Sirius is the brightest star one can put their eyes upon on the night sky. It had been her grandfather the one who had proposed that name to her family. In a far away land, where peregrines travel to and from, the once blue sky had turned ash grey, covering like the walls of a castle the sun the people so desperately craved. Soon enough, the everlasting cycle began anew. She had heard it in her sleep. The tolling of the bell… The sound of ash in the wind…
The fire fades… And the lords go without thrones…
When she was but a girl, her grandad had told her stories of old. She loved the one about a knight clad in armour seeking his own sun, amidst the chaos and darkness of the so called first cycle of fire. She was uncertain of the knight's end, but such resolve and righteousness had left a lasting impression on her. As far as she knew, she had no purpose in life, she solely wandered aimlessly around her lands, covered in snow and fountains of pure clear water, with castles and towers that stood tall against the everlasting twilight. All was well. Despite having no motives, as any other person would, she eventually became a knight of Divinity. She fought following her code; never going away from chivalry and righteousness. Certainly, all was well. Until she, like she had learnt in the archives, as well as the Sunlight Knight, lost her sun. As a faithful blade of Divinity, she loathed those who dared attack the innocent, invading and killing those who already had enough problems on their own. Those invaders, despicable creatures of crimson rage were the scum of the world, not following any code nor morality. Crazed by their infatuation with embers, tongues and shackles, they never stopped devouring, always using their red eyes to find the next prey in an everlasting appetite for souls.
She had remained honourable, along with her family until, with the tolling of the bell, they all left. Like ashes to the wind, her household suddenly became silent, her steps being the only thing resonating in the tiles and woods of the floor. And finally, her sun was lost to darkness and madness. Her grandad, a Holy Knight of the Church, old Hodrick, lost his sanity in his affinity for fire and shackles of the innocent. He also eventually left but made mounds with the remains of his victims along the way. She had lost everything she stood for. Her land, now toppled together with the Sunless Realms, in a never-ending night, became old and obsolete. She found herself alone in a world of lunatics and monsters desperate to find something to cling to. Like her grandad before them. She reviled them. That so-called Unkindled Ash… Truly, a plague of the world.
If only I could be so grossly incandescent...
The thought of many revolved around fire now that is was going away. But she could not care less. All flames had to fade eventually. Going against that was going against the sole principles of existence. But she did not care either if the fire stayed aflame. The worries of the lords where not hers. Yet what good was a fire if it had nothing to burn or keep warm? It did not matter. She only dreamt of things going back to the old ways. Of having her family sit next to her. Of having her grandfather tell her the stories she loved again, in the house they had in the Sunless Realms, while not being sunless themselves. After some time had passed, word of her grandad came to her. His whereabouts where still unknown, but they all pointed in the direction of a kingdom: Lothric.
Where the transitory lands of the Lords of Cinder converge…
A place of pilgrims and fire linking, where drakes and dragons where tamed and the curse of the undead rested in the darksign in the sky, guardian and foreboding. That was all she knew about that place, but she needed not anymore. The moundmakers did not respect any law or land, as did any filthy invader, so she searched restlessly around the kingdom, finding nothing but piles of ash and lands converging through time and space. In a place similar to her home, also sunless, she learnt about the Darkmoon and its knights. Before, a last god lived in the city above, but had been long gone, and the place had been taken over by a tyrant who came from another frigid lost world, not any different than that one. Only echoes remained of that godly family, whispered in the cold winds of the city. Some whispers, however, carried a name of a last goddess and her company of knights. Not silver nor black, these knights defended the weak and innocent of the Way of Blue and such. She believed to see in them the spirit of purity and justice that had been long gone in her homeland. No watchdogs, invaders or faithfuls could go unpunished when spreading their misdeeds upon everyone on the lands, such was the way to justice. In her eyes, there was no difference between the crimson and violet spirits and the hollows that dwelt in the depths of the world. Maybe after her journey was over, she could find a sun again and defend those in need. But at the moment, she had to rest.
I may be but small, but I will die a colossus.
