Chapter Text
His weary eyes snapped open, shaking away what felt like centuries of disuse. The familiar sensation of endless flames tearing away at his very soul was…completely gone. The shadowy kiln that had been his self-imposed prison was nowhere to be seen.
More urgently, the familiar weight of his armor was also missing.
He sat up quickly, as if life had been breathed back into his fallen corpse; his muscles grinding as they engaged themselves for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The soft feeling of fabric beneath him was unfamiliar but easily identifiable: a bed. How odd, to not awaken on top of some cold stone bricks.
Alert eyes scanned his surroundings, revealing that he was in an infirmary of some sort. But it wasn't one he'd ever seen before. Clean walls, polished wood, fresh air, and the lingering scent of medicinal substances all greeted him as one. It was such a far cry from the dilapidation and ruin that he was accustomed to that he was momentarily stunned.
Where was this place?
His sudden movement had also alerted the sole other occupant of the room. His darkened citrine irises met a set of curious, glittering, sapphire ones. They belonged to a young woman wearing the oddest religious habit he'd ever seen. Said outfit was white and blue primarily, with gold highlights, but appeared to be far more elaborate in design when compared to what he commonly associated religious wear with. In short, while not particularly scandalous, the rather cute outfit was far from the conservative hooded dresses of the faithful that he'd known in the past. And finally, he noted that her ashy blonde hair was tied up in twintails, the hairstyle also completely new to him.
Overall, the girl standing before him gave off such a foreign impression to him that she may as well have been an otherworldly being.
They stared at one another in silence for several seconds, before her expression shifted to a cheerfully welcoming smile. "Well, good morning sleepyhead! I'm glad to see you're awake and alert. How are you feeling?"
Her apparent friendliness did much to assuage his wariness. As such, he went ahead and answered politely.
"I…am well, erm, Sister?" He wasn't sure if this person was a healer or a nun of some sort. And even though his own voice sounded foreign to him, he was just glad its tone managed to remain steady.
Just how long had it been since he'd last conversed with someone properly?
"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Barbara, Deaconess of the Church of Favonius. You're currently within our cathedral's infirmary." She gave a small curtsy, tugging the edge of her dress slightly and showing a bit of her white stockings.
"A pleasure, Sister Barbara." He bowed his head respectfully. "My name is Cyril, of Astora. If I may ask…was there something wrong with me? Why am I in this infirmary?"
"It's nice to meet you too, Cyril. As for your question…" Barbara smiled sweetly at his polite introduction before putting a finger on her cheek in thought. "Well, you caused quite a stir when you were brought in. The person that found you said you were probably suffering from severe burns on account of you being aflame when they came across you! Not to mention you weren't responsive at all! But once we took a look, we found out you were just suffering from severe exhaustion. That armor of yours must be pretty fire resistant."
As she spoke, she gestured at the corner of the room by the bed he'd awakened in. Much to his relief, his armor sat there in a neat and accessible pile. After that comforting realization though, he was left to puzzle after his arrival in this strange place.
First of all, he had no idea what this 'Church of Favonius' was. Some branch of Thorolund's complex institutions? Or something else entirely? The new term only reinforced the feeling that he'd been thrown into entirely unfamiliar circumstances.
"I…see." Cyril wasn't sure what to say. "My armor is indeed quite reliable…but I must admit, I currently feel somewhat disoriented."
"You sure look like it." She huffed in light-hearted amusement. "No one recognized the style of your armor, so I was told to bring you to meet the Acting Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius after you wake up. Big si-, I mean Acting Grandmaster Jean should be able to answer your questions and get you sorted out."
"A meeting with the leader of your order, is it? Very well then." It made sense that he would be brought before some kind of leadership if they couldn't identify him. It did already say a lot about their people's generosity that they would treat and care for a complete stranger, though.
He decided he should at least thank her, "You have my gratitude for taking me under your care while I was indisposed."
"Please, it's no trouble at all." Barbara was quick to wave him off, before leaning in with an admonishing tone, "Still, to be as exhausted as you were, you must've been pushing yourself way too hard. You better take more care from now on, alright?"
"Err…I understand." He suddenly got the feeling it would be best to comply. Healers were stubborn sorts, after all.
