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The soft crumple of damp leaves and the occasional snap of a twig filled the muted air. Trees, all reaching abnormal heights, made navigating through the forest a challenge. The shrubs and bushes were numerous and just as vibrant as their taller counterparts.

For several days, the ashen one set out on day-long expeditions, hoping to find a way out of the forest. Still, though, that was not to say he had been rushing the ordeal. In fact, it was the exact opposite. At any time, he could have scaled one of the gargantuan trees to reveal even the slightest of an exit, but he instead chose not to.

Truthfully, he enjoyed the scenery, seeing as it had been a largely unfamiliar spectacle. The absence of corruption was a more than welcome sight, much like one receiving a cool drink in the middle of a heatwave. Landmarks and sacrilegious totems made from decayed human sludge had yet to appear, which was a sight more than not missed. Most notably, however, was the sensation the Ashen one felt from the air. It was clean, untainted, and most of all, peaceful.

Still, the champion reasoned there had to be more than mere forestry to see. Perhaps they would one day bear witness to benevolent lands of magnificent seas, calm and serene grasslands of dancing flowers, or even of towering columns of ice. And with any amount of luck, none of those biomes would relate to an accursed bonfire and equally disturbing cycle. Then again, the Unkindled ember decided to instead focus on the current task at hand, though they really had no general-purpose for it.

Slowing their pace, they kept their senses heightened, listening and seeing as much as humanly possible. Filtering out the chattering of hummingbirds, rustling branches, and cicadas, they heard a distinctive and familiar sound. Though muffled by distance and wildlife both, the ashen one opened his ears to a tune, one reminiscent of water being poured into a bowl.

With that, he abruptly broke into a hastened pace, nearly the speed of a light jog. As he did, the tune grew louder to the point of no longer needing a strain of the ears to be heard. Pushing leaves and overgrown weeds aside, the ashen one came to spot a river, the very source of the aforementioned sound. In this moderately shallow creek of sorts, the vegetation had cleared, save for the occasional felled tree.

Perking his head in interest, the ashen one slowly departed from the forestry. Now on the very edge of the winding stream of water, the ashen one knelt, stretching a gloved hand.

From the angle, the river was confirmed to be quite shallow, reaching only to the middle of the man's shins. A bed of rocks lay beneath the surface, being revealed by the clear water. Occasionally, a fish or three would swim in accordance with the flow of water. Not one to pass an opportunity, he struck out with his hand at a near blinding speed...only to miss.

The fish had swum away, much quicker than he could catch. Stepping just a little more into the river, he awaited the next marine delicacy. Again, a fish would swim by, always successfully dodging the man's attempts of capture. After several minutes, and after soaking his armor several times over, he had managed to catch two unimpressive fish. True, they were not the proudest catch, but they were not the smallest either but they would suffice enough.

Reaching into a boot, he produced a simple throwing knife, one of many concealed blades he kept for good measure. To stop their wriggling and suffering both, he struck the heads with the small pommel of the still dampened throwing knife, rendering the fishes unconscious and possibly dead. As a cautionary step though, he punctured the two fish with the blade portion, driving the knife swiftly into each of their skulls, just above their helpless and twinkling eyes.

Once done, the champion took notice of the glimmering from his peripheral vision. Turning his head, he saw the sun's mirage from above. One reflected off the moderately calm water and with that, the ashen one broke out of his trance.

Looking above at the sky for a less distorted view, he judged it to be nearing the start of the evening. The sun would soon set, making for very poor visibility, and venturing outwards would likely result in the champion losing his way. As a final result, the man rose to his feet once more.

Before he formally departed, however, he had reached into a pouch strapped to his waist. With one motion, he dropped a prism stone, a small and glittering pebble that generally acted as a waypoint. The hue this time had been a fierce violet, a color easily noticeable considering the Unkindled One's surroundings. With this, he followed his footsteps, marching to return to his makeshift camp, eagerly awaiting where the river might take him the following day.

Unbeknownst to him, however, four figures had noticed his presence, only daring to stalk him until he disappeared behind the treeline.

