Author's notes and thoughts at the end.


A tall, broad figure stalked through dark corridors. The wooden floorboards, having seen much wear and tear during the passage of time creaked under the confident step of the intruder's tall leather boots, chainmail clinked alongside it. The wind howled outside, forcing the closed windows to shudder and creak open. There was no light, safe for a few cold rays of natural illumination and the fire in the figure's gauntlet which crackled. The stranger was heavily armored – full chest plate with a belt buckle running alongside diagonally from top to bottom, joining the belt that kept his chainmail enforced pants up and had shield and sword along with various tools and curiosities strapped to it. Underneath the plated armor was chainmail and teal-colored cloth which was adorned with a gold highlight and ran down from his back to his shins. Atop of the pauldrons was white fur which joined at the armored figure's nape. He wore no helm. Only a silver regal crown adorned his head, quietly humming.

In spite of the rampant ethereal stench of undeath, the man was the farthest one could be from a Hollow, in fact, at mere first glance one could mistake him for a pure human. After all, his features were untouched by the curse. He had a mop of unkempt gray hair, his flesh was smooth, clear and there was power subtly radiating behind those red eyes that had seen so much of the world – its horror, beauty, and slow decay. Those were the eyes of a true Monarch, one worthy to take the Throne of Want, yet when faced with it he walked away.

"The throne will certainly receive you, but the question remains. What do you want, truly? Light? Dark? Or something else entirely?"

He remembered those words, for they were etched into his mind. It gave him a pause, much like what else Aldia had said to him. Since the very beginning of his undeath and venture into Drangleic, everyone he met had either guided him along some path, attempted to deceive him, or gave him some tiny scrap of knowledge…some were poor souls like him, fated to end the way all undead did. After all of that, he had even forgotten why he came to that damned kingdom in the first place – to find a cure for the curse. Aldia had been different…he gave him a choice. With the power that the memory of Vendrick bestowed upon him, it was possible, he had nothing to fear of death – his mind would not fade, his body would not erode. The choice was obvious. For what felt like the first time, the Bearer of the Curse marched without error, forging forward a fate of his own without the fear of the consequence of leaving behind an empty throne.

The Bearer peaked into an empty hall, clutching a red ribbon that held a pendant close to his chest. Shanalotte…the fire keeper that had aided him so much never agreed with his decision, no matter how emotionless she may have appeared, he could see the disappointment through her stoic visage after the surprise of seeing him once more wore off. He wasn't all too surprised with this. She had her goals in mind, to atone for failing her imposed duties and die as he linked the Flame. Nonetheless, she kept her promise and remained by his side until the end, devotion and curiosity leading her.

"Are you the next Monarch? Or merely a pawn of fate?"

In the past, the question damned him into silence. If he had heard it now, he would only laugh and ask 'What's the difference?' Aldia's and Shanalotte's words had proven true. Another one had linked the Flame from its cinders instead of him. Fools, believing themselves to be chosen, came one after another to perpetuate the cycle. As flame rises such as it fades, is the way of things. He sought to break it, to succeed where Aldia failed and undo The First Sin that leashed Humanity to the First Flame. The task was more arduous than his previous, though there was a start. With his departure, along with him went many souls that were meant to be fuel for the flame, which had shortened the cycle. He had gone already through many Ages of Light wandering, searching for an answer, not without cost…

Sweet Shanalotte could not continue for as long he or her creator could despite her draconic heritage. He was the one to bury her, Aldia had joined the funeral at his request, and he'll likely be one of the few people that would remember her. Better her be dead than seeing her continue without hope. At least she died with a smile, leaving him with a kiss and the pendant in his right hand. She died while he clutched to his undeath no matter how bright the flame had become.

The Bearer of the Curse let out a bitter chuckle at the irony. Before, the Curse had been just that, a curse, something that would invoke fear and despair at the thought of him decaying into a husk without memories, however, now it had made him feel safe. For even if all of his strength failed him, he need not worry about death, it let him learn from his mistakes and grow just as it had done during his Throne-seeking.

