In the endless darkness, at the edge of time and the world, Lloyd faced an old man—aged, diminished, no longer the mighty figure he once was.
A duel between only the two of them—strange, inexplicable, yet undeniably fated.
Lloyd knew this kind of scene all too well. It almost felt like coming home.
No—he was home.
After all, neither the flames, nor the ash, nor the old man standing before him belonged to the Lands Between. Even this place itself was of his own making.
As the firelight flickered, Lloyd seemed to drift back through memory—back to when he, a foreign soul, had first arrived at the Kiln of the First Flame, and accepted the Fire from Gwyn's hands.
Back then, he'd brimmed with confidence. He believed that through his sacrifice, and the changes he'd already made, he could bring a spark of hope to the world. He'd dreamed of the day when the seeds he planted would finally bloom and bear fruit.
But the result…
"So, you ended up walking the same path after all."
His blade pierced the chest of the divine king's remains. The next moment, Gwyn's blazing fist smashed across his face.
Boom—
Lloyd staggered back several steps as a deep wound tore open across Gwyn's torso. A second later, Lloyd uncorked an elemental flask and drank deeply; the life he'd just lost flooded back into him in an instant. Across from him, Gwyn's burned form steadied itself and pressed searing flames to his chest, sealing the gash shut once again.
"But in the end," Lloyd said quietly, "I didn't fare any better myself…"
He surged forward, greatsword in hand, the blade clashing violently with Gwyn's flaming greatsword.
"Still, I never regretted it. Someone had to act."
Even now—even without the journey through the Lands Between, even without meeting Alice—he would have remained in that endless dark, suffering forever in silence and solitude.
But no matter how many times he lived through it, he would always choose the same road again—though not the same mistakes.
If one path failed, he'd find another. If he fell, he'd learn from the fall.
No matter how many times it took, no matter how uncertain the way ahead, he would start over again and again—until he reached his goal.
Or until everything ended.
"Is that because my will is so unshakable?"
They crossed again—steel flashing—and this time, both lost an arm in the exchange.
Lloyd tossed Gwyn's severed limb aside, then calmly used a healing spell to mold a new one for himself.
"No," he muttered, "it's because I'm insane."
No sane mind could endure unending pain like this. But perhaps a controlled madness counted as its own kind of sanity.
"I'm no savior. And neither are you.
If anything, we're just two desperate lunatics—facing a dying flame, closing our eyes, and diving in headfirst."
"Yeah. We both know it's stupid," he said as his blade caught fire and sliced through Gwyn's body once more. "We suffer for it, and it doesn't even fix the problem."
"But it's all we can do."
"Because even a foolish act is better than doing nothing—and regretting it when it's already too late."
He reached out then, thrusting his hand straight through Gwyn's guard. The blade cut into his palm, splitting it open, yet his hand didn't tremble. Steady, unwavering, it plunged deep into the torn chest, closing around the wisp of gray fire hidden within the hollow shell.
The moment his fingers closed around it, agony surged through him—so fierce that even Lloyd's expression wavered.
The flame thrashed violently, slipping free of his grasp. As the wound sealed, Gwyn drove his sword through Lloyd's chest, then swung it wide, hurling him back across the void.
But even then, Lloyd showed neither anger nor frustration.
He simply rose, retrieved his weapon, and once more walked toward the shattered remains of Gwyn.
"If once isn't enough, then twice. If twice fails, then thrice..."
"This may take a long time, but that's fine. Time is the one thing we have in abundance."
And so, battle began anew.
And so, the ash burned once more.
Again and again, Lloyd reached out and grasped that gray flame.
Again and again, it seared into his soul.
No matter how much it burned, no matter how many times it slipped from his grasp—no matter the wounds, no matter how close he came to collapse—Lloyd refused to stop.
Until the resistance within that gray fire began to fade.
Until the pain it radiated started to weaken.
At last, after countless attempts, the flame quieted and rested in his hand.
Gwyn's remains fell still.
After reclaiming Gwyn's fragment, Lloyd wrapped the gray flame around his hand.
Even weakened, its pain was still excruciating.
But Lloyd didn't care. After securing the fragment, he carried that gray fire toward the shard that had lingered beyond Gwyn's resting place.
He reached out his hand.
At the instant of contact, agony tore through him.
Visions from the past unfolded before his eyes—his journey through the Dark Souls world, his arrival in the Lands Between.
Every pain, every loss, every sorrow flooded into his mind all at once, as though reliving it in a single heartbeat.
Lloyd paused only for a moment before pressing forward.
Not just because he'd long grown used to pain—but because these memories, these sorrows, weren't his own.
Yes. They weren't his.
He admitted that in the twisted world of Dark Souls, things hadn't been easy for him.
But his mind had long since ceased to be normal—bent, scarred, and shaped by madness. If it weren't for that, he could never have stayed sane after the end of all things, never stood unbroken under the weight of despair.
As for whose memories and sorrows these truly were...
Tap... tap... tap...
He walked for what felt like ages across the endless gray plain until, far ahead, a small dark silhouette appeared.
When he drew close, Lloyd sat beside her. She crouched there, head buried in her arms, quietly sobbing. After a moment's silence, he reached out and gently stroked her hair.
For a long time, she cried without speaking. Then, under his touch, the sobs finally stopped. Slowly, she lifted her head.
It was a woman wearing an eye covering.
The Fire Keeper.
It turned out that no one but Lloyd could endure the endless Dark—not even her.
If faith and affection alone could have sustained her through the ages, the preservation of the world would never have been so hard.
In her final days, unable to bear the thought of Lloyd living on alone, she'd found another way. She divided herself, creating an existence to stay by his side—leaving him all her warmth and love, while taking with her the darkness and sorrow, to be buried forever in the gray.
She had never intended to return. She had no wish to be revived.
Lloyd already had a Fire Keeper by his side, and the part of her that remained carried nothing but pain that could not be touched.
To her, staying dead—buried and forgotten—was a mercy to him.
But Lloyd disagreed.
"Pain and wounds, sorrow and despair—they're all part of who we were."
"Running from them might bring peace for a while, but it never truly resolves anything."
"And besides..."
Lloyd wiped the tears from her eyes.
"I don't want to lose you."
Taking back this pain would complicate things—it meant more burdens, more struggles ahead.
But if one never faced the past, never confronted the fear head-on, the shadows of yesterday would never fade—and any talk of the future would be meaningless.
Speaking of the future...
After comforting the Fire Keeper, Lloyd lifted his gaze to the empty sky above.
There was nothing there.
But because there was nothing—He could be there. And...
"You've been watching this whole time. You didn't come just to watch, did you?"
"Or maybe…"
Lloyd rose to his feet, brushing the dust from his coat.
"The reason you helped set this whole grand stage—wasn't just for everyone else. It was for yourself too, wasn't it?"
There was no answer.
But silence was an answer in itself.
After all, he had already fought through the Lands Between, cleared the Dark Souls realms—some of them more than once.
And yet, thinking carefully, there was one being who had been with him from the very beginning… and one he had never fought.
A being worthy of being the final opponent.
The only one who could make him fight with everything he had—without fear of going too far.
"Am I right?"
Lloyd looked toward the figure emerging slowly from the darkness. Expressionless. Silent.
He drew his weapon.
The figure lifted a greatsword in turn.
Behind its hollow eyes shimmered a sea of endless stars.
A whole world within.