride. To celebrate the First Flame. The thought of those that wish to see its end being bestowed with that honor does not sit well with us."

"And you believe this will help morale?" He asked cautiously.

"Yes, those of us loyal to you, to King Oceiros, and to the First Flame."

"Then it shall be done," Lothric assured her. "I place this responsibility in your hands."

Estrid rose from her chair before kneeling, head bowed low. "Thank you, my Lord."

"I assume there are preparations you must make."

"Of course, thank you." She rose to her feet and quietly slipped out of the room.

Lothric returned to his notes in the new silence. Surely there must be some connection as to why each of these people had been swayed by the absurd idea of Gertrude's so-called angels. Lothric still wasn't convinced himself. Even if the magic she wielded was able to surpass the capabilities of traditional miracles and sorceries, that did not directly link her to a new deity.

The nobility that had turned toward her beliefs were far and few in between as they had been loyal to the kingdom of Lothric for generations and many had reached their prestigious standing by contributing in the past to maintaining and linking the First Flame.

It was the commoners, the poor, and the slaves who had been the most susceptible to Gertrude's gospel. Those who could neither read nor write, and would have had to rely solely on someone else's sermons.

What Lothric could not figure out was what benefit they received from Gertrude's ideas. Was it the idea of salvation? The promise of a better life after the fading of the First Flame? It was barely conceivable to understand how they would be willing to take such a leap of faith, to be willing to endure the Age of Dark in the hopes that something better appeared from it. Knowing they would likely never live to see it for themselves.

But, he realized, perhaps these were fruitless questions to ponder on, alone in his study.

"Kamui," He called out, knowing the hunter was likely on the roof of his study or perched in the second level.

As expected, the man dropped to the ground near Lothric without a sound. "How may I be of service, Prince Lothric?"

"I would speak with one of the recently conscripted," he took a moment, skimming through the names on the list before settling on one, "Rumwold. Bring him to me."

"Here, my Lord?"

He considered his options, "No. Bring him to the Hall of Sacrifice."

"At once." Kamui said with a quick salute before disappearing from the room once more.

Lothric had chosen the Hall of Sacrifice for two reasons. The first of which was that it was close to the study he had long since claimed for himself. The second, was that the Hall of Sacrifice, though there were many like it in the castle, was a particularly reverent spot. It held the visages of the most loyal and respected knights to have ever served the kingdom of Lothric.

As he entered the space, Lothric took a moment to admire the various carvings, in the walls, on the ground, and the altars holding ancient weapons that still shone in the evening light. It stood in both contrast and solidarity with the other statues around the castle depicting the knights in various stages of sacrifice, several of which had been placed at the entrance to this very hall.

While Lothric was running his hand across the blade on one of the altars, he heard footsteps approaching and turned to see Kamui with the conscript he had requested, still bound and with dried blood staining the skin on his neck as Kamui pushed him to his knees before Lothric in the center of the hall, surrounded by all the carvings of knights long since fallen in battle.

"Leave us," Lothric commanded and waited until Kamui was out of sight before approaching the man. He was filthy, Lothric noted, presumably since long before he was conscripted and taken in, as he found it hard to imagine the level of filth being able to accumulate over the course of a single night's stay in the barrack's cells. The man was also older, with wrinkles etched deep into his face and his skin sallow. "Your name is Rumwold."

He did not present it as a question, but waited anyway until the man barked out a rough, "Yes."

"Do you know why you are here?"

"'Cause you're the one who had us dragged from our homes last night," Rumwold growled, spitting at the ground at Lothric's feet.

Lothric paid it no mind. "I did not give the orders without cause."

"We weren't hurting anyone, no one died 'cause of us. The only one with blood on their hands is you." He sneered, "You're supposed to be the next Lord of Cinder, but you can't do the dirty work yourself, can't even lift your own sword."

"Is that what drew you towards it? A lack of faith?"

"I have faith."

"In the angels?"

Rumwold hesitated, "I don't know."

Lothric pressed on, "If you do not believe in the angels, then why did you participate?"

"You ever seen a hollow?"

"I have."

"You ever seen someone important to you become hollow? Watched as they forget who they are, forget who you are? Forget how to even do the most basic of tasks?"

Lothric was silent.

"Course not. Cause you and yours don't hollow. Can't hollow." Rumwold leaned forward. "You've all been linkin' the fire for as long as we can all remember, but what good's it done us? We're still the ones out there. Dying. Not dying. Hollowing. Even if there aren't any angels, even if what they tell us is a lie, whatever they're promising has to be better than what we got now."

