The rings of striking metal echo through the halls of the massive castle, drawing ever closer. Each skirmish a brief cacophony of violence followed by silence as the intruder makes his way closer and closer. Or her way, I suppose. I don’t want to judge, after all. A sideways glance to my companion (and I use that term with much hesitation) shows the same mystery as always. Smough never spoke much even before Lord Gwyn left to rekindle the First Flame, but for the past century or so I don’t think I’ve heard him say a word. I wonder some days how much of him is even left underneath that armor. Can our kind become hollow? Can we lose our minds and our spirits and become nothing more than raving, mad beasts? These questions have haunted me more and more often as of late.

Another skirmish, closer this time. Not quite outside the main hall, but getting closer, almost certainly past the massive demon kept trapped in the chapel. A desecration of a holy room if there ever was one. With each sound of a fallen knight, I put on the show of a regretful commander, hearing his men fall one after another. But it is only that – a show.

I can’t be certain if he knows yet. If the Dark Sun has realized I saw past his illusions since the very first day he cast them. I was grateful for my concealing helm the day my beloved left Anor Londo to marry the fire god Flann, to avoid revealing what had been secret between us, and us alone. And when she returned… I suppose that is when I realized something was wrong. She greeted us upon her return as the Princess ever did, the Goddess of Sunlight a beacon of joy and warmth to her kingdom. Yet to me, there was none of the secret warmth we had shared in the days past. No hint of knowledge of our secret escapes together. When I began to look closer at the world around me, is when the cracks began to show in the tapestry.

My silver knights were always dutiful and loyal soldiers, the best of the best left to protect the castle. Yet when they returned to the castle and assumed their posts, it was as if they never left them. They might move around, or fight an intruder or errant gargoyle who decided to explore where they weren’t welcome, but the moment the fight was done, they simply returned to their post, standing eerily still. I began to worry myself paranoid, that I was simply imagining things. It had been ages since anyone had come to visit the city, after all, and when a soldier is taken out of wartime, and given the post of guardian from enemies long gone, it would not be unheard of to begin imagining the things I saw.

It wasn’t until I began to explore more of the city on my own that I began to notice more and more of the illusions beginning to waver. The sentries, like my silver knights, never moved but for combat. Even before they had been stalwart guardians, but had all the minor, natural movements of a soldier on duty. More guardians had been posted in the most unexpected areas, and two of my best snipers had been mounted to guard a small, precarious approach only a madman would attempt, and that only led to halls of more knights. The final straw came when the princess withdrew herself to her chambers, ordering that none be allowed to see her, and that we were to guard her chambers at all costs.

It was nearly five centuries since that order was given – and not a single intruder has made it through the mystical fog that appeared near the time of her return. The sounds of battle drawing closer and closer are the loudest any have been since then. I’m not sure when I suspected it was the Dark Sun who’s illusions were weaved through the castle, but I can think of none other. Gwyndolin was always more withdrawn than his elder sister, and not as doted on by Lord Gwyn. It was pure chance that I put the pieces of the puzzle together.

After the first three centuries of my guardianship, I slipped away one night. I did not expect it to be an easy task, yet none of the guardians or knights so much as glanced at me as I left. I suspect that my nature as one of the warriors of Anor Londo masks me from them, or makes me so they care nothing for me. Regardless, I made my way to the Duke’s Archives unmolested by man or beast. Several of the crystal hollows that Duke Seath had created made feeble attempts to stop me – but they are nothing compared to me. I’m not sure what I planned to look for there, but as the greatest collection of magical knowledge in all of Anor Londo, surely I could find some answer.

Before I had even begun to look for the answers amongst the shelves, a single book laying open on one of the large tables caught my eye. Strange to think that, had he taken only a moment’s time to shelve it again, I might never have discovered his plot. In fact, I had decided for myself that if I could not find the answers I sought, I would abandon my madness, having already nearly convinced myself it was merely an old soldier’s mind finally straining under ages of duty. Yet there it was, laying open for me to see. A tome of knowledge of illusory magics, of phantom warriors and illusions of those long gone to be more accurately controlled.

Still, it was no evidence until I turned the page and began to notice small, scrawled notes in the margins of the pages. I’ve lived among Lord Gwyn and his family for millenia, and it was no difficulty to discern the writing’s origin – it was the flowing, yet hasty scrawl that the Dark Sun preferred. Notes of creating warriors in the form of knights, and of how to create an illusion that could exist and be manipulated from afar. Notes on some manner of discerning if another being was present near the illusions… it was all there. All the pieces needed to create the illusion of a kingdom filled, when in reality there was naught but shadows there.

And it would take the power of a god to weave these many spells.

The notes in the margins led me to more books and more notes, and I began to put the pieces together, as much as I could, at least. Legends of a chosen undead, tales of the great city of Anor Londo, and most damning of all, a series of notes that made me suspect the abomination Frampt was involved with this as well. And many mentions of the Lordvessel, the mystical item left in the city when Lord Gwyn began his quest. It was too much to take in, and too much for a soldier like me to see the full picture, but I knew what needed to be done.

The fighting was in the chamber ahead of us now. I clenched my grip around my spear, looking at the sealed doors to the chambers of the princess behind me. Anyone who would have been fooled into doing the Dark Sun’s work would come through here to seek her, to acquire the Lordvessel, and I would be sure to stop them.

The mystical fog before us began to flicker and warp, and through the bottom a trio of figures stepped through, a human warrior flanked by two glowing phantom spirits, torn from the fabric of time to join him. Very well. Let them send armies against us, they will crash upon us and be broken, as the rocks on the shore. Smough was already standing ready – and I was not prepared to trust this battle to him alone. With the slightest effort I leaped from my perch above to his side, my grip on my spear tight and ready.

I will play the guardian, but I know my victory will prevent the Dark Sun from whatever his mad ends are. I will fight until my last breath to keep anyone from entering the chamber behind our backs. I am Dragonslayer Ornstein, and I will not let any pass me alive.