After a couple of minutes of wandering through the empty halls and finding nothing of note, he was faced with a door. It was a feeble obstacle, unimpressive in comparison to what he had been faced with before, despite its decorations. The Bearer grasped the handle. Locked… of course it was locked. If he had a coin for every single locked door he was met with…he could smelt them all down and make a city even grander than that of the old Iron King's. No matter, it didn't stop him in the slightest.

He raised his foot and kicked the door. The entire building shuddered as the paltry barricade's lock broke and went flying off its hinges, taking part of the frame with it. The undead warrior walked into the room, stepping onto the remains of the door. Much like the rest of the building, it was empty, but it had just what he was looking for. Though an abandoned church, likely dedicated to whatever cult arose in this Age of Light, its archives remained all for him to plunder. Every single cycle, new kingdoms arose with great beings atop their thrones or simply in the spotlight, these differences were superfluous, nothing changed in comparison to what happened last time. Except once or twice, something new about the nature of this world was uncovered, something they hadn't figured out due to the circumstances. There lied a possible way to piece together an answer from whatever scraps he and Aldia could find.

Followers of the Dragons, or whatever the specific sect called themselves, believed the answer lies within the individual, that man must individually bring back the Age of Ancients and turn into a being that was never alive, to begin with - a Stone Dragon, to escape the cycle. Some followers had succeeded…yet turned more into Stone than Dragon, becoming lifeless, motionless statues. That wasn't a fate he and Aldia desired for humanity. Another group thought that the answer was the Abyss, like Vendrick they thought fire will eventually fade, unaware that cinders remain, waiting to be reignited, or that flame could be usurped. Yet that would only lead the cycle's focus changing from The Flame to an individual. And this particularly was much the same as all of the followers of the light, like the first Way of White. They thought that the cycle had to be accepted, that the Flame had to be fed a steady stream of souls to keep their glory days still shining. It was correct in a sense…a sacrifice of souls tended to delay the fading.

The Bearer of the Curse sighed, taking only what seemed useful and new intriguing insights he found and then turned to leave. He didn't waste his time going cautiously through the corridors and instead, simply rushed to the exit. Stepping out, he glanced at his surroundings – the church was on top of a green hill, surrounded by ruined walls and pillars, the steps were at least intact. The sun shone brightly into his eyes, despite the sky's splendor he could tell it was growing dimmer. He reached into the air, lightly swiping his hand in front of him, and looked back into his palm. The leather was stained with ash.

He only lingered at the sight for a moment. A scowl appeared and quickly faded into an apathetic frown that didn't quite match the determined spark within his crimson pupils. The Undead set off for the nearest Bonfire far into the plains below the abandoned church archives. Descending the hill, he broodingly mused on his findings as he stared directly at the location where the little flame was in. Inside of his soul, there was always a pull to those sacred places of kindling. Other undead, sane ones like him tended to huddle around it like moths to light, not without reason of course, they were only things left to offer his kind respite despite the circumstances.

Footsteps…heavy footsteps and the clinking of chainmail, the noise flanked his left side, where the rubble was more pronounced and densely packed. He didn't flinch at the sound, nor did he go looking for the origin, instead, his eyes remained on the road ahead, only giving a subtle glance. Whoever was this uninvited guest, they certainly weren't some assassin. No one could slink in the shadows for long while wearing something heavy. It wasn't like they were trying to hide their presence much. Still, there was an unshakable feeling that he was being observed, his intentions being gauged a long while ago. The Bearer wasn't being invaded, whenever that happened he could tell clearly from the very start who it was and what their intentions were, a gut reaction that all undead strangely seemed to possess upon careful observation.

His assailant appeared from the corner, proving the Monarch's assumption that this would be a confrontation. Only a single thought rang through his head, he should have just taken the scenic route and avoided those towns. Suspicion was written all over the local's faces as he passed by the …he could at least praise his pursuer's decision to wait around a Bonfire to find him. Speaking of…the Bonfire was just up ahead, a good sprint and he would be there to warp out of there before his supposed assailant could do so much as touch him, yet he stayed still, waiting.