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[TIMESKIP]

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Tracking through familiar territory, the Ashen One came upon a small clearing, the bulk of his gear laid out on disposable tarps of plant fiber and makeshift sheets of large leaves. Almost immediately, the Ashen one was met by warm illuminating light, one from a small bonfire. The sun had long set by this time, with it being quietly replaced by a shattered moon, making the small kiln a welcomed addition to the Unkindled One's camp.

In his arms, he carried a meager collection of sticks, all promptly being cast into the fire individually. His armor, which was hung to dry, had been draped in the orange curtain of the small fire. The silver mask, lightweight plated gauntlets, and matching greaves were instead hand dried, largely in the hope to avoid any potential rusting. Currently, he wore a spare set of clothing. These garments were similar to Oorbeck of Vinheim's own attire, Oorbeck being one of the Ashen One's previous mentors.

With every piece of splintered wood now fed to the humble fire, the Unkindled one turned his attention to the two pieces of meat roasting on a spik, one he turned every so often. Fortunately enough, the fish had now been fully cooked. Taking the meager food off the flame to cool, the Unkindled one produced a small utensil from their tried and true "bottomless pouch".

As he slowly and elegantly dug into his food, he took notice of the lack of sensation he felt. Each bite produced no sense of filling. No sense of heat filled his pallet. Not even a trace of thirst came to pass. Still, though, he was hardly taken aback. From the day he became undead, and doubly so unkindled ash, the necessities of consumption and rest escaped him. This voided sensation had been all he knew in regards to what he and all humans once required.

For the days spent in this new world, he came to realize he was still merely ash. Hunger escaped him. Thirst threatened him naught. Fatigue, in regards to sleep, was a feeling he remained oblivious to. Even digestion seemed to escape him, likely the result of any consumed food being scorched into the nothingness from his embered insides.

Still, though, he cared little. He could still taste the flavor, feel the satisfaction of a cold drink, and so forth. And though he was admittedly a horrendous chef, he enjoyed the sense of normalcy it brought. It brought the slightest amount of comfort. More so, it felt nice to have access to genuine food. Estus soup could only taste palatable for so long and human dregs never screamed "Delicious" or "Safe for consumption" ...True, they screamed, but it had been in a more "suffering" manner.

Once the pitiful meal was gone, the Ashen one sat in silence, watching over the bonfire. Eventually, he would close his eyes, feigning rest. After many hours, and the tinge of dulling blue beginning to paint the skyline, the champion broke from his meditative state.

With purpose, he stripped himself of the scholar-Esque attire, hastily changing into his armor and adorning his reflective silver mask. With his hat, scabbards, and quiver now fastened, he collected and returned his armaments to their respective sheaths. Steeled and prepared for the day's trek, he tore down his camp.

The bonfire was scattered, the leaves that acted as tarps thrown to decompose. His spare robes and excess materials were folded, organized, and finally, compressed into his "Bottomless pouch" With that he set about following the prism stones left the day prior, being sure to collect each one he passed.

And eventually, he would reach the river once more. Like before, the river was as beautiful and serene. The champion's journey would continue with him following the upstream, in the hope it led somewhere of higher elevation or a change in landscape. All this time, he kept his sight and hearing sharpened. With forest, came potential predators. And predators he found indeed.

After a considerable amount of distance, he spotted the slightest amount of movement from the treeline across the river. No matter how far he walked, the motions followed him, marking the figures as either curious and docile wildlife...or prowling beasts. Still, the ashen one continued on his way, doing his very best to be wary, but not engage the mysterious characters.

Eventually, though, the stalkers seemingly grew impatient, shown by then stepping out from the bushes that once concealed them. Across the stream, four beasts that appeared to be cloaked in darkness lie in wait. Their posture was hunkered and poised, ready to charge at a moment's notice. Strangely enough, they seemed to share the color of shadows, save for the white skulls and blood-lusting red eyes.

Unimpressed, the champion was reminded of the wolves and undead guard dogs residing in Lothric and the painting of Ariandel. They were swift, vicious, and quite frankly unbearably annoying to deal with. As expected, his hope in avoiding a conflict dissipated, likely due to the grudge he held on to. Recalling how many times he had been "ganked" by the pestering beasts, he prepared to do combat.

