The loyalist knights were pushed back under the pro-fire faction's furious assault.
Then a deafening crash came from the place they were protecting—as if something massive had collided.
Fire erupted like magma. A terrifying wave blew over both sides.
The prince loyalists rejoiced. Their lord had finally acted—
But before their cheers could settle, the metallic clatter of rapid strikes burst out like fingers hammering a keyboard.
Someone was fighting Prince Lorian.
Fighting the invincible First Prince.
The Coiled Sword and Lorian's greatsword burned with different flames. Clash—grind—sparks flying.
They knocked apart again, each pushed back by the other's force.
Lorian stared at Ember's sword.
The Coiled Sword. He recognized it.
Impossible. It wasn't time yet. The second bell hadn't rung. How could anyone rise now?
"You are Ash."
"Maybe." Even Ember wasn't sure, but it didn't matter.
He only wanted to crush these two completely.
The ground shattered beneath his feet as he surged forward again.
Lorian raised his greatsword and met him head-on. Their collision bloomed into gale-force wind.
Then Ember caught silver light in his peripheral vision—countless white points streaking for him.
He guarded with the sword, took Lorian's blow head-on, and was knocked flying—barely slipping past the silver barrage.
He looked toward the high platform.
This wasn't a duel.
He was facing both princes.
Lorian in front, blade to blade.
Lothric behind, firing from range.
Ember grinned dangerously.
"Don't die on me."
A chill of danger rose in both princes' hearts.
"Stop him!" they shouted in unison.
But it was too late.
The flaming tip of Ember's Coiled Sword traced a circle in empty air like a brush.
Holding Lorian's blade in place, Ember said calmly:
"Black Sun."
The wind changed.
The silver projectiles were dragged into the newly formed Black Sun.
A horrifying pull seized every tangible thing ahead of it, paired with terrifying heat.
Everything in front of the Black Sun caught fire.
Walls and ground cracked under the suction, broke loose, floated up, and were devoured by the void.
Lorian could feel the pull behind Ember as well as the lethal heat—his armor was turning molten.
"Magic? Miracle? No… this isn't any attack I know!" Lorian forced himself through the pain. He had to break Ember's casting.
As he tried to charge through the Black Sun, Ember gestured behind him.
"Look behind you."
Lorian's mind flashed. He spun and saw Lothric grimacing, maintaining a miracle barrier to resist the Black Sun at point-blank range.
Unlike Lorian, Lothric was frail. This close, the Black Sun could incinerate him.
Brotherhood as powerful as legend—
Lorian's focus shattered the instant he saw his brother in danger.
A deadly mistake.
"Brother, watch out!" Lothric cried.
But it was over.
The pull vanished as the Black Sun dispelled.
Unprepared, Lorian staggered—
A fist covered in dragon scales slammed into his face.
His mind went white.
And it only began there.
"ORA! ORA! ORA! ORA! ORA!"
Every punch was full power. No mercy.
Ember poured them into every inch of Lorian's body.
The chamber was already wrecked; anything caught by the Black Sun had been melted away.
Outside, soldiers on both sides stared in disbelief.
The once-invincible First Prince was being beaten senseless—
with bare fists.
The loyalists wanted to rush in, but the pro-fire army wouldn't give them space.
Lorian's will stayed iron even under the storm, but he was airborne, helpless to counter or even roll away.
"Sorry. Call me vile, call me shameless!" Ember snarled as he hit. "But if this world is to hold out until I find a real way to save it—"
"You two have to go down!"
Was there no one who could stop him?
There was.
A flash of white light—
Lorian vanished from Ember's blows and reappeared beside Lothric.
"Brother, I'll take you away and heal you!" Lothric grabbed Lorian urgently.
But before he could teleport further, a low voice spoke in his ear.
"You think you can run?"
Lothric turned stiffly and met blazing golden eyes.
Question: how does a frail mage escape a prepared close-combat monster from less than one meter away?
Lothric had the answer:
You don't.
"It's over," he sighed inwardly, draping himself over Lorian's half-conscious body, waiting for judgment.
But no pain came.
Instead, a voice—no longer as cold as before:
"Since you've lost, come with me."
Lothric froze, then looked up.
Ember crouched, slung an arm around his shoulders, and pointed to the unconscious Lorian, voice almost coaxing.
"Little prince… you don't want your brother to get hurt because you won't cooperate, do you?"
If Lothric understood that certain other meme line, he'd be clutching his backside right now.
Outside, the war raged on. Lothric stared at Ember and rasped:
"…What do you want?"
"To take you back to link the fire."