For what reason – he wondered. Was this some bout of arrogance that finally manifested from him, after surviving the worst Drangleic and the other kingdoms could offer? Or perhaps it was simple curiosity as to who exactly had the grit to pursue him? The Bearer of the Curse couldn't answer exactly if one queried him on this, but he slowed his pace to a crawl and watched his pursuer's form come into the picture.

White, orange, steel, and brown came into view, and he sighed, his powerful gaze turning ever so slightly tired, if slightly amused by his adversary's choice of attire. The horned helmet that obscured the stranger knight's face drew in the most attention, those decorated antlers reaching forth to the sun. Anyone who wasn't accustomed to the rhythm of battle would find them a glorious sight, but it was merely another part that could be grabbed or caught on something. Were it not for the pronounced plates of steel, the armor would look to be more of clergyman's robe than anything worn in battle, at least by those whose sanity has not left them. The knight wielded a halberd, and the Bearer could not miss the chime tied to his left arm, its chains containing tiny beads.

"Halt, accursed undead! Plundering the sacred church's property? A vile act, I cannot forgive, is it not enough that your mere existence sickens the hearts of pure men. Hand them over and I'll ensure this end is painless. " His pursuer commanded, there was not an ounce of fear or hesitation in his voice as he eyed the scripts in the Undead Warrior's right hand and readied to strike at any given moment.

The Bearer of the Curse stared blankly, unflinchingly, he didn't respond. Maybe it was simply bias based on appearance, but his assumption was proven true even though he desperately hoped it wouldn't be. It was nothing new of course. Another one of those crazed zealots had challenged him, the so-called undead hunters that always appeared when the Flame started to breathe its first dying gasps, when the world still believed the curse was an infection that could be cut off. There was no reasoning with them, no reasoning with anyone in this world that attacked him on sight at all.

"Nothing to say for yourself?" A subtle spark of lighting emanating from the bell wasn't missed by the Bearer who confidently clutched the handle of his shield. Nothing more than a mere shared gaze was needed for them to know that this battle was unavoidable. "Fine then, I'll strip it off your corpse. I wouldn't have it any other way with your dark kin. Let none of your ill ilk corrupt our world any further."

From the moment the Church Knight uttered those words, both men sprang into action, although strangely enough, the undead man hadn't drawn out his weapon despite his opponent already pressing the assault. No, a longsword currently would do the Bearer no good, the distance needed to be closed. Luckily, their battlefield was a rather open space. The crowned Undead sidestepped the charging knight, carefully judging the movement. His opponent didn't relent, using the momentum to swing the ax-blade at the Bearer's new position. The Bearer did what he knew best, he rolled back underneath the swing. Despite the Undead's armor being utterly reinforced with titanite, down to the cloth, it seemed old habits and instinct guided him to avoid damage entirely, no matter how minuscule it may be.

The Bearer's brow raised, his ears picking up the faint whispering, not unlike the prayers that were uttered before a miracle was cast. The Church Knight quickly rested his halberd on his shoulder, left hand gripping the handle of the brass bell. He ended his prayer and rang his bell, a mass of lightning came to life, vaguely taking the form of a solid lightning bolt.

"Face the light, vile undead." The Knight said and let loose the electric javelin, which rocketed towards the undead in a flash of light, wholly intent on frying his nerves. One could say the undead was impressed – most of his adversary's movements had been utterly sluggish in comparison to what he had faced, although the steps taken to cast the miracle heading toward him were admirably fast.

The Undead raised his kite shield, the man's facial expression remaining unchanged. The shield was almost instantly enveloped in a deep blue light, as though a second, a glimmering see-through layer formed on top of it. Bell ringing resounded through the field. The Light miracle struck the shield. Its life fizzled out upon impact, leaving the man behind the barrier completely unharmed. Another one followed, aiming at his lower region, but it was lazily intercepted.