The Ashen one unholstered his Black Bow from his shoulder, nocking a feathered arrow. With a mighty tug and an impressive display of utilizing his back muscles, the man had let loose. Immediately, the graceful arrow cut through the wind itself, earning that beloved sound of piercing through the air. The shot had struck true, evident by one of the beasts whimpering in pain before they inevitably collapsed into motionlessness.

Now, however, it seemed the other three wolf brethren decided to act. As the trio charged through the river's water, the Unkindled one holstered his bow, replacing it with his Sellsword Twinsblade. With a blade in each hand, he lowered his stance, preparing to evade and strike once an opportunity revealed itself.

The first of three monster's lunged, the other two following shortly behind. As expected, the Ashen one rolled to the side, swinging both blades at a horizontal angle. Immediately afterward, two of the beasts were blown backward, rolling several times before eventually stopping. While this attack did land true, it was not enough to cut the numbers of the beasts down, considering the two victims were now rising to their feet.

The third wolf, who had managed to avoid the onslaught, charged the man yet again. As he backstopped to avoid, he prepared yet another swing. Twirling his blades in a diagonal and circular manner, he knocked the third wolf back, creating ample distance to prepare for the other two. Quickly, he began to strife backward. While the beasts cautiously approached, he sheathed a single Twinsblade, now arming himself with the Crescent Moon Sword in his left hand.

Unlike before, the beasts were far more patient in their hungered approach. Now they had slowed their blinded rage, choosing to adopt a more menacing and challenging stride. They were expecting to be struck at with the Blades, yet they were completely oblivious to the strike that came next. Cutting the air with vindication and elegance, the ashen one sent forth a wave of emerald-shaded magic, one reminiscent of the power of the moon itself.

The green crescent-shaped projectile burst forth, cutting through the beast's bodies with ease. And like a house of cards, the monsters crumpled. Their bodies quickly began disintegrating, taking the ashen one by surprise to an extent. This moment of hesitation, however, had been all that the final wolf needed.

The Ashen one then felt a rapturous tug from his leg, and caught by surprise, he soundly fell to the floor, dropping the Crescent Moon Sword and one of his Sellsword Twinsblade as a direct result.. Against his will, he was pulled by the wolf, who viciously held onto his leg. Soon he found himself being both submerged and thrown about, the wolf possibly attempting to drown him...which was quite odd. The champion did not require air to breathe, which rendered the wolves' attack useless. Still, though, this beast was intelligent, brutally so too.

Shoving his thoughts aside, the ashen one struggled to gain his bearings. He could not see, but flailing from his leg made it all too easy to fell his opponent. With the Dark Hand activated, he charged a spell meant for these types of situations, The Farron Hail. Wave after wave, azure darts of magic struck the monster, eventually earning a cry of surprise and defeat from the wolf.

With the crude game of tug of war over with, the champion rose to his feet. Thankfully enough, his armored leggings protected his flesh from the jaws of the beast, though a few scratches were now painfully obvious. Looking down at his defeated foe, he saw the monster slowly disintegrate, and yet...he felt no increase of strength.

This was strange indeed. Normally, his fallen enemies would yield a fraction of their potency to the champion, and yet...he felt naught. Then again, he also felt the absence of earned souls from the other three beasts earlier. It was strange.

Were these monsters truly so lowly that their souls garnered such little and unnoticeable yield? Strangely enough, it had felt almost like they had no soul whatsoever. How could creatures so lacking, even be worth slaying, let alone deciding that even an accursed undead like the champion himself would be a deserving meal?

As he pondered these thoughts, he made his way across the stream to collect his earlier fired arrow, which now lay in a sludge-like puddle of dissipating flesh. Plucking the arrow from the withering pile, he inspected the still intact head, confirming it was still suitable for future use. After returning the ammunition to the quiver, he carried on with his hike, questions over the strange animals rearing their figurative heads.

With a look over the shoulder, the ashen one caught the last portions of the fading bodies. It seemed as if the beasts no longer existed. Not a trace remained, not a single stain of blood was visible, and not a hint of their scuffle (save for the scratch of the black greaves) showed.

Shaking his head, the champion of all people pitied the sorry souls. Lacking in both power or worth, at the very least these beasts had the courtesy of cleaning after themselves.

Unbeknownst to him, however, a new set of figures began pursuing him, this time from above...

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[BONFIRE LIT]

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||| "Don't You Dare Go Hollow..."