The shrine was a special place. A place that, though unknown and new to her, she felt she could call home. An unwavering emotion struck her upon entering the ruined grey tower. Flames flickered whenever she passed by them, and shadows would appear and disappear forming images that always lasted on her eyes… Circular towers that loomed large, bridges upon muddy waters, a large foul tree, a pit of bones and ashes and finally, a flower. All that she saw in shadow, time and time again, each time being pulled into those fantasies and mysteries more and more. Feeling she was losing herself to the visions she watched and not the truth she was seeking, she one day was awakened of her trance by a ghost. A phantom, with no name, voice or purpose. Or so she thought until she saw their bond with the firekeeper and the bonfire.
Ashen one, hearest thou my voice still?
Unkindled Ash, awakened by the bell that tolled when world's end was near. The kind of Ash she hated, the Ash that had turned her grandad mad in his lust for power and that had driven the world to the deplorable state it was in. At first, she ignored them. Until one day, when watching the shadows, she sensed a familiar presence.
Umbral ash of one who dreamt of joining the Undead Legion.
In unwary times, only fools chased their dreams. Illusions are the cause of conflict and thus, death. Yet, there she was, chasing a twisted dream of finding her grandad and taking pity on his madness. Did she have dreams? Or was it more the thought of them what kept her wandering the ash-covered kingdom? From that day, she carefully watched the shrine handmaid whenever she happened to be resting at the shrine of fire between her journeys. Was her sun, her sole purpose, an invention? Were dreams really a sick joke of mankind and the gods to fool people into chasing something that was never there? The handmaid seemed to have the answer. She had long given up on her dreams, bounding herself to the shrine and both the fire and dark that had come before her, depending solely on her appetite for souls and ashes of bygone eras. She often found herself thinking about that woman. Could she be…? And if that was right, were those ashes she spoke ill of the ones who belonged to…? She dared not think of such trivial matters. She had found in the ghost of the shrine, the Ashen One, a fountain of knowledge and power that could indeed help her find her sun, if that still was what she really wanted.
Hello again.
I have since heard a great deal about you.
For one, that you are most gentle of heart.
I, too, am bound by duty, but can offer you my sign.
I hear that cordial intrusion lays the path to embers.
If I can be of help, by all means, do call upon me.
Blessing of the moon upon your journey.
The moon had helped her traverse those wretched lands, and she now wished the same blessing onto the Ashen One. The handmaid had spoken great wonders of them, and coming from someone without dreams, that was most genuine. That nameless warrior, voiceless and probably mindless, with no will other than to serve the embers and find the great ashes of the lords, embedded in a quest no other knew, had proved himself to her. They had called her to their world when fighting those putrid lords, those who sought the abyss everywhere and slashed at each other in a never-ending slaughter, putting and end to their pitiful existence and slaying the deacons that dwelt in the deepest part of the grand cathedral of darkness, honouring a most dishonourable man, as told by two wandering knights. It was there, in the cathedral, where she had found foulness made goddess, Rosaria, mother of her fingers. She had found out that those who joined her sought nothing but to kill and plunder in their attempts to satisfy their goddess and themselves, seeking tongue, ember and death to those unfortunate enough to be kindled. She learnt her names, most despicable individuals who betrayed everything she knew of Divinity and knighthood. She wanted nothing more than to bring justice to them, but she knew better, for her quest was first of them all; to find her grandad and put him out of his misery. Having this in mind, gratitude came to her in the form of an Unkindled when the Ashen One came in her aid when she had found herself cornered by one of those fingers, those putrid and vile spectres of dark, a man who bore the name Creighton, the Wanderer and who came from a land near her home, who murdered for his own amusement, seeking pale tongues. Still, with the help of the Ashen One, they managed to banish the dark spirit, freeing her of a pitiful and miserable demise. To die as many times as one wanted… Truly, a disgraceful way to live, were one not lost in a quest for fire…
Thank you for your kind assistance.
Blessing of the moon upon your journey.