Wasting no time, the Bearer of the Curse rushed to his opponent at a breakneck pace, looking more as though he had vanished from his previous position rather than moving. The bell rang once more, the wind picked up, brushing past him and toward the Knight with concentrated strength. From a single glance of the miracle being cast, he could tell what the Knight's intention was – if simple power was not enough to break through his defense then breaking his gait would do, after all, a strong shield was useless if one was thrown to the ground. Regardless, his charge didn't halt. In fact, he had doubled down on this aggressive action. Almost arrogantly he kept his shield to the side, as if daring his enemy to hit him.

A large ball of pure force was generated in front of the Church Knight, twisting the air around it. With a fierce yell, it was sent forth, rippling out shockwaves and deforming the ground as it went. It approached the undead who took no heed to its intimidating unstoppable presence, any second and he would be knocked aside by its divine energy.

Much to the surprise of his assailant, he merely stepped aside from the encroaching ball of force, dug his boots into the ground, and let it pass by him. Its shockwaves hadn't even made him stumble or flinch. While there was a slight pause in the action, the Knight quickly recovered from his shock, gripped the shaft of the halberd, and assumed a cautious battle stance, retreating and thrusting with spear point to make the distance, futile as it had appeared...

It didn't deter the Bearer, mere moments passed and he was already closer than ever before to the Knight. The first stab was blocked by the Undead's enhanced shield. Three more came – two followed the fate of the first one, while the third missed the Undead's head wide, before being pushed further away. With an unsteady hand and tapping foot, the Church Knight put all of the speed he could muster, taking a step forward and thrusting forth. It was aimed at the unprotected side of the torso, mere inches away from properly connecting.

Just when it had looked like the Knight had finally made a clean hit, the Undead adjusted his body, turning away from the blow, the halberd's axe only managing to scratch a bit of the cloth and even then, it hadn't looked like it did any damage to the material. He tried to retreat, but he was too close.

The Bearer of the Curse gripped the shaft of polearm with his free hand, ripping it away from the Church Knight. He rammed his opponent's helm with his shield. Putting his entire shoulder into the strike, he knocked his armored assailant to the ground, the halberd falling far out of reach. Mere seconds later, the Church Knight found himself pinned against a stone pillar. With his miracle chime and last line of defense ripped away from him, the sound of the broken chain and bell falling played repeatedly in the Knight's head.

Although his vision was still a little woozy from the blunt trauma inflicted upon him, his enemy was still near enough for him to see clearly. Struggling to free himself, the Church Knight stared at the features of his opponent. He saw a strange world of contradictions, his face appeared young, yet ancient, the hair while gray still held life and color in them and the eyes were passive but powerful. The eyes, there was no hatred in the undead man's gaze, just wisdom beyond his age and… a touch of pity. Unlike him, the man wore a peculiar crown instead of a proper helmet suited for combat, nonetheless, there was this unshakable feeling that the crown did indeed belong to the Undead and no one else, the very passing thought of taking it for himself when he first saw it, felt wrong.

The Undead man broke the silence with a dusty, dry cough. From the moment he spoke, his voice being quiet as a whisper yet still sounding thunderous, the Church Knight understood that it wasn't an ordinary Undead that he had trifled with, but a being likely more ancient than the tales of Light, Dark and Dragons his family had spoken off.

"Pray tell, what exactly is your reasoning for killing me, those scraps of paper your faith has already forgotten the existence of?" The Bearer of the Curse inquired, letting out a harsh laugh that made The Knight's heart beat faster, a sense of dread coming over him. "I suspect something different…As you have noticed yourself, I am an undead. Killing us means very little other than hastening our descent into madness. It's pointless unless you're the one that takes pleasure from such acts…then you're really no better than the common Hollows your ilk claim to hunt."

"Your kind is nothing more than a twisted form of Humanity, a perversion of life that plunges all into the Abyss and steals hope." The Church Knight forced out, whether out of true courage or some form of bravado he wasn't sure off, but at the very least he was glad he hadn't been executed yet by his adversary. Any moment could spell his end and there was little he could do. "I have seen what you all turn into, empty husks thirsting after the souls of good men. For the good of my people I will not let it happen, I will not let this infection spread any further than it has."

