The seemingly endless snow lashed at the black form as it walked with steady steps against the freezing wind.

The cold feels both distant and near to my heart. I feel the firm will of my soul beat away and embrace the cold around me all at the same time. I wonder... What rests in me?

I feel the fire of the First Flame that I burned myself in and the shadow of the Dark Soul that clawed me back from death again and again. Even now the cursed brand aches above my heart.

How long have I done this? Walking to another unknown land, in another unknown age, all after what should be my final rest. But that is the fate of the Undead is it not?

To die and return as something less each time, again and again, only to Hollow. But even that fate was denied of me, even that which took the other Undead has forsaken me, for I can not Hollow.

Once I was called Chosen One. An Undead that fled from the Undead Asylum, only to burn in the First Flame as Lord Gwyn once did. I see now that this Undead was a fool then.

The First Flame burned my soul, it was a hell of its own. But then it ended. Something dragged my withered soul out and made me rise again. Only to have me cast myself in the flame like it was not damnation, and this fool did as asked, did as duty commanded.

Yet, I rose AGAIN. I was nothing but ASH ... Ash of a world that should have died ages ago. I was tasked to tend to the dying flame again, to bring the risen Lord's to their hell. But I cast that all away, I let the Age of The Deep Dark come. But now things are ... New.

The sun is there, but I've seen the end of all things.

The endless ash at the last of all ages.

But I feel it, the dull warmth on my armor from the light, the shining light that me and my fellows once fought with all our might to sustain.

I miss Solaire. I miss so many. But they are gone now, and I remain, I always remain. Why?

Does it matter? No... No, like all times before, like all times that may come. I have been called from rest, I will do my duty, what little of it that is left.

I push quicker through the snow as the shining city nears on the horizon. Shining in this wasteland of white so reminiscent of that Faded Painting. And yet the cold bothers me none, what am I now?

I was once Pygmy, then Undead, then not but Unkindled Ash. So what am I now? The endless flame and darkness that dwell inside me, waiting... No, EAGER.

They wish to be used, to touch this world once again at my command. No Undead has ever held the entirety of the Dark Soul, nor has anything touched the First Flame so closely and yet lived, not even the Lords of old. Yet I know it would take but a thought to cast my will over them both.

But they are not two things anymore, are they? No, they are so intertwined and mixed as to make something new altogether. I feel it in my shadow, I feel it in the embers that burn off of my body into the air only to vanish. I am the First Flame, and I am the Dark Soul that hides in the flame's shadows.

I abruptly stop my march and stand still in the cold. A moment passes as my thoughts will a tiny flame to appear in the air. It is not bright, or large, or even very warm. But no matter how the wind howled, or how the snow falls, it ENDURES. NOTHING would make it cease.

Nothing but me. I watched the flame flicker away and continue to trudge through the snow, but then I felt it. Like the bell towers of old, something called, more desperate than ever the wail of a crying small soul. So weak, so scared, so... Cold.

Eons of battle experience moved my mind at a blistering speed and I felt the flame and darkness move to my will. My armor heated and bent only to cool into a new shape moments later. The coiled blade at my side glowed with embers older than ages past.

I felt it, the weight on my back, the shifting of something unknown, something new. Wings, of flame and metal, of a will not my own. The flame and shadow called to me. FLY.

...

The cold air flowed past at a blistering speed as I went faster and faster. I could see it now, on the highest building of the shining city, a palace of some form resting in the snowcast wind.

I did not care, it all didn't matter. The little one cried out and it WOULD be answered. I see a window and dive, the wind coming ever faster... Before finally, a loud cash.

The feeling of a great blow hits my body as my body shatters glass and my armored hooves crack smooth stone.

The cracked floor covered in glass and lit by my torches shows a large room.

And on the stone floor, cold and alone, a small form cried out to anything that would listen. "Little one. Why do you cry so?"

Author's Note

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. :}

This is proving to be interesting to write, but continue to expect very slow updates.