"Great!" She gave him a cheerful wink. "I have to check up on some other matters, so please get dressed in the meantime. I'll be back to take you over to the Knights' Headquarters, okay?"
Cyril gave himself a quick look-over. He was dressed in a plain white tunic and thin pants that almost certainly did not belong to him. Had Sister Barbara or another healer undressed him? The thought made him feel more embarrassed than he thought it would.
He managed to maintain his composure though, and gave a proper response, "Understood. I will prepare myself accordingly."
After Sister Barbara departed, he went about donning his armor once more. Though worn and ragged, it was still functional. Not to mention it was a reminder of his long lost homeland, this particular design was only ever worn by the elite-ranked knights who hailed from Astora.
It consisted of chainmail worn under a blue surcoat adorned by the Astoran coat of arms laid in gold. A variety of belts held the armor together, and it was accompanied by a full-face helmet, one full pauldron and a half pauldron for the shoulders, a metal gauntlet and leather glove for the hands and forearms, and thick plate greaves to protect the legs. It was somewhat mismatched, but served its purpose well. The final components of his equipment set were his sturdy crest shield and reliable straight sword.
As he dressed himself, he tried to make sense of his current situation. At the end of his long journey across the lands of Lordran, he'd chosen to sacrifice himself to extend the Age of Fire. His soul should've served as kindling for the First Flame…yet here he was, whole and healthy.
No.
More than just being in good condition, even the curse that had afflicted him for an eternity had weakened greatly for some unknown reason. Yes…the Darksign no longer clawed at the edges of his consciousness, that endless hunger for others' souls and the forceful drain on his sanity that he'd kept at bay for so long had now become dull and muted.
There was no doubt he was still an Undead, though. A fact that he was unsure his hosts knew of in the first place. If they did, and went out of their way to show care for one of his kind then…well, he didn't know what to think of that. Kindness towards them was rare. There was a reason most of the Undead had been corralled to the accursed Undead Asylum, or left to rot all across the whole of Lordran.
Thinking of that asylum…Cyril remembered well what his time there was like. The rotting stone and damp moss. The endless days of nothing but the steady drip of water and the groans of the hollowed to keep him company. The gnawing feeling of hunger and thirst…but no prospect of death coming to lift it.
Then came Oscar, a fellow man of Astora and a full-fledged knight at that. The adventurous man had freed Cyril from his putrid cell, giving the languid former squire a chance to grasp at freedom.
It should've been him, not a trainee like Cyril that survived the escape from that accursed jail.
But alas, it was Oscar's body that lay broken by the guard demon's club, and Cyril who stood victorious over the very same demon's corpse not even a day later.
He shook his head. The past was in the past. Besides, even if he'd only been a squire when the Darksign marked him, he'd more than earned the right to wear the armor of the elite knights by now.
His thoughts returned to the present as he finished his final checks. Right on time, too, as Sister Barbara returned to the room right after he was done.
She stared at him for a moment, her eyes widening slightly. "Oh my, you cut quite the intimidating figure don't you?"
She really did appear to be somewhat daunted as he turned to face her, his eyes hidden behind the emotionless visor of his helmet.
For his part, Cyril had never been told something like that before. Given the kinds of nightmares the average resident of Lordran could run into on a daily basis, he was hardly even noteworthy in appearance.
Having been caught off-guard, the only thing he could say in response was…"Erm…My apologies?"
Perhaps it was the awkwardness in his tone, or something else he wasn't aware of, but Barbara raised an eyebrow at his off-beat response, before she broke into an amused fit of giggles.
Still completely lost, he could only watch with befuddlement as she worked her way through her sudden mirth. He found that it was a…refreshing sound. A tone untainted by dark memories or overtones of despair. A pure vocalization the likes of which he'd never heard across his travels.
He only had one question: …What exactly was so funny?
Barbara Pegg was a busy girl.
Not only was she the most skilled healer within the Church of Favonius, she was also a budding celebrity singer who performed live music for the citizens of the City of Mondstadt. The reason for her double profession was simple: she wanted to care for both people's bodies and their minds, spreading happiness wherever she could.
