Lucian felt certain that this was the very star that had been calling him. The others he had glimpsed in the void were all hazy, indistinct—shapes that could only be guessed at by faint outlines and traits. But this one, its form stood clear before him. That alone made it remarkable.
And besides, this star… it resembled a white dwarf, a body famed for its immense mass and crushing gravity. The connection to gravity magic was undeniable. Could this, then, be the Outer God that embodied gravity itself?
A thought struck Lucian suddenly. Could it be that Radahn had not sealed away the stars by his own power alone, but had drawn upon this being's strength?
The battles just now had proven to Lucian that Radahn had never once held back. His gravity sorcery was formidable, yes, but something on the level of sealing away fate and the stars themselves—that was a concept far too abstract, too immense, for even a demigod.
Even the Astel-kind—the Malformed Star beasts, waiting in ambush beyond the Lands Between… to hold them back would take unimaginable force. Radahn was strong, but he was still of the demigod's tier. If he truly had sealed away the stars with nothing but his own power, then what chance would the rest of the demigods ever have had? It would not even be a contest.
But if Radahn had a god at his back—an Outer God of gravity, then everything made sense. After all, the other demigods had divine patrons as well. For Radahn not to have one would, in fact, be the greater oddity.
And Radahn's own master, the Alabaster Lord, was not even of this land—he hailed from the stars. Lucian remembered, too: the Onyx Lord and the Alabaster Lord, alike in appearance yet enemies in truth. If the Alabaster Lords hailed from this suspected white dwarf star, then what of the Onyx Lords? Did they too have a celestial home of their own?
A black dwarf? The possibility seemed too fitting to ignore. White dwarfs and black dwarfs alike were famed for their gravity. A black dwarf was, in essence, a white dwarf transformed into something utterly different—yet still linked, by nature and by name.
Lucian searched for it, scouring the dark sky for a glimpse of such a body. But all he found were more indistinct stars and the pale shadow of a dying sun. In the end, he gave up on finding a black celestial body in a darkness already so complete.
His gaze returned to the white dwarf.
Yet still, he did not know why this star had chosen to reach out to him. Could it be, he wondered, that it had sought him only because Radahn was dead? Was it preparing him as a successor?
It was not an impossible thought. After all, through Wind Spirit Moon Shadow, the Starcaller Cry had surged with a might greater than ever before—perhaps the most powerful gravity sorcery ever seen in the Lands Between.
But even so, what would be the point of inheriting Radahn's mantle? This god of gravity had never shown the slightest will to enforce its own law upon the Lands Between. Had it wished to, Radahn's power and influence would have made it impossible to conceal.
Indeed, when Lucian looked across the firmament, such silence seemed to be the norm. The stars were many, and most lay quiet as death. Only a few bore traces of having ever touched the Lands Between. The Formless Mother, the Scarlet Rot—those gods had clear designs, evident and active. But this one? This one seemed entirely without ambition.
If it had no wish to impose law, then it had no need for a prophet, no desire for an emissary.
Proving, once again, that the spaces between the stars were not a good place for clear thought. The boundless dark pressed down, stifling, crushing his concentration.
Soon, Lucian abandoned speculation. Better than chasing empty theories was to try asking directly.
He attempted to call out to the distant star. But to his shock, no voice came.
He 'looked down' at himself, only to realize there was no body there at all. Below, far below, lay the Lands Between.
What was he now? A soul? A fragment of consciousness? He tried moving, tried grasping, but found himself as nothing more than a camera, a point of view floating in space. He could shift his gaze, but there was no interaction, no touch, no sound.
He turned again to the white dwarf, straining to reach it with thought alone. Still, no answer.
Yet faintly—there was a feeling. A warmth. A kindness.
The star was radiating a sense of approval, of welcome.
Encouraged, Lucian pressed harder, pouring intent into his thoughts. Unbeknownst to him, his attunement—his Sense was climbing, point by point.
Sense +1. Sense +2. Sense +1. Sense +1…
The gains were small each time, but they did not stop.
Until at last, his Sense settled at 65. The boundary. The limit of what mortals could achieve. Beyond that lay a realm where only beings beyond life could tread.
And then—something stirred. A strange, peculiar power seeped into him, a gift from the star. What it was, he could not yet tell; only when he returned to his body would he know.
But he could feel the star's goodwill, clearer now than before. It was a feeling of praise… of relief.
Yet after a long while, nothing further came. The star gave its gift—and did no more. Nor did it return him to his body.
Lucian stared up at it, baffled. 'So this is why the Two Fingers always needed interpreters, those Finger Readers, he thought wryly. There's just no way to understand them directly.'
If you're going to bestow a gift, at least say something while you're at it!
Of course, perhaps it had spoken, and he simply lacked the means to comprehend. Perhaps it merely found him pleasing to the eye and chose to reward him on a whim.
But if so, couldn't it at least send him back afterwards?
The star remained silent.
Lucian began to consider escape. His body was still on the Lands Between, he reasoned. His consciousness must have been forcibly drawn out here. If that was the case, then one use of Wind Spirit Moon Shadow, with its immunity to abnormal states, should return him to himself.
But should he really use it here, of all places?
The charges of Wind Spirit Moon Shadow were precious beyond compare. And here, though it was confusing and aimless, he was in no real danger. Better, then, to wait a little longer.