"…My soul will burn all the same."
"I want you alive. Both of you."
Ember looked him dead in the eye.
"Maybe you don't believe me. But I'm telling you straight: I'll save this world another way—not by prolonging it through endless fire, and not by ending it in darkness. Until I find that way, I need the flame burning."
"Otherwise by the time I succeed, there won't be many sane living people left."
"Then what the hell am I even saving?"
Lothric stared, stunned.
"You… don't want to link the fire?"
"I want a permanent solution, not a slow suffocation."
"…Then don't link it. Like us."
"But how many people will survive that age?"
Ember pressed on.
"You know better than I do what comes when darkness arrives. How many lives make it through?"
"I don't care what you believe. I won't let that age come."
He meant it.
Lothric could feel it—the respect for life, the resolve to seek another path. It was real.
"But why should I sacrifice myself for some future you're talking about?" Lothric demanded.
Born cursed, chosen as fuel from infancy—everyone saw him as a disposable resource.
Besides his brother, this world had given him no love.
Why should he sustain it?
He shouldn't.
Not before. Not now. Not ever.
Ember could sense the resentment. He didn't indulge it—only offered a guarantee he could stand behind.
"Lothric, listen. I know you won't believe a word of this, but words are all I've got right now."
"I swear on my life—you won't die in this linking."
"I promise you a happy future."
Lothric was struck dumb.
Ember didn't wait for a reply.
"I've talked long enough. We're leaving."
He hoisted the sickly prince over his shoulder and grabbed Lorian by the leg.
Step by step, he walked back onto the battlefield.
Two armies still hacked at each other.
Ember drew a deep breath. Lothric covered his ears.
Then Ember's roar shook the warzone.
"Everyone listen!"
Both sides whipped around.
They saw the princes—seen clearly—on Ember's shoulders.
"Both princes are captured!"
"This battle is meaningless now!"
"Drop your weapons before you strike your own kin again!"
His voice echoed through the city.
But who would lower their swords?
This was war.
The loyalists wanted to rush in and rescue their princes.
The pro-fire soldiers saw the loyalists as traitors and wanted to purge them.
Ember knew two lines wouldn't end it.
Still, he tried.
"Maybe you don't know who I am—"
"I am Ash. A fire-bearer."
"I'm the one who rose to keep this age alive!"
The pro-fire soldiers stirred.
"But the second bell hasn't rung!"
"How could Ash awaken now?"
"Listen to him first."
The loyalists were ready to charge—Ash meant the enemy to them.
They held back only because the princes were in Ember's grasp.
Ember drew another breath.
Time to sell the lie.
"You may find it strange that I awakened so early."
Both factions were baffled.
Ember's expression hardened.
"Have you felt it? Have you seen it?"
"The flame is dying."
"And because the flame is dying, I awoke ahead of time."
"That is why I'm here."
"As you can see, I defeated the princes. I will bring them to Firelink Shrine."
The loyalists bristled.
But Ember kept going.
"But that's not enough!"
He pointed to the darkened sky.
"You can all see it—our world is decaying!"
"The fire is about to go out!"
"To sustain this age, we need more fuel!"
"People of the flame—stop turning your swords on your own!"
"This is pointless. Instead of wasting strength here, why not retrieve the Lords of Cinder?"
"Like—Aldrich."
The pro-fire faction exchanged looks.
Ember was right. Their first and only priority was linking the fire.
After a moment, their leader nodded.
Ember exhaled in relief.
The loyalists, though, weren't convinced.
They were only loyal to the princes. This kind of devotion wasn't something words could crack.
The pro-fire soldiers knew that.
But to Ember?
This was easy.
He hauled Lorian up again—half his body still dragged on the ground due to height difference, but who cared.
Ember smiled brightly.
"You don't want your princes harmed, right?"
"Then bring back the Lords of Cinder. Trade kings for your princes' safety."
Pro-fire faction: "…"
Lothric: "…"
This guy… was shameless.
At this point, Ember figured he'd done what he could.
Under every soldier's gaze, he carried the princes through the parted ranks.
He reached a bonfire, drew the Coiled Sword, and plunged it in.
Flame leapt up instantly.
That sight alone convinced all of them:
He was Ash.
Ember turned back to the armies, voice softer.
"Everyone… move. Save this world."
The bonfire flared.
Ember and the princes vanished.
The two factions stared at each other.
In the end—
they didn't resume fighting.
Watching the pro-fire army withdraw, the loyalists exhaled, too.
Their princes were taken.
They had no power left to keep clashing anyway.
-------
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