But across all her fans and patients, nothing had prepared her for her latest patient: the stranger that introduced himself as Cyril of Astora (and she'd never heard of a place called Astora before).
It had started even before he'd awoken.
Once she'd removed his armor, she'd been appalled at the state of his body. His obvious exhaustion was one thing, but the physical scarring was another thing entirely. She'd seen all kinds of injuries in her time as a healer, but even though her patient wasn't currently hurt in any way, she still felt sick when she conducted his physical.
Jagged tissue across both his front and back denoting a history of savage gashes and gaping wounds…pale lines along limbs and extremities suggesting the possible severance of said body parts…she didn't even want to think about the fact that those same lines also ran along his neck.
His face, though, was surprisingly unmarred, with only a single faded line of discoloration running across his right cheek. His pale visage was framed by wavy, dark hair, such that he could be considered rather handsome, once properly cleaned up. But that tidbit of information hardly even registered in Barbara's mind.
Just what had he gone through in the past? And how had he survived? And also…what kind of person was he? Was he a grizzled veteran or a traumatized victim? She couldn't deny that she already felt somewhat anxious about him even though he'd been unconscious since he was brought in.
But eventually, he did wake up. She'd put on her best smile and greeted him with her characteristic cheer, even though internally she was panicking a fair amount. But he didn't behave in any of the ways she'd expected.
Though they'd only exchanged a few words, she already got the impression that he was polite, reserved, and remarkably composed. Truthfully, his conduct was pretty endearing, with a certain sense of genuineness that conveyed that this was his normal behavior, rather than a formal front of some kind.
Not to mention now the light air of bewilderment around him had immediately stirred up her desire to take care of him. She felt bad thinking of him in such a patronizing way, but the straw that broke the camel's back was the fact that his politely confused tone contrasted completely with the imposing figure he cut while in his full armor.
Her earlier anxiousness, subsequent relief, and growing amusement all mixed together and exploded at once, and she ended up laughing much more than she should've as he looked on with his helmet tilted in an unspoken question.
She felt silly. Just what had she been so afraid of?
Cyril continued to watch as Sister Barbara's laughter began to die down.
"I-I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me…" She shot him an apologetic smile that still carried a hint of mirth. "I'll be honest…I was a bit tense before, having a foreign stranger in the infirmary…"
"Ah." He gave a nod of understanding. Suspicion and caution were the name of the game all across Lordran, though he didn't understand why she felt the need to apologize. "I promise to conduct myself in an admirable manner."
She shook her head at that, "No, I didn't mean to imply anything. I'm sure you'll behave like a proper gentleman."
The sheer surety of her statement made him stop and want to ask what gave her that impression. But he had the oddest feeling she'd somehow gained some kind of insight about him through their brief interaction thus far. Certainly, he had no plans to cause trouble, but the forthright affability in her eyes was quite surprising. Those kinds of eyes were more than a rarity, closer to an impossibility in Lordran.
Something to ponder later…
Instead, he just gave another nod. "Then, you'll be taking me to meet this Acting Grandmaster?"
"That's right!" She nodded, her twintails bobbing along with the movement. "Please, follow me."
She led him out of the small infirmary and into a wider hallway. He had to admit, the intricate design of the building was close to the level of the City of Gods, Anor Londo in design, albeit on a much smaller, more human-like scale. Still, the idea of any man-made buildings in pristine condition was enough to impress Cyril.
He let out a small breath of appreciation when they emerged into the main hall, filled with pews and a stand for the church's speaker. There was probably more unbroken furniture in this room alone than all he'd seen across the human settlements of Lodran. The polished floor, tall pillars, and colorful glass windows were also suitably impressive.
"Do you like it? The Favonius Cathedral is the pride of Mondstadt." Barbara's smile brightened, having picked up on Cyril's appreciation.
"The construction is very solid, and the decorations are meticulously crafted." Cyril nodded, noting in his mind the name of a possible city or nation. "It's quite a beautiful sight."
He could tell his words had pleased his escort, as there was an additional spring in her step now. In truth, he wanted to ask more about their organization, but figured it would be best to remain silent for now. He could now tell that this was no small sect secluded somewhere just by looking at the resources it must've taken to construct this place. To ask who they were or what Lord they worshiped may invite unnecessary suspicion.
