-Anor Londo-
For centuries, the sun had not shone upon the ancient city of the gods. Now dark and in ruins, stripped of its gold, it was filled with corpses, monsters, and the few knights who remained.
The silence alone was enough to instill apprehension in weaker minds, for it was impossible to know where danger might emerge. However, a tall, thin figure tore through the skies, having long since become immune to such minor concerns. He passed unnoticed—or perhaps ignored—by the defenders; after all, there was little left to protect.
Sulyvahn's wings snapped with each beat, and with dexterity born of years of practice, he dove toward one of the shattered stained-glass windows of the main cathedral. Opening his wings to slow his descent, he crossed the arched threshold and landed atop a ruined pillar, not daring to touch the ground.
This was because there wasn't exactly a floor anymore, but rather a dark mass that shifted and pulsed, releasing hisses and clouds of gas from the various corpses being slowly digested.
The chamber where several gods had once walked, and where the duel between the Second Lord of Cinder, the Lion Knight, and the Last Executioner had taken place, was now nothing more than a massive stomach.
This was one of the few moments when the Pontiff rejoiced at not having a nose, as the smell must have been unbearable. However, such thoughts were quickly abandoned as the owner of this corrupted body rose to receive his guest.
The dark slime at the center of the chamber emitted a purple glow, pulsing and molding itself into shape. At first, it revealed a pale, effeminate face partially hidden behind a golden sun-shaped mask.
It would have been a strange enough sight on its own, but the true horror came when the rest of the body emerged. A bizarrely long, thin arm, skin stretched tightly over bone, appeared first, followed by another wielding a golden staff. The torso came next, in the same decrepit condition, draped in dark robes that blended seamlessly into the mountain of mud and bones dragging across the floor.
"Sulyvahn, it's been a long time since our last meeting. To what do I owe this visit?"
The being spoke, but the pale mouth did not move. The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once-men and women, young and old, all speaking simultaneously with a false tone of friendship that failed to conceal the anger beneath.
"Vordt and the Deacons are dead, Aldrich."
The Pontiff refused to play along, speaking in an emotionless tone. The kindly facade of the Saint of the Deep vanished, his form recoiling in surprise for a moment before responding.
"I suppose a promising Unkindled One was responsible."
"Correct. He wouldn't have gotten this far without the interference of other undead."
"Oh, so now you're worried? Wasn't it you who manipulated royalty and deities to secure your position? Wasn't it you who imprisoned me in the Cathedral to prevent me from further tarnishing your image? And now you want my help? That's so... delicious."
The mockery could not have been more obvious. The pale body licked its lips, and even with its eyes hidden, Sulyvahn felt them fixed upon him. The Pontiff took a step back, bringing his hands toward his swords in a subtle gesture, only stopping when the slime surrounding the pillar began to rise.
"Help? No, I won't make that mistake again. We go our separate ways now. I bring you a warning. The current Ashened One is strong and shows no signs of stopping. Prepare yourself, Aldrich, for the new era we both sought to bring about is in danger."
There was no effort to conceal his disgust. In the blink of an eye, Sulyvahn beat his wings, taking flight and escaping the dark mass that had closed around the spot where he had been standing.
"Danger?! After all we've done?! Ha! You cower, Sulyvahn! The Grand Pontiff fears a rejected undead after killing so many others! We both know that, one way or another, the Age of the Deep will come. I witnessed it in my dreams and through the ancient deities whose power I possess! Destiny is already moving in the right direction. You are simply too blind to see it!"
"Hm... And what if, by the will of fate, you encounter the Unkindled One?"
"Then I shall delight in my new meal."
The pale body smiled, a grin so wide it threatened to split his head apart, skin stretched tightly against his aged skull. If the Pontiff had a visible face, it would have twisted into a grimace of frustration.
"So be it. You chose to ignore my warnings. Even so, I recommend that you prepare yourself."