"Ah, so that's how it is…" The undead warrior paused, laughing once more. "Do you truly show no mercy in your aims? What of your fellow countrymen, neighbors, family? If they are 'cursed' are their relations to you completely severed, are they now the enemy and nothing more?"

"If it's to safeguards others then yes, relations mean little if they are a threat to everything the light stands for." He replied, giving his temporary warden a sharp stare, his body relaxing for a moment under his grip.

"When everyone desires to see our end, when our very kind, the ones we have trusted so much turn against us, why do you think many of us go Hollow? It is not for no reason and certainly not by choice either, no matter how peaceful that existence might be." The Bearer said, although his tone was accusatory, there was little to no anger in it. "These souls need your compassion, not your animosity, for the trials that await them are much greater than what you have faced so far."

"I- But the spread! Men deserve a free clean death, not of a fate of eternal mindlessness! Your suffering means little if it means to keep Humanity's freedom from undeath."

"The spread…" The Bearer bitterly repeated. The very sound of the word coming out of his mouth made him sick. Once, when he first came to Drangleic he believed in such desperate lies, denying that Humanity's nature was Dark. Such a false hope hadn't aided him in the slightest. "Believe me or not, but the Darksign doesn't spread. It simply manifests as Light's grasp on the world grows weaker. It could be anyone that succumbs to it regardless of contact, tomorrow you might find a brother-in-arms branded, or a sister, father, perhaps, or even yourself one day. Even your blessed priests that isolate themselves in their cathedrals aren't safe. Have you noticed the world growing dimmer with each passing day, week, and month? "

He paused and took a deep breath, looking to the sun. A few minutes of silence followed as he recalled the few cycles he had spent observing. "This is not the last time I had laid witness to the death and rebirth of the Light. Fire may die out, taking along with it the many kingdoms that had formed, yet cinders remain, waiting to be linked. Fire may be fed, but how long will the kindling last until we're back to this moment? One Lord falls while another rises. So has it been, so will it be. "

The Knight could do nothing but stare at the undead whose proclamations had arisen some serious implications. One, confirming that his undead assailant was indeed ancient. Whether he was speaking the truth or not, that detail felt like an undeniable fact to him, down from his appearance to his speech, and even in combat, his enemy had treated him as nothing more than an amusement. Before he could say anything, he felt his back scrape against the pillar as he was suddenly dropped.

"Go and live, enjoy life as much as you can, for your beloved Light is receding. It will only get worse from here." The Bearer of the Curse advised and the Church Knight gave a long stare, before slowly nodding and moving his shaking form away from his adversary

The Monarch watched the armored man leave with reserved and awkward parting words. He was left alone, staring at the path the Knight took for what felt like hours before his gaze shifted to the papers he had stuffed underneath his chest plate. before the battle and then to the crackling Bonfire. Its flame erupted into a large pillar of fire, lightly scorching the grass nearby as a shockwave of heat moved through the plains. From it rose a flaming, thorny form with many branches wrapped around it, which had dug into the ground. The thing vaguely appeared to be a giant human head. A single bright red eye stared at the Bearer of the Curse, who greeted the sudden guest with a nod and a soft albeit fleeting smile.

"Mercy – a commodity of peace and a luxury of these times. Many Monarchs have had their enemies routed and destroyed without mercy. Tell me, you, who have conquered death and countless adversaries, what has led you to make such a choice, so different from the ones that came before you, different from your previous battles? "

"You need only see where their lack of mercy got those Monarchs. Vendrick fought a pointless war with the Giants and the Old Iron King scarred his lands and people deeply in his pursuits, so much so that his most trusted advisor left him, the damage remains to this day." The Undead Warrior answered, gazing back to the path his spared adversary fled on, he frowned and sighed. "Blasted, poor fools, all of them, clinging to a lie implanted by the Lords so desperately, they shed blood without thinking. It matters not to them whether it is their own or the souls of others they sacrifice all in the name of 'devotion'. That man is yet another victim as the Hollows he slays. I do not wish to perpetuate this violence, one cycle is bloody enough to handle."