More pressingly, there was a startling number of staff members walking about. Did this place truly have the manpower to spare for this many religious personnel? Did the undead curse, the Darksign, not spread as deeply here? Before he could voice the question, Barbara had already led him out the tall front doors of the cathedral.
And the sight that greeted him stole his breath away entirely.
A large city lay spread out before him. But those words alone didn't even come close to doing the view justice to him.
The well-maintained roads and buildings were one thing, but the people…so many people. From guards to merchants…from children to the elderly…individuals from all walks of life filled the streets right in front of Cyril's eyes. It was a shocking sight, one he never thought he'd see even in his undeath.
The tall windmills and imposing walls had hardly registered in his mind, though Barbara seemed to think that's what had him speechless. "Ah, you were out cold when the knights carried you through the city. It's beautiful isn't it? Welcome to Mondstadt!"
"Yes…thank you." Cyril attempted to compose himself and keep his voice steady, though his heart was still in turmoil. He could tell just from a glance…that the people of this city are lively and content. This was a land of relative peace…and this level of prosperity hasn't existed in any place he was familiar with since the Darksign ravaged the continent.
Just where in the world was he?
He'd resided in Lordran for what must've been countless lifetimes already, so his memories of Astora were faded and distant. The only thing recalling those memories normally did was evoke a feeling of slight nostalgia that he could shove aside with relative ease.
But…as he looked out across this place called "Mondstadt", he could only think that maybe…Astora was once like this as well. Maybe it was a land that shone bright once upon a time, with happy faces and a gentle wind cushioning it all. Just that mere thought was enough to tear his heart in two.
Barbara seemed unaware of the surge of emotions he was experiencing, curiously asking, "Say, Cyril, what kind of place is Astora? I've never heard of it, but I assume that faded insignia on your chest is its symbol?"
"It's a ruined kingdom," Cyril's mouth answered faster than he could think, making him instantly regret using the bitter tone that stopped the girl in her tracks. "I…I apologize for that. Though the kingdom itself is no more, it was a place that greatly emphasized knighthood, nobility, and duty."
Barbara had been startled by the depth of the emotions Cyril had suddenly displayed, but kept up her positive demeanor, "That doesn't sound all that different from us and our Knights of Favonius. Acting Grandmaster Jean is a wonderful person and leader too."
Cyril could only detect pride and confidence as she described her people's knights, which eased his nerves for reasons he didn't quite understand. "I see. I look forward to this meeting then."
The pair fell into silence as Barbara led the way towards a keep-like building relatively close by that she identified as the "Knights of Favonius Headquarters". He had much to think about in the meantime.
Barbara could now tell, even with his face hidden by his helmet, that Cyril had been heavily affected by the sight of Mondstadt. She was only passingly familiar with foreign affairs so she hadn't thought anything of his stated place of origin, but now she sorely wished she knew what to say to comfort him.
A ruined kingdom…
She racked her mind, going back to the senior nun's classes, for any knowledge of a nation that had a monarchy. That style of government was quite rare, after all. The Archons varied in the influence they had over their respective countries, and she knew that none of the 7 major nations was called "Astora", so she could only imagine that it was a small nation that hadn't been ruled by an Archon. Then…what was Cyril doing here? Had he fled a war? She didn't want to ask, lest she touch upon something she shouldn't. Hopefully her big sister, Jean, would be able to help more in that regard. Foreign diplomacy was the realm of the Knights of Favonius, after all. And no one was a better leader than her big sis!
But…did she just want to rely on Jean? There was a troubled person right here next to her…and she couldn't do anything about it? That wasn't right, not at all!
She glanced at him, seeing him still silent and lost in his own thoughts. It wasn't an awkward silence per se, but it still felt kind of tense. Or maybe it was just her imagination? Regardless, she wouldn't be Barbara, Mondstadt's one and only idol, if she didn't at least try to cheer him up somehow!
She took a quick glance around. Morning mass had concluded little over an hour ago, so the area around the cathedral was sparse, the majority of citizens having returned to the lower levels of the city. The few people that remained were either other members of the clergy, or patrolling knights.
In short, she could risk it.
