The cloaked figure beckoned, and the Undead with no name followed.

The two walked in silence, the tap-tap-tap of boots on stone their only companion. Ah, the Undead thought, this person's footsteps… are quite loud.

The Undead nodded to themselves in satisfaction, like this was a grand discovery. To them, it was. Hearing the cloaked figure's approach would be easy, after all.

They walked past guard after guard, littered across the gaol's floor in a variety of positions - all of them still glowing bright from the heat, with weapons melted and warped beyond recognition. Ah, the Undead thought, those weapons… are broken.

The Undead nodded to themselves in satisfaction once more. Even if the trick was revealed now and these guards stood back up, there would be no poking or slashing or stabbing.

They walked past a row of experimentation chambers, open for all to see inside - or, not open. The heavy iron doors that the Undead was so used to seeing were simply gone entirely. The operating tables were on fire - the walls, on the other hand, were… collapsing, oozing down.

Ah, the Undead thought, this looks useless now.

There were a great many more things the Undead wanted to think about this, but they were unused to complex thoughts. This is where-Ah so it's-But what if-Those mages can-Those who-

Relief. If the Undead could not settle on a thought, they could at least settle on feeling that.

The cloaked figure crossed the final corridor out into the gaol's courtyard, and the Undead followed.

There, in its center, laid the gaol's Guardian, and the Undead felt wary.

The Guardian was a gargantuan monstrosity of metal and stone, as tall as the gaol's walls and animated by a core of magic. It had a face that vaguely resembled a bird's beak, curving out of a hole in its intricately carved, armoured torso. Its six arms had been lanky and thin, operating on strange spherical joints, yet capable of the monstrous power the Guardian used to swing around its equally massive warhammers. The Guardian had supposedly thwarted many escape attempts, though the nameless Undead had only caught a single glimpse of it before, when-

Ah, the Undead thought, that doesn't really matter now.

The Guardian had a face. Its arms had been lanky and thin. The Guardian had thwarted many an escape attempt.

It was a barely recognisable pile of half-molten metal, now. Several of its once-powerful limbs were strewn about and around - some had been melted off, others looked like they'd been torn apart by some great force. The Guardian itself was surrounded by flames, and appeared to be sinking into the floor.

By the time the Undead had finished taking the sight in, the cloaked figure had strode on towards the gaol's gates, and even turned around to see if the Undead was still following.

The cloaked figure beckoned, and then placed a hand upon the gates.

The massive iron doors that had kept the gaol sealed and its inhabitants imprisoned for over a century turned into smoke, and floated away on the evening wind.

And as the Undead hurriedly followed, they looked at the crimson sky and the setting sun and thought, Ah.

This is what freedom looks like.

—

The Undead sat on a half-burnt log, the crackling of fire as one companion, and the old lady sitting opposite of them as the other. They stared at the flames, taking in their swaying dance, and oddly rhythmic pulsing.

It was fascinating to watch. One, two, pulse. Light flared, and a soothing heat washed over them. Soothing and flames were two things the Undead had never expected to associate, but there was a first time for everything. There was something almost hypnotic about the way this fire moved.

What if I touched it?

The flame was different. Maybe it was safer, too.

With a shake of their head, they forcibly moved their attention away from the flame. That thought had felt dangerous. Still… the Undead absentmindedly rubbed their legs, prodding the dry, pink skin with a vague sense of curiosity. They felt deader than usual, but not as dead as when the two of them had first sat down here.

The pair had walked for a very long time, and the Undead, unused to travel, had stepped on just about every sharp rock, twig or patch of gravel along the mountainous road. They'd walked until the gaol had disappeared entirely, hidden away in its little basin, and then they walked some more, until the sun had given up and left them behind too.

Now the sky was dark, save for the little pinpricks of light scattered across it. That was different, too. The Undead was used to darkness, but it was a more smothering kind. The sky turned black, and it felt natural.

"So." The old lady finally spoke up. She had pulled the hood of her cloak down, so the Undead could at last see who it was that had created this little opportunity for them.

A short, wrinkled old lady met their gaze with her dark green eyes, set into a mild, but stern, glare. Her hair was a faint silvery colour, with streaks of brown still poking through here and there. The lady's nose had a slight hook shape to it, though the Undead only noticed that because their attention was piqued by the small brown spot at its end. A wart, their mind supplied. The Undead did not know what that was, but it sounded dangerous. Better not look at it for too long.