"You wish for the Age of Dark then and the sunless void of a world that it will bring?"

"What good is light when you're dead?"

"Who told you these things?" asked Lothric. These were not ideas and thoughts that a man like this would have had on his own, of that Lothric was certain.

"Priests and priestesses, they took Her Words and shared them with us. But you won't catch them. Even now, they're helping Her, even if she doesn't realize it. They were chosen before you took Her. They are Her champions, and they will carry out Her will."

Lothric kneeled before the man until they were on even ground, "Who are they?"

Rumwold shook his head, "They always hide their faces, but I wouldn't tell you even if I could."

"Then it seems we have nothing left to discuss." Raising his voice so Kamui could hear him, Lothric called out, "Take him back."

Rumwold waited patiently for Kamui to return, pulling him back to his feet and leading him out to the barracks. As they were leaving Lothric ordered, "Bring Fulbert next."

x

This process continued for days while Sulyvahn remained locked in the Grand Archives with Oceiros, still demanding they not be disturbed. Lothric was of half a mind to try and speak with all those who had chosen servitude, but the fact that they were all serving at the outskirts of the High Wall or beyond its borders meant they posed little threat, and likely had no intentions within the castle walls.

Most that Lothric spoke with had similar positions as Rumwold - a general discontent and disillusionment with the promises they had been hearing all their lives as they watched the world falling apart around them.

Others clung to the angelic dogma as though their very lives depended on it, so intense was their belief. They wished for nothing more than to see the First Flame snuffed from the world and for Lothric and all those worshipped as Gods to fade out with it.

And then there were a handful that claimed ignorance, using their audience with Lothric to beg and plead with him to allow them to return home, back to their old lives. Of course, Lothric could not and would not do as they begged and sent them back immediately once they proved that they would offer no new insight.

While Lothric was busy questioning the conscripts, he had set Gotthard on the task to try and track down who Rumwold and several others implied were chosen as Gertrude's champions. It was likely an impossible task, but Lothric had faith that if any should be able to track them down, it would be Gotthard.

Lorian was simultaneously attempting to oversee the integration and training of the new conscripts as well as the oversight of all those who had been sent to work on the High Wall and work in the fields. The only time they saw each other these days was either in the evening once all their work was done, or early in the morning before the servants or advisors managed to track them down to pull them to the next urgent summons.

This was apparently one of those mornings as Lothric fought off the heavy drag of sleep, hearing Lorian's voice across the room saying, "You sleep like the dead."

"I feel like the dead," Lothric agreed, shifting until he was sitting up so that he was able to reach the pitcher of water on the table beside him.

He watched as Lorian walked in and gestured to the beads of sweat coating his skin that Lothric was acutely aware of, "It has been a long time since you awoke like this."

"It has been more frequent," Lothric agreed, "it seems whatever brief reprieve Gertrude's miracle had granted me is nearly faded. I have felt it, walking through the castle, the exhaustion and aching."

He placed the pitcher back down on the table and drank down the glass of water.

"How bad has it gotten?"

"It is more akin to how my good days once were," Lothric said with a sad smile. "I suspect the bad days are not far behind."

"You could speak to Gertrude," Lorian started and Lothric flicked a harmless spell at him to stop him.

"You suggest the impossible." Lothric replied, setting down the glass. "Part of me wishes the bell had tolled while I had such false strength. Perhaps then I would have been able to link the Flame and truly become a Lord of Cinder."

"I am glad it did not."

"Nevertheless," Lothric said, rising from his bed, "what brings you here this morning?"

"Head Scholar Wulfred requested an audience later."

"With both of us?"

"Just me, as far as I am aware." That put Lothric on edge. After the conversation regarding the bond between them, Lothric still feared the worst. Though now at least his brother had the title of Knight General to provide extra protection, which still may not be enough depending on how little care or ceremony Wulfred gave to titles these days. "Do you know anything about it?"

Lothric grimaced, "No. But I would advise you to be careful, brother. Neither of us know the true extent of that man's corruption."

"I fear the same. Very well, I will find you after the meeting. If anything comes from it, you will know."

x

It was early afternoon before Lothric reached his study. He had not expected he would find Pontiff Sulyvahn standing in front of one of the bookshelves inside, flipping through the pages of one, seemingly at random. He turned when he heard Lothric enter and half-bowed to him. "Prince Lothric, we meet again at last. Forgive the delayed greeting, I had intended to speak with you as soon as I arrived but you were unavailable and King Oceiros's research demanded my immediate attention."