Then he flew through the chamber, circling Aldrich before departing the way he had come. The Saint of the Deep watched him leave, waiting for something, but when it never came, he sank into the floor, passing through the sludge and plunging into his dreams once more.
Outside, the wind and the beating of wings were the only sounds Sulyvahn could hear. Yet during the solitude of his journey, countless thoughts raced through his mind-plans, contingencies, possibilities-for he refused to fail, not after coming so far.
"Hmph. What a waste of time."
-Firelink Shrine-
"Ah. We meet again. I'm so glad to see you're alright."
Anri's voice carried a quiet relief as she stood near Horace. The Firelink Shrine felt almost peaceful in comparison to the world beyond - though the tension of their journey still clung to them.
"As we discovered in the Cathedral of the Deep, Aldrich's coffin was empty. The man-eater must have departed for his true home. That's what the little doll in the empty coffin told me. They say Aldrich is from Irithyll of the Boreal Valley, an ancient legendary city. A pilgrim told me the city lies beyond Farron Keep. And so it becomes our destiny..."
Eraqus nodded at Anri's words, accompanied by Horace, feeling a pang of relief at finding them both safe and unharmed within the shrine.
"Then I suppose we'll meet there, as I intend to continue my search for the Lords."
"I believe so. But before leaving, I would like to thank you for summoning us against the Deacons. Their cruel acts have finally ceased. Now we need only defeat their leader so that Horace and I may finally find peace. I hope I can count on you in our future endeavors."
"Certainly. It would be an honor to fight by your side."
The Master offered a nod and a polite smile, a gesture both returned. His response was steady, almost formal, but sincere enough. Anri gave a small nod of gratitude, and Horace muttered something under his breath before the two departed in opposite rhythm, fading into the shrine's quiet paths.
With them gone, Eraqus fell back into routine.
Andre's hammer rang out somewhere in the shrine as he reforged steel. The familiar rhythm of repair and improvement steadied him more than he cared to admit. Afterwards, he visited the Shrine Handmaid, exchanging souls for supplies-fragments of memory turned into practical survival.
The idea still unsettled him, but usefulness outweighed understanding.
Later, he approached Irina's corner of the shrine, pulling out the worn, dark tome.
"Greetings, Eraqus. I'm glad you've returned."
For a moment, he paused, wondering how she had recognized him.
"How did you know it was me?"
"When you're blind, your other senses become heightened. I learned to recognize people by the sound of their footsteps."
He couldn't help but show surprise at the useful skill, but offered no further comment as he handed the tome to his friend.
"I brought this for you. I'd like you to use it to teach me new miracles."
However, her expression changed as she ran her fingers across the manuscript's cover, shuddering slightly as though touching something cold.
"Eraqus, this Divine Tome is forbidden... These are dark stories hidden deep within the hearts of men... Stories that would not please you... Of course, if you insist, I will read them to you..."
A frightened sigh escaped her lips, and she pulled her hand away from the worn manuscript, hugging herself.
"But, ahh... ahh... they frighten me so much. The little creatures that nibble at me in the darkness..."
Eraqus frowned and glanced back at the tome. It wasn't clear whether the darkness she spoke of was literal or metaphorical, but something was undeniably wrong with that book. Perhaps it would have been better left in the cathedral.
"Let's ignore it for now. I'd rather learn what's written in the Divine Tome of Carim, if you're feeling well enough to continue."
Irina released a small sigh followed by a polite laugh at the Master's concern, then nodded and motioned for him to sit before opening the tome and tracing her fingers across the pages.
Then the stories were told—of gods and heroes, their deeds, and the changes they brought to the world. He listened attentively, trying to memorize every word, and couldn't help but notice that, at least within these tales, the world seemed far better than it was now—almost utopian. Whether that was truth or merely religious doctrine was impossible to know.
When it was over, Eraqus added several new abilities to his repertoire: Homeward, Med Heal, Tears of Denial, and Force. He only lacked the faith required to use them, something he intended to remedy.