"Their world offers them the splendid grandeur of life and the comfort of peace. It is of no surprise many Men flock to their faith. Afraid of the unknown that could possibly await them, they cling to their comfortable bindings to the Flame so tightly that one could mistake them for the Lords themselves…were it not for Dark Souls that shakes and shudders within them. "

The singular budging eye narrowed as the form expelled more fire out of it like a geyser, as though it was the creature's breathing. The Bearer of the Curse clasped the shield to his belt, a pyromancer's flame igniting in his free hand.

"Till the curse touches their flesh, they will decry us as abominations, an insult to the Lord of Light's legacy. Dear friend, many more would pursue us with the knowledge they will possess. An absence of mercy has its own advantages."

"It matters little…" The Bearer brought the flame close to the papers, which combusted immediately, their burning remains scattering to wind as they turned to ash. He turned and approached Aldia. "They won't find us, no matter how much they look, even at the very ends of the world."

The plains were filled with an echoing, coarse laughter and fire began to intensify, covering more and more of the area.

"Ahhh…can resist the beckoning of the unknown no longer? Young Hollow, why have you come to this choice only now? Is it uncertainty? Fear? Many trials and curiosity shall await us, certainly, but little can be more inhospitable than a world bound for decay by Lordships of yore. Perhaps I will be proven wrong…Know this, you have my aid.

"Why? I can't really say for myself…" He took several forward steps into the flames ahead, each one made with more self-assurance and confidence. Fire hugged his legs but did not burn him regardless of how intense the heat and brightness were. "It almost feels like giving up on this world, breaking this cycle…almost. It's time, there is nothing left."


Nightfall arrived quickly upon the isolated open stone grounds, whose roads were laid with simple bricks. These grounds were loosely surrounded by walls, closing in on them. Strangely, the architectural design was both new and old, some of the walls even possessing blatant unpatched holes or piles of rubble as some sort of form of barricades. Much of its material was broken, ruined, yet remained alongside the newly built additions. It was as much a home to them as any other place that offered what little peace and comfort there could be. The Bearer of the Curse stood in the middle, darkness surrounded him and his only sources of life were Aldia himself and a lone Bonfire in front of him. Behind the lonely flame were pillars made of black metal. Between them was a flight of stairs leading down to a massive offering bowl, surrounded by the very same pillars.

The Undead Warrior gripped a bladed tool, which sported a peculiar appearance far removed from any practical weapon. It was made of the same metal as the pillars. The edges of the very blade along with its central ridge appeared to be golden. There were three small holes in the fuller and the guard was completely ceremonial – a full circle connecting one hilt to another handle. He lowered the tool into a pedestal, the blade sinking deep into the hole down slightly above to the ricasso where the holes locked in place.

In a mere instant, the Bonfire turned a pale gold, the fire burning higher and higher. Its flame was funneled like molten metal, straight toward the pedestal that housed the ceremonial weapon and reaching up the Undead's arms. A fierce glow erupted out of the sword's runic engravings, gold flame covering the stone, metal, and the Undead's arms. The world twisted around them, those very pillars, walls, and floor distorting. If the world could not be corrected, then they would simply use its broken nature to their advantage.

An outer circle of soapstone markings around the Bonfire and pedestal began to glow, mimicking the fire's color. Two other inner circles followed suit, the last one's circumference being a mere inch from touching the Undead's boots.

Suddenly, the markings' light vanished and the Bonfire turned normal, the locks keeping the blade inside the pedestal opened. The Bearer of the Curse drew it out slowly, carefully. The sword was enveloped with brilliant incandescence, its cold metal covered in the same symbols that were drawn on the ground, the holes resembled a dark, hollowed-out sun, the very same one that has branded his body. He stepped past the pedestal and placed the edge of his blade to the stone below.

