Chapter 1: The End of Fire, and a Journey to the Lands Between
With a final roll to evade the last strike of the Soul of Cinder's curved sword combo, the Ashen One thrust his broadsword deep into the manifestation's chest. As the Soul of Cinder slumped powerlessly to the ground, dissolving into the air, a cluster of flaming souls surged into the Ashen One's body. He had won the final battle.
Checking his nearly empty health bar, the Ashen One cast aside his depleted Estus Flask. He stumbled toward the Coiled Sword at the center of the First Flame, suppressing the innate yearning for fire that every Ashen One possessed. Instead, he summoned the Fire Keeper to the Kiln of the First Flame.
A figure clad in black robes and wearing a silver crown over her eyes appeared—the Fire Keeper, his constant companion who had supported him throughout this long, arduous journey.
She looked at the Ashen One, whose armor was shattered and body covered in wounds. After a respectful bow, she walked slowly to the Coiled Sword where the First Flame flickered. Kneeling, she cradled the embers that symbolized the foundation of the world in her hands.
"The First Flame quickly fadeth. Darkness will shortly settle. But one day, tiny flames will dance across the darkness. Like embers, linked by lords past."
The flame in her hands slowly dwindled, and the world began to sink into shadow.
"Ashen One, canst thou hear my voice?"
She received no answer. The faint spark in her hands had died out completely. Next would come the long Age of the Deep Sea. Until the First Flame was ignited once more, all existences brought about by the fire would vanish into the coming depths. The Ashen One, resurrected from his coffin by the call of the bell, would be no exception.
Grasping the Eyes she had been gifted, the Fire Keeper thought she saw a tiny glimmer of light within the pitch-black world—a vision of a distant future where the First Flame would rise again.
Her duty was complete. She, the Ashen One, and the world itself had finally been liberated from the curse of the cycle. This meant she could finally die properly, as a human should.
As darkness fell, the Kiln—the convergence point of all lands—was overtaken by the boundless Abyss, formed from masterless humanity. Just as Aldrich had prophesied, this was the Age of the Deep Sea: a vast ocean composed of the humanity that had leaked from countless Darksigns.
Before losing her final shred of consciousness, the Fire Keeper thought once more of the face that had accompanied her for so long.
"Ashen One, may you find a harbor for rest."
Hardly had her voice faded when she felt something—a sudden warmth dispersed the surrounding darkness, pulling her soul back from the cold void left by the extinguished flame. Feeling that familiar, warm fire, she couldn't help but murmur.
"Ashen One?"
Inside the crumbling Chapel of Anticipation, Gawain clutched his head and woke from a state of chaos. For a moment, he was disoriented. He leaned against a wall, catching his breath.
"Where am I now? The First Flame should have been extinguished... How many times do I have to die before I'm finally free?"
Gawain remembered his life before transmigrating. After seeing the official concept art for the Elden Ring DLC, Shadow of the Erdtree, he had been so desperate for content that he decided to replay Dark Souls 3 to stave off "Hollowing."
That was when things went wrong. While he was in the "backyard" outside Pontiff Sulyvahn's arena, wearing a Thrall Hood and dual-wielding hand scythes as a red phantom, a giant hand had reached out from his computer screen and pulled him in. He woke up in the Cemetery of Ash, waiting for the bell to toll.
Forced onto the journey of linking the fire, he endured countless deaths to drag the four fugitive Lords of Cinder back to their Thrones of Want.
But along the way, he witnessed the tragedies of Siegward of Catarina, Eygon, Greirat, Sirris, and the Crestfallen Warrior. He grew utterly disillusioned with the world of fire. He decided it was better to let everything burn out and start over rather than let the curse continue.
So, at the very end, Gawain rejected the Sable Church of Londor, had the Fire Keeper heal his Dark Sigil, and helped Anri fulfill the quest to slay the Devourer of Gods.
In the Untended Graves behind Oceiros' garden, he defeated Champion Gundyr and found the Fire Keeper's Eyes in the darkened Firelink Shrine, paving the way for the End of Fire.
It wasn't just for his own release; it was for a world where the cycle had become a curse—a terminal world beyond saving.
When he saw the First Flame slowly fade, Gawain felt his body losing sensation. He looked at the Fire Keeper beside him, wanting to reach out, but he couldn't move. He regretted not having more time to talk to her; the doomed nature of their world had made him hide his feelings, but he didn't regret his choice.
He had done his best. The existence of that world was a curse upon all life. It was time to let it return to zero.
Returning to the present, Gawain had assumed those were his final moments. But after losing consciousness, he had woken up in a strange place. No—he recognized this.
"Isn't this the Chapel of Anticipation from Elden Ring? Wait, that corpse..."
Propping himself up, he staggered over to the cold body and sighed. Just as fate dictated, the tragedy had already happened before his arrival.
He looked down at the blood-stained message on the floor, and the haunting words surfaced in his mind:
"Though the guidance is broken, please, become the Elden Lord."
A nameless Finger Maiden had used her final breath to leave a blessing for the one she served.
Gawain clenched his fists and looked up, trying to keep his tears from falling. Even after seeing so much misery in the world of Dark Souls, he couldn't remain indifferent. It was this very empathy that had driven him to choose the End of Fire—to give all cursed souls a chance at rest.
"Don't worry. I didn't want to be a Lord of Cinder because there was no point in continuing that cycle. But the Lands Between still has hope. I will become the Elden Lord, and this time, I won't let another tragedy happen."
Though it was a promise to a dead woman, it was his true conviction. The world of Dark Souls was unsalvageable; from Lord Gwyn to Aldia, the Scholar of the First Sin, generations of heroes and kings had failed to solve the fading of the flame.