Also on the list of things that the Undead wouldn't have noticed if they weren't already staring - when the lady went to speak again, they realized a few of her teeth were missing. Ah, the Undead thought, how does that happen?

They felt around their own mouth with a quick sweep of their tongue and realized, to their horror, that a few teeth were missing there too.

"I know I said ye were lookin' a little more stable than a few o' the rest, but ye haven't said much at all, what? Reckon ye haven't spoken once, and that was no short walk, aye?" The old lady said. Her voice continued to remind the Undead of the crunch of gravel underfoot.

By way of a reply, the Undead shrugged. They had actually tried to speak once along the journey, but no sound had come out of their throat. Whether they simply weren't doing it right, or if a voice was another thing that would need to be retrieved… well, thinking about that was for later.

"Oi, don't be so rude, brat. Ye think it was easy, breakin' in there t' see if one o' you'se was intact?" The old lady responded irritatedly.

The Undead nodded, and that seemed to stop her short. It sure looked easy enough, if you could turn steel into a puff of smoke with your bare hands.

"Er, well… Guess 'twas easier than I was expecting, heh. Shouldn't be complainin' 'bout manners when I haven't even introduced myself. 'm Evangeline, of Jugo." The old lady's tone seemed a little more energetic, and she leaned over the flames to reach out with a hand.

The Undead looked from the hand, then to her, then back to the hand. Was she waiting for them to let her pull them into the fire, or…?

Ah, the Undead thought, is this where the trick was revealed?

The Undead thought they had heard about this, once or twice, back when there were still other Undead in the Gaol to hear things from. An Undead that seemed particularly resilient would be put through a faked escape, and then brought back at the last second. This seemed unusually involved for something like that, but then, it wasn't like the Undead had ever actually seen one themselves.

"Yer s'posed to take the hand and shake it," the old lady said, after a minute of waiting in that position, "And then mebbe even introduce yerself. Ye're gonna have to say somethin', sooner or later, you know that, aye?"

Ah, an explanation. This was some kind of social ritual the Undead had forgotten about, that made a bit of sense. Well, reaching out still seemed suspicious and dangerous, but they could try to speak again…

They took a breath, and opened their mouth to speak.

The lungful of smoke they had inadvertently swallowed got there first, unfortunately.

The Undead broke out into a coughing fit, sending spittle all over the ground, the fire, and Evangeline's hand, in roughly that order.

Thinking became a little difficult after that, as their lungs attempted to evacuate their whole contents. The dirt met their back in a panicked roll, and they coughed. A hand pulled them to their feet and away from the flames, and they choked. That same hand moved to their back with a hearty thump, and they hacked.

"Breathe," a low voice whispered in their ear, accompanied by a few more thumps that would have sent the Undead stumbling, but for the other hand securing them from the front.

So they tried to breathe. Evangeline kept talking, and that made it… easier. There was something else to focus on now.

"Guess they wouldn't have bothered keepin' you in any sorta decent condition… Yer throat even work the way it should? No, wait, don't bother answerin'. Here," the elderly woman said, and pushed a strangely circular thing into the Undead's hands. A flask, their mind supplied again. Something for… drinking.

Ah, they thought, poison.

The Undead was familiar enough with this part. This was where the trick would end. The poison would hurt a lot, and then they'd wake up, back in a stone cell, with some chains and bars for company. It would be better to get it over with now, but…

The dark sky, the twinkling stars, they were quite pretty. Waiting a little longer would be fine, right?

Or not, it seemed, as Evangeline grew a little impatient.

"C'mon, drink. What're ye waiting for, brat? Oh," she paused in realization, then took the flask back. She unscrewed the cork, took a swig, then handed it back, continuing, "Like that, aye?"

That forced a pause.

Maybe not poison, then?

It was still possible, and one eye kept a careful watch on the aged woman as the Undead took a cautious sip.

And then downed the rest of the flask in one go.

Cold, they thought quite happily, their whole body untensing in one go. Evangeline looked a little puzzled, but there were no thoughts to be spared for that.

The only thought worth having was More.

The older woman started as the flask was suddenly shoved towards her nose, then taken back just as suddenly when she reached for it. The Undead waved the green glass bottle about insistently, and eventually she seemed to pick up on the meaning.

