The Fire Within: A Dark Souls Tale

Lord Starblade

For the first time in a century, the Everlasting Dragons were retreating. An untold number of Silver Knights had died during the merciless Age of Ancients, but for every thousand who fell in battle, a dragon was slain. For each thousand lost, civilization took another step forward. The Age of Ancients was at its twilight, and the Age of Fire was dawning.

We fight and die for the gods' eternal glory, Captain Gleddyf Dilynwr told himself. He'd just returned from another harrowing expedition, in which forty comrades were lost to a primordial beast. We fight and die for the glory of Gwyn, he thought, embracing pride over pain, while he entered the Great Cathedral of Anor Londo, a tiny soul in a vast column of Silver Knights. The Lord of Sunlight himself awaited inside, sitting on a magnificent throne. Every captain saluted with his spear, and Gleddyf did the same, savoring the praise that was laid upon him.

When it ended, he rode the enchanted elevators to his cozy mansion in Lower Anor Londo. The steel door reacted to a simple arcane spell and slid open smoothly. Inside the stone dwelling, he was greeted by his servant, Cefn Isel, a hunchbacked pygmy from New Londo, the prosperous human vassal kingdom.

"The cooks have prepared a lavish meal to celebrate your triumphant return, my lord," the small man said. A commonly held belief claimed pygmies had a natural inclination for servitude, but Gleddyf saw cunning in Cefn's dark eyes. That man used obedience to ensure his comfort.

"First, I shall wash."

"Of course, my lord. The bath has been filled to the brim with hot water. In the meantime, should I send dinner invitations signed by Lord Starblade?"

Gleddyf smiled. The name was given to him by a commander who had died a decade earlier, when he'd stuck his lightning sword deep into a dragon's head, splitting the rocky skin in a magnificent display of dust and light.

"One invitation," he said, and the servant left with another deep bow. Most High-Folk detested humans for their dark souls, but there was much to value in them. For one thing, while prone to fault and failure, they were also capable of great courage, comradery, and even love. Those thoughts were better kept hidden, or else he'd be branded a deviant of the worst kind.

Before heading to the bathroom, Gleddyf hung his spear, sword, and great bow in his private study on the second floor. Next, he removed his gleaming silver plate armor and inspected its many dents. Some oiling for the chain links wouldn't hurt either. A quick trip to the giant blacksmith should mend these issues. The price of titanite kept rising because of the massive demand for new weapons and armor, but soon that would change. Their grand crusade against the dragons was almost at an end.

A knock on the front door sent Gleddyf's heart aflutter. Quickly, he brushed his long silver hair, sprayed cologne on his alabaster skin, checked for dark circles under his azure eyes, and walked downstairs. Cefn had just let in a person who stole his breath. His lieutenant, Lady Afonydd—slender and sublime, tall and commanding, with lavender-blue eyes and platinum hair like the finest of Izalith silk.

Gleddyf hurried to take a bow, and she responded in kind, arching her legs with a grace that rivaled Lady Gwynevere's. After a month of mutual self-restraint on the battlefield, controlling his impulse to embrace and kiss her seemed as difficult as facing the stone dragons.

"Praise be to Gwyn," she said, her voice the first rays of light on a cloudy day. He responded in kind and leaned to kiss the back of her hand, inhaling a sweet scent, like blooming flowers.

They sat at the table. The food was excellent, Lady Afonydd's laughter was divine, and the wine put them both in a fantastic mood. She stared at him with glistening eyes, eagerly absorbing his tales of war, exploration, and the intrigues of the royal court.

"Then, when the argument had gotten out of hand, you won't believe who intervened."

"Who?" she asked with a slight smile.

"The Lord of Sunlight himself!"

"Gwyn?!"

"Indeed! He smacked his hand on the table so hard that the archtree wood split right in the middle. That shut everyone up in an instant."

Lady Afonydd burst into laughter, louder than her usual. Blessed be New Londo's dark wine. It was the right moment. Choose your words carefully, Gleddyf. The move he intended to make would decide the rest of his life. The rest of both their lives.

"My lady..." He stopped to clear his throat—twice. Gwyn damn it, just say the line!

"Yes?"

"By now, we've known each other for over five years. Together, we met triumph and defeat, suffering and elation; we've shared comradery and... intimacy."

"Indeed," she said. The sight of her two bright stars threatened to overwhelm him. He strengthened his resolve, mustered his courage, and gazed right back.

"My lady, I'd like to continue our journey for many more years." With a trembling hand, he raised a ring of gold and diamonds, modeled after those worn by the Sun Princess. "W-would you do me the honor and..." By Gwyn, he's forgotten the words!

She gestured for the servant to approach with her long fingers. Gleddyf stared, confused and embarrassed, while Cefn stepped over to the table.

"Is he proposing to me?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Tell him the lady says... yes."

The lieutenant smirked. Gleddyf let out a relieved laugh, and she joined him.

"Dummy! You know I dislike protocol."

"I wanted to do this right," he said, rubbing his neck.

"Save that for my parents." She put on the ring. The golden object emitted a subtle glow, reacting to her fiery soul. "You might want to rehearse the lines."

"I will," he said, chuckling. "Do you like the design?"

"I'll wear it until my last day."

They leaned together into a kiss. Her lips were the gossamer wings of a butterfly and sweet, fruity nectar. The more they kissed, the more he thought of their mutual future. Where they'll live, how many children they'd have, and how they'll grow old in a prosperous Anor Londo. In Gleddyf's mind, every kiss became another cute little kid, and eventually, a small army of miniature knights was calling to him, asking for permission to play by the deep canal surrounding the lustrous city of the gods.

***

Gleddyf opened his eyes. The sweet touch of lips was no more. Lady Afonydd had disappeared, and so did Cefn, the mansion, and all of Anor Londo. Instead, a frozen wasteland surrounded him in every direction. The raging, wailing winds of a blizzard deafened the ear. He was in full armor, lying in a puddle of icy water. His sword clenched in hand as if he were about to strike someone.

Perplexed, he looked left and right. Not alone. A pygmy was standing opposite him. His muscles were still numb; all he could do was watch as his vision sharpened. Her strawlike hair was a faded shade of orange. A coat of fur, crusted and putrid, covered her body. She carried a rusted scimitar in one hand and a Pyromancy flame in the other.

"Who by Lost Izalith are you?" the woman asked, her voice gritty like sun-baked rocks.

Lost? Izalith is lost?!

"Where am I?" Gleddyf asked. More to the point, when was he?