"Pontiff Sulyvahn," Lothric greeted in return, "it is good to see you again. I trust all has gone well in your research."

"Indeed," he replied. "Very well, in fact."

"In that case, how may I be of service?"

"While King Oceiros's research is nearly complete, there is another matter he and Head Scholar Wulfred would like to speak with you about; I offered to escort you to them in the Grand Archives. But first, I thought we might discuss some matters."

Lothric regarded him warily. "What do you wish to discuss?"

"It has been brought to my attention that you have become aware of the nature surrounding Oceiros's aspirations for you." Sulyvahn closed the book in his hands and slid it back onto the shelf. "I confess, I had suspected the nature when we last met, but only recently was it confirmed - the merging of God and Dragon."

"Yes, a spectacular failure, as you can plainly see."

"On the contrary, while King Oceiros may have failed in his original goal, I suspect he has created in you something far more interesting. But King Oceiros's goals were not rooted entirely in mere fiction or blind hope. It has been achieved before. Are you familiar with the land I came from, Prince Lothric?"

Of course, Lothric had heard of it, was taught of Sulyvahn's history, studies, and accomplishments by the various scholars that tutored Lothric who continued to learn from Sulyvahn's work. "You come from the Painted World."

"Yes. Once a dumping ground for the Gods, for the souls they wished out of sight and hidden away. A place where they locked away the only of her kind, for she wielded a power that terrified even the Gods. A crossbreed between God and Dragon."

"My Father knew of this?"

"Indeed. He first came across mention in his studies of Seath; it is the long held belief that she was daughter to Seath - the first and only of her kind. Certainly, I can understand the allure of recreating such power in the wake of such an ordinary child such as Lorian."

Lothric bristled at his words. "He tried to recreate such power from rotten flesh and dust of ages past. Failure was inevitable."

"It was," Sulyvahn agreed. "Your entire being is fractured in more ways than any of us can truly comprehend. But you hold the power of your own destiny in your hands."

"Why tell me all of this?"

"Where King Oceiros believes he failed with you, he seeks to try again, and this time may even in fact succeed. But the path he walks leads only to true madness. Tread carefully, Prince Lothric. The responsibility you bear and your actions in the near future will shape the very fabric of the world. It is unlikely we will have the opportunity to speak so candidly again, but should you require anything in the days to come, you will always have an ally in Irithyll."

Unsure of what to make of Sulyvahn's words and what his specific intentions may be, Lothric merely inclined his head. "Thank you, Pontiff Sulyvahn. Lothric is grateful to have your support in these matters."

"Now, I believe we have kept King Oceiros long enough. Shall we?" Sulyvahn gestured to the doorway.

Lothric followed Sulyvahn through the castle, across the large bridge that connected the Keep to the Grand Archives. Sulyvahn opened the doors and the first thing Lothric noticed was the suffocating silence. In the past, even when his father had been deep in his studies, the Archives had always been bustling as scholars sifted through various tomes, conducting research on all the ancient magic and miracles they held within their walls.

As they approached the center of the Archives, a lone feather floated down into Lothric's view. He craned his neck, gazing upward where he spotted what appeared to be a cage with a single shadowy figure caged within. More feathers gently fluttered to the ground from the cage - the scholars paid them no mind.

"Lady Gertrude is a special person," Sulyvahn commented quietly. "A shame, truly."

"Lothric!" Boomed a strangely warped, deep voice. Lothric turned to see his father - or what remained of his father - approaching him. Whatever Oceiros had hoped to achieve, it was clear he was nearly there. His face was no longer recognizable as that of a man. The features were distorted, elongated and draconic. The rest of his body was similar with torso and limbs stretched and covered in scales, including a tail, and his hands and feet warped into misshapen claws. "My son! Where is your brother?"

Wulfred approached from behind then. "Prince Lorian is here, my King," and gestured beside him to Lorian. This must have been the purpose behind the meeting Wulfred had summoned him for. It was nearly imperceptible beneath his helmet, but Lothric could see the tight concerned frown on his brother's face.

The fact that they had both been brought here under such a thin premise did not bode well, Lothric realized as he turned back to face his father, and wondered what madness awaited them.