"Oi, you pink meatpie, you think I'm made o' water or something?" The old lady said, crossing her arms.

The flask continued to be waved about, with greater insistence. This was of vital importance - the Undead wasn't sure why, but everything felt clearer, now. They were familiar with the concept of water, to be sure, but it had been a long, long, loooooong time since they had seen any. Clear, and cold, and important.

Water was mentally set aside in the same little drawer as opportunity, and the Undead continued to chase the former as relentlessly as they had the latter.

"Look, I didnae bring 'at much-! Tch." Evangeline clicked her tongue, and reached under the mottled brown cloak. Out came another flask, and the Undead made sure to hand the other one back. Now it was a swap, so they were even. They drank, and Evangeline continued speaking.

"Yer lucky I'm good at route planning, ye testy brat. S'pose we'd have had to make a few stops before we can properly get started anyway… listen up, aye?"

The Undead continued drinking.

A green eye twitched once, then twice, then thrice.

The insistent flask waving began anew.

A twig snapped underfoot, and so did Evangeline's patience.

"Listen here you little-"

—

The Undead sat back down on their log, a little further away from the flames than before.

Ah, the Undead thought, this person… sure can talk a lot.

Evangeline was still talking, or, well, ranting. The Undead had been just barely able to keep up at the start, when the rant was about personal things. Something about them not paying enough attention, the dangers of the Gaol and its surroundings, things like that.

Now…

"Another thing. Those nobles… What do they think they're playin' at, anyway? There's a war goin' on, you arrogant good-fer-nothings! Hafta do everythin' yerself these days, the youngins are too busy playing their lil' games. Also…" Evangeline continued, and the Undead tuned out again. They weren't sure what a noble was, exactly, but nobles had all clearly upset the woman greatly, joining the storied ranks of water flasks, souls, patrolling soldiers, roads and a dark moon of some kind. The Undead looked up and sure enough, the Moon continued being bright and white, so it probably wasn't that one, at least.

A quick wish for its safety wouldn't hurt, though. Who knew what the elderly woman would do to those who had frustrated her? The Moon being turned into vapour would be a terrible thing.

Clasping their hands in a gesture that felt appropriate and a little familiar, they thought, Ah, please stay in the sky.

Evangeline noticed, and sighed.

"Bet ye weren't even listenin'," she grumbled, "Guess I got off-track though, huh. I'm turning in for the night, 'n I suggest ye do the same. We've got a long walk ahead of us - need ta get ye a flask, a proper one, and we need t' find our way to a bonfire. Can't do much with ye as is, if anythin' happens now we've even odds you'll pop back up in a cell. I'll try to explain things better tomorrow, so listen properly then, aye?"

The Undead contemplated that for a moment, and then nodded. Evangeline seemed satisfied with that, and reached back under her cloak. The mottled brown fabric suddenly bulged out, and when her hand resurfaced, it was holding a bedroll, far too large to have been hidden this whole time. She repeated the process, and then laid out the two rolls around the fire, which she reduced to a mere flicker of flame with a snap of her fingers. Their little campsite, which had been illuminated so brightly, was now covered in a dim, reddish glow.

The Undead did not care for the way the grass looked under this lighting, but there wasn't much to be done about it.

"G'night," said the older lady, and unceremoniously climbed into her roll, before turning over.

The Undead sat on their roll and watched. They weren't sure how Evangeline had climbed in, and…

Well, they hadn't intended on doing so in the first place, really.

There were a great many things in this world the Undead was unfamiliar with, or at least couldn't quite remember. But opportunities remained the same, and with a little bit of waiting…

The sound of light snoring reached their ears, and that was as good a sign as any to leave.

Gently, slowly, carefully, the Undead stood up, using the roll to muffle their movements.

As tricks went, this had been a surprisingly considerate one. If they left now, the memories of Evangeline breaking open the Gaol, aiding in their escape, would remain untainted. It would be nice, to have something to look back on fondly.

So now it was time to leave.

Slowly creeping out of the clearing was surprisingly difficult. Full awareness hadn't returned to their legs, and moonlight only went so far. The Undead constantly had to strain their sight, to see their legs, the ground, and anything else that might make a noise. The dim red of the flickering flame Evangeline had left slowly faded into the night, and that made things harder.