In the endless black, time lost all meaning. Each moment stretched until it felt like centuries.
At last, a change came.
Warmth wrapped around his drifting consciousness.
Startled, Lucian sought the source—and found it.
It was not the white dwarf at all, but the faded, pallid sun he had glimpsed earlier. The Sun of Despair.
A bleached sun, its light stripped away, wreathed in writhing wraiths. He had seen its likeness before—etched upon the Eclipse Crest Greatshield of the headless Mausoleum Knights.
He knew of it: the god of the soulless demigods, revered in Castle Sol as both object of awe and symbol of despair.
Yet now… on its edge, faint and stubborn, blazed a rim of true sunlight. It was from that margin of flame that the warmth was flowing to him.
Two suns, he realized with a jolt. The bleached sun loomed near to the Lands Between, while the true sun hung much farther, small in the distance. The pallid giant blocked almost all its light.
So that's it. If the sun were ever fully eclipsed, the ritual would succeed. They would drag Godwyn's soulless body back into being.
But not yet. Not fully. The true sun still shone through.
Lucian remembered the line from Castle Sol's Eclipse Spirit: "The sun has not yet been dimmed. Our prayers… were too weak."
Was this bleached sun itself built upon such prayers and rites? If so, then clearly, even with their rituals, they had not prevailed—and the true sun itself resisted.
An ancient will stirred, heavy and obscure, searing into Lucian's mind.
And then he understood.
It was not the white dwarf that had bound him here—not that alone. The true sun had taken hold of him.
The white dwarf had only pressed a gift into his hands. But the old, distant sun—it was the one that would not let him go.
This sun cared nothing for worship, nothing for reviving a cult of solar faith. But it would not allow its light to be smothered.
The sun's light must fall equally upon every world. Else, the world would twist into anomaly. That was the wisdom of a star that had burned across uncountable skies.
If the sun's radiance was to return to the Lands Between, then the ritual for Godwyn must be destroyed.
And it gave Lucian the choice.
Would he do it?
Lucian nearly laughed. Who could resist? Who would even hesitate? Not the so-called gods of the Lands Between.
Of course he would. He had always been a Warrior of Sunlight at heart. He had stood beside Solaire, long ago—Solaire, who had fought like no other, who had once joined him in beating stone gargoyles bloody upon a bell tower. A fine comrade, through and through.
As for Godwyn—well, may fortune be with him.
Lucian accepted without a second thought.
And the sun answered.
Its power poured into him—raging fire, radiant flame, warm sunlight. Even without his body, he felt it burning across every inch of him, scarring him, branding him.
Visions came.
A world where demons rose from fog, devouring souls. The sun's warmth brought revelation, and six kings rose to bring fleeting peace—
A world where darkness reigned, until the sun's first light became fire. In that fire, the races of night found their lords, and the Age of Fire began—
A world once bright and green, overrun by alien gods. The sun was blocked, its light lost, and when the last rays faded, beasts and plague devoured the land—
Other worlds, mundane, without magic, where the sun was nothing more than a burning star. And yet, even there, war was endless, armored engines roaring, nations at each other's throats—
Lucian's consciousness snapped back to his body.
Flames blazed across his flesh, etching divine marks into his skin. Tiny sparks, ember-scars, spreading until they covered him whole. Like charred firewood, still glowing faint with embers.
He knew this form well. Once, he would have called it—Kindled.
He was still standing where he had been, eyes raised to the heavens. Judging by the seawater now filling the crater beside him, more time had passed than he realized.
Far off, atop a dune, he thought he glimpsed a red-haired woman staring at the night sky. But in the instant he focused, she was gone.
Before him instead, a figure shimmered, half-ethereal, watching him with worry. Rose-gold hair. Golden eyes, the left one shut.
Melina.
"Melina?"
She hurried forward at the sound of his voice, clasping his hand. "I am here."
Her touch was real. Not an illusion.
"I'm fine," Lucian murmured. "I just… drifted a little."
But in that moment, he realized—he could see souls.
He glanced up. No sun above. Only the Erdtree, blazing bright even in night's darkness.
And when he stared long at its resplendence, he saw it—
The Erdtree was burning.
Flames crawled from trunk to crown. Branches, leaves, all turned to ash. And then, borne high by the charred trunk, the great sun rose—his sun, ascending as the world's new sovereign.
Lucian blinked. The vision vanished. A delusion, perhaps—but he knew it for prophecy.
He had seen the flame's shadow. He had seen the Erdtree's fate.
Long he stood, head tilted skyward, silent.
And then he laughed. Low at first.
"…Ha. Hahaha…"
Then louder. Wild. Unrestrained.
"HAHA—HAHAHA!"
Of course. Of course! Burning trees—such work should be left to a professional!
He need not use this fire himself. But he could never afford to be without it.
The final piece of the puzzle was his at last.
He had become Kindling.
—
[T/N: Warrior of Sunlight is a Covenant in Dark Souls and Dark Souls Remastered. It is one of the most popular cooperative-focused allegiances and features Solaire of Astora.
Solaire of Astora is a prominent character in Dark Souls, known for his cheerful demeanor and the iconic "Praise the Sun" gesture. He is an exceptionally skilled warrior who deliberately became Undead to journey to Lordran in search of a sun of his own. ]