She repaid them for their efforts, as chivalry requested, granting upon them what little she kept of her home, a silver ring and a most holy sword who used to belong to her parents. She thought little of those objects, as giving them away as gifts showed. Her homeland was gone, merged in the everchanging world marked by the lands of the burnt lords. Her homeland could very well be those she met along the way, though she often found herself alone. Her only desire was to find him, her grandad… And to kill him.
Time had flown by, convoluted, as always, and soon she had found herself in the very place she was always seeking, but at the same time, afraid to find. Another lord was slayed, a god corrupted by an ever-hungry, pestilent and impure wave of sludge, who dared feast upon the souls of the divine in a quest of gluttony and power. She saw in that dark sea her grandad, consumed by an insatiable lust for power, driven insane by his own avarice. A once godly and holy figure deformed into little more than an empty husk of a man, if he had ever been something else. She found herself trapped by the visions of shadow, staring at a corrupted tree, embowed by curses of warriors gone whose figure loomed large over the hollows wandering through the filthy lands of Lothric. Drawn by this image, almost in a trance, she travelled to the settlement, and eventually, she fell onto a pit of hollows, stacked to the brim with ashes and bones of those who were prey to the moundmakers.
He was there. Sunset imbued in him her fears were realized. Although she had always known, even upon cloud, the sun always shines. Unless, of course, it is setting. In those moments, darkness falls upon the world, be it willing or not. Even with fear and regret in her heart, she fought. She called the Ashen One to her aid, and surely enough, they came, more powerful than ever, restless in their quest of embers, they slain the only family she had left, or at least, which she was sure of. The battle was tough. It was heart wrenching. It broke her soul. Even if she had fulfilled her promise, finding him and killing him were he to go mad, she felt wrong. She wanted to, like many before her, be consumed by a fire, never to return. But that was not her mission. That was not the path she wanted to follow. She still had to be a Darkmoon Blade. Find her own sun, lest it set. She had to live, for those dear to her who could not any longer. For those piles of ash she called home. For them, indeed.
Forgive me, grandad...
She was back at the ruined tower. She did not feel empty. She had answered to her vow. She had done what any knight would have. Honouring the Divinity she once served and saving innocent people from a demise none wanted. She buried him with her own hands, at the ash-covered cemetery, overlooking the mountains and snowy peaks, which shined when the occasional sunlight ray illuminated them. His grave served as a reminder, an omen of sorts. The curse of the undying, the hollowing of the dark soul of man. Even if it was not dangerous in itself, those who stood by the light, must not answer to it. The darkness plagues the world, but overtime she realized the fear of the dark was merely a legend. Like the knight in a quest for his own sun, it was a tale. And tales are not always true. She did not accept the dark. She did not care, even after completing her quest of honour on her grandad. She decided to follow he Ashen One, no matter what destiny they chose for the world. Be it dark, light or something else, she would stand by them until death did her part. After all, what good was a knight with no master?
Oh, I am most grateful.
I, Sirris, do hereby serve as your faithful knight.
Wherever, whenever, I am needed, and even if all should turn against you...
My loyalty shall never waver.
Blessing of the moon upon your journey
She helped them as their knight for one only time, against lords who like her, merely wanted to stay apart from the trivial matters of the world and remain untouched by the curse of the dark or the crazed fanatism of the light. Together, they slayed the escaping lords, and soon, her world came to an end. When the lands collided with each other, pointing at flameless kiln, towers overlapping each other and bringing ash upon all places, she found relieved. Do not worry about the lords, the Darkmoon and their blades, or even the fingers of the mother hand. It was all for nothing. Like within the shadows of Firleink Shrine, she had seen the shade to come, like the firekeeper, no longer blind to horror and beauty. She stood upon her grandad's grave, marvelling at the views. Tears streamed down her face, falling flat onto the ground. She looked to the horizon and saw the grey clouds par away to reveal both the sun and moon guarding her and filling her with hope. And further beyond, she saw the events to come: the fall of the lords ad souls, the coming of the dark and even further, flames and embers flickering anew through the shadow, giving way to the sun after its lengthy wait.
Finally, Sirris, of the Sunless Realms, had found it. Her own sun.
I finally found you
Just as I promised
Good night, grandad...