Still, this would only have to go so far, and the Undead was quite determined. There wouldn't be a second opportunity quite like this.

In the shadow of the night, an Undead crawled along a path of moonlight.

There wasn't a particular goal in mind, just a vague awareness that the top of the mountain path would be a good place to get the lay of the land. From there, well.

Something could be figured out.

Eventually, the clearing seemed far away enough, and the Undead started running.

That didn't last long, as the flaws in their approach became clear. Having to constantly stop and start, readjusting to where the moonlight was bright enough to guide them, made running difficult. Not to mention, one leg had gone fully dead.

Losing this chance because a lack of caution sent them off the mountainside and to its base seemed quite terrible. Walking it was.

So they walked. And walked. And walked some more.

There was nothing but a thin stream of white light, shining between shadowy branches, to show a path. Trees got in the way. The ground had not become any more comfortable to walk on at night, and every sharp rock and twig continued to be felt by their one good foot. At least the other one felt fully dead. The feeling of pressure was still uncomfortable, but not painful. Not something that could impede them.

Unfortunately, something else could.

It was so dark, the Undead almost missed them, hidden as they were beneath the mountain's woodlands.

Ah, they thought, those people… look like me.

When an Undead was too far gone, lost too much to the Gaol and their Curse, they became a Hollow - mindless, thoughtless, frenzied humans who sought nothing but a faint semblance of the Humanity they had lost. Dealing with them was almost impossible - sooner or later, they would just get back up. There weren't supposed to be many of them around yet, though. Galou remained standing proud as a nation.

But then again…

Evangeline had cracked the gaol open. And even before that, the cells of that grand stone structure had grown emptier with time. The gaol's guards would have had to dump those too far gone to be useful somewhere.

Nobody should, or would, walk along this mountain without an armed escort and a rough knowledge of where they were going. Safely dumping Hollows would be as easy as dropping them far enough away from any official paths that their random shambling about would only leave the Hollows hurt.

Ah…

I probably knew them.

But that wasn't important now. The Hollows had noticed somebody with a shred of sanity, of Humanity, nearby.

One pair of eyes, then two, then three, then four, locked onto the Undead's location. And things got a little chaotic, after that.

The Undead nearly died in the very first second of their brawl, just barely ducking under the swing of a broken, but no less lethal, shortsword.

Ah, they thought, these Hollows have weapons.

That was very bad. The Undead had their fists and their wits. The Hollows had no wits, but a superior weapon would definitely close the gap.

They needed time to consider, to strategize, maybe analyse their surroundings. With a little bit of luck, coming up with a path to victory might have been possible.

Instead, another Hollow leapt with all its might, the rusted tip of broken metal pointed straight at the Undead's face, and there was suddenly very little room to think about anything but the next step in avoiding death.

One of the Hollows tripped over its own feet as it flailed at the Undead, forcing several steps to the side and into a tree they had missed in the dark of night. The thump alerted the last Hollow, and it sprinted, eyes glinting with hunger under the moon, at the same time as the leaping Hollow recovered from its jump, and attempted a slash at the Undead's midsection.

That… was also an opportunity, of sorts.

The Undead stepped into the swing, grabbed the Hollow's arm, and forcibly pulled them in the sprinter's path. It wasn't easy - their own arms were on the weaker side, but the Hollow was still unsteady from its grand leap, and a quiet shlick let the Undead know the Hollow had served adequately as a meatshield.

Quickly, before the other Hollow could extract its blade, the Undead attempted to twist the wrinkled, pink arm holding the shortsword and force it to release the blade, in a motion that felt familiar. This would be the turning point - with a weapon, they could fight back.

But.

Even if the movement felt familiar…

Partway through the twisting motion, the Undead felt their own wrist crackle and pop, and had to let go with a gasp of pain.

No matter how familiar the movement felt, their own body had been out of commission for longer than they could remember. Worse, most of its senses had been deadened by time and pain - the Undead was unaware of what motions their body could and couldn't handle, and the body couldn't issue its one real warning, the feeling of pain, until the last moment.

The Undead stumbled away, and was blindsided by a strike to their head - the Hollow responsible had accidentally used the flat of their blade, but the blow felt no less painful for it.

They fell to the ground then, stunned for but a moment.