But the Lands Between was different. After Queen Marika shattered the Ring, the Shardbearers had fought the Shattering for a thousand years without a victor, turning the land into a wasteland. But if order could be restored—if the Elden Ring could be mended—the age of glory could return.
Theoretically, as an Ashen One, he would never lose his humanity no matter how many times he died. His body, once burned by the First Flame, had sealed the Darksign within. Memories of the Lands Between flooded back, and Gawain swore he would not experience those despairs again.
He could feel that his body was still in its "Ashen" state. The Embers he gained from defeating the Soul of Cinder were still burning within him. Though faint, they were bound to his soul; as long as he lived, they would not go out.
Perhaps it was these Embers that had sustained him. His soul was not a product of the First Flame but that of a transmigrator. The fading of the fire didn't affect him, yet having merged with the flame, he possessed the properties of ash.
However, his immortality was technically granted by the First Flame. He wasn't sure if he would revive after dying again in this new world. The best course of action was to treat this as a "one-life run."
Calming his emotions, Gawain began to take stock of his belongings. As an Ashen One, the resources he collected were stored in a special spatial pocket he could access at will.
But when he tried to summon his items, he found he could only pull out basic things: dung pies, Black Firebombs, arrows, and the like.
He tried to pull out his fully upgraded Vordt's Great Hammer, but only a small portion manifested before he hurriedly shoved it back. That fragment had appeared from a tuft of flame, and the process seemed to consume his residual Embers. He couldn't afford such a high cost right now.
Great, he thought, a paradox. If he didn't have enough Embers, he'd need to use the ones in his inventory—but he couldn't access his inventory without using Embers.
However, after taking out a Black Firebomb, he noticed the item count in his inventory didn't decrease. This led to a hypothesis: the Embers weren't consuming the items themselves, but rather providing the energy to manifest them. If he had enough Embers, he could theoretically have an infinite supply of consumables.
The most important thing wasn't the weapons, but the Estus Flask. Luckily, it had crossed over with him. He knew its true power: it wasn't just for healing flesh, but for restoring damage to the soul. In the logic of Dark Souls, true power resided in the strength of one's soul.
Gawain looked at his current gear: a Broadsword, a worn Grass Crest Shield that had lost its magical effect, and the Fallen Knight armor set. The armor was tattered from his fight with the Soul of Cinder, but it still offered protection. What pained him most was that his Broadsword, once reinforced with Titanite, had lost its power.
It made sense. Weapon reinforcement relied on the power of Titanite. Outside the Dark Souls world, it was just an ordinary broadsword. He would need local Smithing Stones to strengthen it again.
Staying here wouldn't yield any results. He needed to leave.
Taking one last look at the nameless Maiden, he reached down to close her eyes. Gawain pushed open the main doors, but then doubled back to a side room. On the second floor of the chapel, he found a small box containing the Stormhawk King and the ashes of Stormhawk Deenh. Predictably, they did not respond to him yet.
With nothing else of interest left, he prepared to face the first enemy of the Lands Between.
He didn't dare be overconfident. In Dark Souls, the Fire Keeper had converted souls into strength for him until he could trade blows with the Dragonslayer Armour while dual-wielding great hammers—a sight that had left even Eygon of Carim speechless.
But now, it seemed those soul levels had been "reset" because the First Flame had gone out. It stood to reason that power derived from the fire would vanish with it.
He still remembered his spells and pyromancies, but he lacked the stats to cast most of them.
Aside from his wealth of combat experience and his unique Ashen properties, his physical stats were roughly that of a fit human—equivalent to a starting Knight class. He needed time to grow.
Crossing the creaking suspension bridge, Gawain reached a wide platform. Soon after, a massive, multi-armed monstrosity leapt from the ruins above. The Grafted Scion brandished its weapons, eager to slice its foe into pieces to offer as "grafting" material for Godrick.
"I don't know if you're the one who killed my Maiden," Gawain said, his face expressionless, "but I'm in a very bad mood. I'll take it out on you."
Watching the Scion's flamboyant, chaotic movements, Gawain didn't feel fear; he felt like laughing. Its openings were massive.
Back at Archdragon Peak, fighting the Nameless King over and over again had pushed his skills to the limit. Combat was no longer a choice—it was instinct.
The Grafted Scion stared at him with bloodshot, yellowish eyes, seemingly surprised that the human before it showed no fear.
The Scion didn't hesitate for long. It lunged forward like a cannonball, its thick, crab-like limbs raised high, slicing through the air with a piercing screech.
Gawain calculated the distance perfectly, sidestepping the thrust. Only the tattered cloth of his armor was grazed. In one fluid motion, he drove his broadsword into the Scion's head and twisted. A surge of residual Ember leaked into the blade, wreathed in a faint, orange glow.
Stabbed in a vital spot, even the resilient Scion lost control of its body, flailing its limbs wildly.
Using his broken Grass Crest Shield to parry the flurry of blades, Gawain lopped off one of the Scion's arms, which was holding a Lordsworn's Straight Sword.
He tossed aside the now-useless shield and shoved a Black Firebomb directly into the Scion's screaming mouth. He grabbed the Lordsworn's sword, rolled onto the creature's crab-like back, and plunged the blade deep through its torso. With a violent twist and the muffled thump of the firebomb exploding internally, the Grafted Scion collapsed, dead.
Gawain felt a golden warmth flow into his chest. Runes.
But the harvest was more than just Runes. In this age where the Rune of Death was sealed, members of the Golden Lineage theoretically couldn't truly die; their souls would persist even if their bodies were destroyed.
That was the theory. Unfortunately for this Scion, it had met an Ashen One.
Gawain reached out and grabbed the malformed soul that was attempting to flee. With a firm squeeze, he crushed it, and the fragmented soul-essence merged into his being.
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