Aldia watched intently as the Undead Warrior dragged it, sparks flew, and a trial of fire formed behind the ritual weapon as his boots found steady footing and warmth in the ashes of the Bonfire. He lifted the blade to his face, staring at it with a determined expression, and then wildly swung it past the two pillars. A stream of gold flame erupted from the tip and crashed against the center of the gigantic offering bowl, glowing marks formed on the pillars. The fire spread and moved to the rim of the bowl and the inside ceased to have a bottom, empty space was occupied by a swirling pitch-black void that was impossible to see through.

The Bearer of the Curse and Aldia moved to the edge. Neither had needed to speak any words to know what came next, the true unknown was behind the blackness that stared back at them, waiting…The Undead Warrior let out a tense breath that he was holding in anticipation, a strange sense of ease came over him as his shoulders dropped. He checked his belts, the myriad of items he was carrying, the backpack, and the bottomless box with all of his belongings. Lastly, as he sheathed the now silent tool into a scabbard, he remembered the words that followed him outside the throne room.

There is no path. Beyond the scope of Light, beyond the reach of Dark…what could possibly await us? And yet, we seek it, insatiably…Such is our fate.

His right hand clenched into a fist, this was for his kind. If they held fear in their hearts then he would brave the unknown for them and find a place that could truly be called home.


A short 8 and a half pages prologue of sorts, in fact right now it could simply be described as a pure Dark Souls story and nothing would change, but I felt that a certain start was necessary rather than just randomly slamming down the main character into the world. Admittedly it has a bit too much exposition for my taste, but that's the sort of stuff that happens with time skips. The past that had transpired in the plot will be handled differently going on from here, it won't just be narration. Speaking of the narration, they're not entirely my own thoughts on certain subjects

-Why the crossover with MGQ? Felt like it.

-Tagging. You may notice that I only tagged two characters and no one else, this is only done as to not give the slightest of hints of what occurs and what character the Bearer of the Curse and Aldia meet.

-About the Emerald Herald. Any fan of Dark Souls 2 may feel as though I have given the character the short end of the stick so abruptly but be rest assured there is more to this than what was given in this prologue of sorts.

-About Aldia. The main appeal and mystique of Dark Souls characters come from the vagueness and lack of interactions with them dialogue-wise, the atmosphere carries the story. It is for that reason the few lines that they do say are memorable, quite literally attached to the image of the character. I'm sure anyone who knows Aldia knows the famous line "A lie will remain a lie!" in fact, the very title comes from the pieces of dialogue he has...Part of me feels rather inadequate for even trying to write dialogue for Aldia, I don't want it to be too much and too simple, that's just not like the character, but I'm faced with the issue that I have to write something because of the very nature of a character in a written story. Perhaps it might be better to relegate him slightly to the side or whatever else I could come up with.

For those who haven't even heard of Aldia, I recommend at least listening to his dialogue.

-About the protagonist. Ah, the Dark Souls 2 protagonist, a protagonist who is as much of a black sheep compared to the other two as the game they star in. The Bearer of the Curse distinguishes themselves because they're not someone special. Unlike the Chosen Undead, they're not subject to a false prophecy, and unlike the Unkindled One, they're not some last-ditch attempt at keeping a dying flame alive. They're simply an ordinary undead, who at the start of the game was on the brink of completely Hollowing, and despite that, they show that they have the grit and determination to reach the Throne of Want, become immune to the effects of Hollowing.

Because of this, I feel as though the alternative ending to Dark Souls 2 is thematically more appropriate for the character, for the Bearer doesn't have a fate imposed upon them, more so after reuniting the crowns. The ending doesn't have the delusion of the "Dark Lord" ending from the first installment, neither is the character being manipulated into making the choice like the "Usurpation of Fire" ending. Its statement is simple "I decide my own fate", that's why Aldia says "There is no path.", the character must forge their own. That, along with the theme of venturing into the unknown, is the reason why idea-wise the Bearer of the Curse is the best choice to be isekai'd.