After their brief meeting, he stood and bid farewell to Irina, who, as always, wished him a safe journey and said she looked forward to his return.
Cornyx was the next shrine resident he visited, though there was little to discuss. After exchanging greetings, his pyromancy lesson began, and this time he acquired the one spell he lacked: Great Combustion.
For a moment, he hesitated, debating whether he should purchase Orbeck's remaining spells or focus on strengthening himself. After some consideration, he chose the latter. The spells were far from cheap, and it would be wiser to return when he possessed more souls.
Then he approached the Fire Keeper, crushing the soul of the sorcerer he had faced alongside Eygon, as well as those of the Hollows guarding Aldrich's coffin, adding them to the collection he already possessed.
His intentions were clear. The Keeper offered her hand, and he accepted it. A brilliant glow spread through his body as the absorbed souls were transformed into strength while a chant echoed through the shrine.
"May these souls, removed from their receptacles,"
"Manifestations of disparity,"
"Illuminated by fire,"
"Bury themselves deep within me,"
"Retreating into a darkness beyond the reach of the flames,"
"May they assume a new master,"
"Dwelling in the ashes, assuming new forms."
Perhaps it was due to the sheer number of souls involved, but the sensation coursing through his body was stronger than ever before. It was difficult to describe, but it felt as though he were young again, as though anything were possible.
With that, everything seemed complete for the moment. Yet after bidding farewell to the Keeper and approaching the central bonfire, someone calling his name stopped him.
"Eraqus, could you come here for a moment?"
It was Greirat, waving from his usual spot within the shrine. The Master nodded and walked over as the thief settled back onto his seat among the boxes and barrels filled with assorted treasures.
"So, what would you like to talk about?"
Eraqus couldn't help but notice that he seemed better now—not entirely recovered, but certainly different from the man who had received news of his friend's, or perhaps beloved's, death. Their relationship remained a mystery to him.
However, despite being the one who had called him over, Greirat didn't answer immediately. Something seemed to be troubling him. Crouched in place, he rubbed his hands together and glanced away, as though wrestling with a difficult thought.
"Greirat, are you alright?"
"N-no? Yes, I mean!"
He clicked his tongue after stumbling over his words, then took a deep breath to steady himself.
"I was thinking... You know I'm a petty thief. Well, maybe I'll go for a little walk around here. Everyone's either dead or Hollow by now, right? So... I could bring you back weapons or treasure. What do you think?"
There was a mixture of hope and anxiety in his voice, making Eraqus realize he had not fully recovered. This seemed less like a business proposition and more like a way of repaying a debt.
"Are you sure about this, Greirat? You'd be putting your life at risk. You're free now. It would be a shame to end up back in prison—or worse."
The concern on Eraqus's face was obvious, as was the hesitation in his voice. The offer was tempting, but he would not send a troubled man into danger for the sake of greed.
"Yes, I'm sure. I don't want to lose my touch, and I want to repay the favor you did for me."
Eraqus crossed his arms, considering the matter carefully. The world outside was deadly. Who knew what dangers awaited? Yet the look Greirat gave him through the holes in his hood, the way he practically begged for a purpose, made the answer clear.
"Alright. Just be careful. I don't want anything to happen to you."
"Thank you. You won't be disappointed. Greirat the Thief was once a well-known name. Until I ended up rotting in a cell..."
Eraqus did not find the joke particularly amusing, but chose not to comment. He stepped aside, allowing Greirat to pass. The thief's posture was straighter now, his spirit renewed.
"Goodbye. I'll be away for a while. See you later. Take care, you hear? Otherwise, all my efforts will have been in vain."
It's me who should be saying that.
He kept the thought to himself, though perhaps he should not have. He couldn't shake the feeling that this would not end well. Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought and approached the central bonfire.
From there, he returned to the swamp.
It was time to investigate the fortress in the distance.
END OF CHAPTER