The Hollow finally oriented its blade correctly, and stabbed down into the Undead's leg.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh," the Undead heard, and it took them a few seconds to realize it was their own voice - a low, choked sound.

There were no good options. There weren't any opportunities.

But the Undead could still try to run, and try they did, crawling backwards in desperation. They kicked, and they thrashed, and the Hollows approached slowly nonetheless. Perhaps whatever tiny fragment of a mind remained in them had grown wary - the Hollow that had been used as an impromptu shield laid on the ground, unmoving.

But they didn't need to do much, now. The Undead was well aware that the only thing they could do was exhaust themselves.

And yet, even just a second more of freedom… felt like the most precious thing in the world.

The Undead crawled backwards, pulled the blade out of their leg, waved it around threateningly when the Hollows made their approach, crawled forwards, did anything and everything, for just one moment more.

And in the distant land of Caerdiaeth…

The ember of 'hope' flared bright one more time.

This time in a very literal fashion, as a ball of flame illuminated the forest, sailing through the night from behind the Hollows and enveloping one of their heads.

The Undead paused. The other two Hollows also paused. The ball of flame paused, suspended in the air by an unseen force. The now-headless body of its target did not, unfortunately, have the good grace to pause, and collapsed to the ground in a boneless heap.

The ball of flame darted to the left, then to the right.

Two more bodies joined the first, on a forest path that now looked as bright as day.

And on that illuminated path, Evangeline stepped into view, approaching the Undead with slow, measured steps.

"They did a bitta number on ye, eh?" She said. The Undead hadn't moved from their spot. The three headless bodies, still In the process of dissolving a few feet away, made it seem like a bad idea.

"Nasty wound, that. No Estus on me… hold still for a second." She continued, and pulled a length of cloth from somewhere. The ball of flame approached, and then changed - from burning white, to the rhythmic orange the Undead recalled from the campsite. The fire pulsed, and the pain lessened.

While the pulsing distracted them, Evangeline had also acquired a thin length of wood, and fashioned something around their wound using it and the cloth.

A tourniquet, their mind supplied. Something for dealing with wounds - to prevent excessive blood loss from causing further harm.

"Best I can do… Warmth is limited to speedin' yer own natural healing, but it should be fine. You impatient youngins, honestly… If yer gonna run off, make sure ye get a weapon before. No wonder I hafta do everything meself…" Evangeline trailed off as she got back up. The Undead remained right where they were, staring at her uncomprehendingly.

Leaving them to die would have been the best choice, right? Because the point of all this, had been to break them. Send them back to the Gaol and finish that horrible stone structure's task.

Evangeline looked back, and shook her head, muttering something under her breath. Her cloak bulged again, and she pulled a sword from somewhere. Was this it, then? Perhaps the woman wanted it to be personal.

The silver-streaked woman raised the sword, and planted it into the ground, then took a few more steps away.

"Now yer armed, if ye wanna run off so badly. Go on, so. Not my responsibility anymore. I'm gonna go and get some sleep, ye damn pink meatpie."

She walked off, forming a second floating flame as she did so to light her path. The Undead continued watching. Evangeline had been as good as her word - the pain had almost fully subsided after just a short time next to the pulsing fires.

They rose, lifted the steel blade out of the ground, and paused.

Ah, the Undead thought, this is probably still a trick. But…

But.

What if?

No, even if it was, this outing showed that sticking at Evangeline's side for just a little longer was the right call. They had been helpless and unprepared. Without her, they would be right back in the Gaol already, at best. Or even risking something far worse. The Hollows had finished dissolving, and the Undead spared a moment to wonder, if this had been their final death, or if they would show up somewhere else on the mountainside.

But a moment was all that could be spared. The light in the distance was already growing faint, fading as it went further away.

Evangeline's flame beckoned, and the Undead with no name followed.

Undead's Clothes

Rags belonging to one of the Hushed Gaol's inhabitants.

They once bore the marks of whippings, burns and a thousand other cruelties, but only scraps remain.

A/N: Thank you very much for reading the first set of chapters! Will begin posting more on Friday, once I've had a chance to look over my existing backlog and expand on it some more.

Any and all comments are welcome. Criticism especially. I need anybody willing to read this to just destroy me, please.

I am also cross-posting this on Ao3, for anybody who prefers that site.

Toodles~