Kriemhild stared at the extinguished flame with a dull ache in her heart. She had rejected her duty, refused to be mutilated and be sacrificed to create an embodiment of the flame, and she wondered if that fearful, selfish decision had led her to doom them all.

Gundyr, mighty and sweet Gundyr had arrived too late; his embers fading, leaving naught but a still statue that contained a mockery of his soul. He had supported her choice then – her choice, not one made for her by her order, nor by the flame – and had promised that he'll find another way, and set out for his greatest, and final journey.

She could not bear to lay her eyes upon his corpse.

She made her way here, to this shrine of an extinguished age. For what reason? She could not say. Maybe she had just wanted to mourn, like she already had countless times before, or maybe she had just wanted to feel something – even if that was naught but the acknowledgement of the emptiness within her chest.

No tears left to cry, for this firekeeper with untouched eyes…

She could feel the Handmaid's eyes burning the back of her skull, a glare conveying spite and blame, bidding her unwelcome to be here. Kriemhild did not care for the thoughts of the decrepit relic, yet she still turned around to leave; her vigil must continue, for however short this eternity will last until her soul fades as well.

Then a spark touched long-cold ash.

Kriemhild froze, shock – a sensation she had not felt for a long time – rendering her immobile as warmth, no matter how fleeting, once more reintroduced itself to the world: One that should've been condemned to darkness until it eventually faded, and allowed for a dead god's cycle to start anew.

When she had regained herself, she slowly turned around to face the extinguished bonfire, only to find embers at its base. Red, glowing, as though freshly stoked by the souls of her former sisters.

"Impossible…" She breathed in one instant, then found herself kneeling by the fire in the next.

Burned hands hovered over the embers, feeling not just the heat but the writhing souls that served to fuel it. She had to find out how this had happened, find who or what had rekindled a flame that she, a former firekeeper, had thought dead.

What she found confused her.

Souls of beings, some as bright as the sun, dark as the abyss, light as air, keen as a marksman, frightful as a catacomb, blightful like a plague and as mighty as her champion mingled within the embers, stoking it with their being. She recognized none of these souls, nor could divine their source. Eyes narrowing, she pushed further; her hands touching the embers themselves, conveying a bewildered query from within her soul:

How?

The embers erupted into a powerful flame, searing her burned hands. She screamed, agony consuming her being as she scrambled away from the reignited bonfire, her teeth grinding in pain as she cradled her burned hands within her bosom. Tears of pain came after, but even with watery eyes she could not miss it when the flame of the bonfire grew brighter than she'd ever seen in her life and, out of the flame, stepped out a figure clad in armor that seemed to have been made out of the sun itself.

Her heart froze, mind wandering towards the tale her sisters in-ordine had told, of visions of a mighty amalgamation of souls, a true embodiment of the flame and not of a keeper that they'd been meant to recreate. Was that what this is? The Soul of Cinder, come to pass judgment upon a treasonous firekeeper just before this age fades? Her body trembled, though it was not out of fear but of cautious relief: She had sinned, she knew this, and her punishment had been an eternal vigil over the shrine overlooking a graveyard of an extinguished age. But perhaps that eternal vigil could not last if a new age was to come to pass? Was the flame's embodiment here, then, to finally put her sentence to an end?

Shakily, she rose to her feet, and she fought the urge to freeze when the being's gaze turned itself towards her. Breathing in, she pushed on; one step forwards and then another, her footprints displacing warmed ash as she drew near until the being's presence was so overwhelming that she couldn't do so anymore. Falling to her knees, Kriemhild couldn't hold it any longer and wept as she lowered her head and gazed upon the ashes beneath her.

"Has my time finally come? My sentence served, and I granted the respite of death? O' being of the flame, this sinful keeper mourns what this world has come to…" She hesitated, taking a moment's introspection over the eternity she had been condemned to this vigil. True, there had been times she wondered if she could've chosen things differently, swallowed her selfishness and prolonged the age of a dead god, but she always came to the same conclusion – no, she would not have. Not then, and not now.

"...but will not take back the choices she has made." She said and then let out a shaky breath, barely choking back a sob. There was no point in lying to the flame, not when its very embodiment could peer into her soul and unravel the truth. "W-with these truths laid bare, she… submits herself to your judgment."

There was naught but the sound of falling tears and that of the crackling fire. Kriemhild dared not breathe, some irrational part of her mind worried that doing so would mean that the being before her would condemn her to a fate even worse than what she has now. Whatever that may be.

Free me from this purgatory of ash. Her soul begged.

A gauntlet wreathed in fire appeared before her, and Kriemhild gasped when it cupped her cheek. She expected pain and yet It felt… warm, calming; like how the fire she tended had been just… just without an undercurrent of hunger? Of weakness? She felt the gauntlet trace down to her chin and allowed it to guide her gaze upwards, to have her stare upon the brilliant helm of this being of Sunlight…

…of Sunlight, not of flame. The Epiphany hit her and her eyes winded, just who – or what – was standing before her? What manner of being can not only mimic the flame, but ignite it as well? She thought she should get away, her mind wandering to the heresies created by ancient Izalith, of its demons and its hubris; but the warmth she felt, the radiance of worry she now felt from the being halted her motions. Just… why would such a powerful being care for a traitorous Firekeeper?

And why did it strike a string of familiarity?

"Kriemhild?" A voice rumbled. Rough, yet with an undertone of care that touched her soul. Her heart skipped a beat.

That voice… it can't be.

The being before her knelt, a hand reaching up to its helm. Kriemhild's heart thundered as the being started to pull it off to reveal a weathered face, framed by dark frazzled hair and a beard that was out of place. The face looked different from how she remembered it, but she did not once think of it as anyone else's.

"Gundyr?" She breathed in disbelief.

She found herself consumed by warmth in response, and belatedly realized that her champion had embraced when she felt a tear land atop her head. Flames from his armor engulfed her, yet it did not bring pain. Merely warmth – one she knew Gundyr wished to extend. She wept once more, wept like she had when she realized her champion had been too late and laid her eyes on his corpse, wept like she had when a never ending night took a hold and she had cried until there were no more tears to cry, wept like how she'd tried to when she had mourned until the darkness left her with naught but a numb feeling within her chest.

Gundyr – and by the flame did it feel surreal to think of her champion in the present instead of the past – was no better. His larger frame rumbled as he wept with her, dousing her hair with tears as he stroked its length in that familiar way she had loved. He held her tightly, and Kriemhild reciprocated despite her burnt hands stinging in pain.

Eventually, yet with no small amount of reluctance, she and her champion parted from their embrace. She leaned into Gundyr's hand as he wiped a tear from her face while his other hand gently picked up and examined her own, a frown coming over his features when he took note of the recent burns. "...Did I do this?" He whispered in a pained, guilty voice that twisted Kriemhild's heart.

'Am I hallucinating? Are these naught but the fever dreams of a fading soul?' She wondered, yet that thought was crushed when she gasped at the jolt of pain brought about when Gundyr lightly brushed her hand with his thumb.

"Kriemhild! Oh, forgive me, I-"

"Blame yourself not, sweet Gundyr, these wounds shall heal" She smiled at him, her wet eyes threatening to erupt once more as it could scarcely believe once more seeing the caring visage of her champion. That pain may have been the greatest sensation she had felt in her life, for it confirmed that all this – and Gundyr – to be real.

And yet…

"How?" She asked, staring him in the eyes as he retrieved a red bottle, laced with rings of gold, and poured the cool liquid within onto her hands. It was soothing.

Her question had only been a single word, but her champion understood its weight, "Tis' a very long tale." He said as he finished treating her burns through strange means, bandaged it, and then smiled a radiant smile, "But I hope, now that I've returned, that I'll be able to regale you with the entire story, my sweet Kriemhild."

Kriemhild blushed. It had been a very long time since he'd called her that, and the last time had been a tearful goodbye. Yet here and now, with his smile shining on her and her hands in his, she decided that she wanted to enjoy this moment to the fullest and shot forwards to ravenously catch his lips with hers.

If this was all a lie conjured by a dying soul, then it was a very good one – and one she aimed to fully savor.

She leaned back after a while, with a very real string of wetness connecting her lips to that of her champion. "Start then," She breathed as she wiped her lips with a blush, "From the very beginning. Tell me how you came back to me…"

A/N: Oh yeah, Gundyr gets sent to Terraria after kicking the asses of the Lords of his age, then kicks the asses of the bosses there and now he's back to destroy a more literal piece of ass if ya catch my drift.

Anyways, this actually took an unexpectedly romantic turn when I was writing it, and I haven't written anything romantic in literal years – with the last one being in middle school which my classmates told me was too damn corny lmao. So, how did this one come out?

Currently a one-shot. Has a potential to be a full story but I am not confident in being able to pull it off.