"Um, would you…like to hear a song?" Barbara asked Cyril, feeling a bit self-conscious. It wasn't often that she offered to sing for someone when she wasn't on stage, after all.
From the way his helmet swung to face her, she could tell her question had caught him flat-footed. She fought off a surge of embarrassment, of course he didn't know that she was a singer, so the question must've seemed very random from his point of view.
"I-I do a bit of singing, you see," Barbara explained, a bit more humble than usual. "You seemed a bit down so I just thought…you might like to hear a little tune?"
She wrung her hands in anticipation, unsure if she might've offended him or weirded him out. After all, it was a pretty abrupt offer.
Cyril temporarily forgot about the bustling city around him as he stopped and scrutinized SIster Barbara. She seemed to genuinely wish to cheer him up, which warmed him a little. He then tried to remember the last time he'd heard any form of music, but alas, no such recollection surfaced from his mind.
Still a bit blindsided, he nonetheless answered, "I would love to hear a song from you, Sister Barbara."
Judging from the way her face lit up, he'd responded favorably. She took another brief glance around them, likely checking to make sure she wouldn't disturb any passerby.
Then, she sang.
It was a soft lullaby, but the power in her voice was unmistakable. It was as if a gentle breeze was caressing his ears while still confidently reassuring him that everything would be alright. Cyril was no poet, being raised to squirehood from low birth, but there was no other way to describe her tones.
He could recognize the combination of talent and effort. She was someone who strictly practiced, who honed an art to a razor sharp edge. In the span of just a minute or two, Cyril had been struck speechless twice by the young girl before him.
There was no forgetting that he was still stuck somewhere he did not recognize and surrounded by people he didn't know. But, hearing the song Sister Barbara sang for him, his spirits were lifted, and his inner turmoil seemed to fade away. In truth, he was quite surprised. Despite her apparent youth she had assumed the mantle of healer, sister, and now a skilled singer as well.
The rest of the short walk between the Favonius Cathedral and the Knights' Headquarters passed in a flash. Barbara's soft yet invigorating tune began trailing off as they entered earshot of the two armored knights guarding the door to the building.
"That was very impressive," Cyril complimented her with full earnestness. "In my travels throughout Astora and Lordran, I'm not sure I've ever heard a voice as breathtaking as your own."
Not that he really remembered Astora clearly, but Lordran certainly didn't have such musical talent available anywhere.
Refocusing on his unfamiliar situation though, he could tell that Barbara hadn't recognized the name of Lordran either. Never hearing of Astora was already a stretch, but to not know the lands of the Lords themselves? It was looking more and more likely that he'd ended up somewhere utterly divorced from his original lands.
"Thank you!" Barbara beamed at his praise, a bit of pink dusting her cheeks. "And I see you're feeling better, too. I'm so glad!"
Cyril had to agree. The short song she'd shared was not only a welcome reprieve, but also helped him realize the bright side of his arrival in this strange new land. A land full of life and vigor. His eyes scanned the sturdy walls and crowded streets in a new light.
The City of Mondstadt no longer just reminded him of what Lordran and Astora used to be, it also became a monument to what he hoped his sacrifice would've accomplished. If the curse of the Undead had truly been lifted, could his lands have become like this once more? He'd like to think that was the case.
Over the endless years, he'd forgotten what a city was supposed to be; how one was supposed to look, sound, or even smell. But Monstadt had restored those concepts with simple ease. One could say he was already beginning to feel a budding affection for the foreign city.
"Yes, I'd forgotten what peace and prosperity could do for people." Cyril shook his head lightly, saying with a small smile, "You were right, Sister Barbara. This is a beautiful city, indeed."
Her already wide smile got even wider, her expression displaying contentedness at a goal properly accomplished. "Isn't it? I might not have traveled much in my life, but I know I love this place. From the moment I was born all the way until now."
Cyril couldn't quite relate, given his own estrangement to Astora at this point, but he felt he could at least comprehend the sentiment. "And the city is all the more fortunate to have you as a loyal citizen."
She flushed a bit at the praise, before gesturing for him to wait as she stepped away to talk with the guards. They exchanged a few words, but this whole occasion must've been expected as she just as quickly returned to him.
"Um…it was nice meeting you, Sir Cyril, but I'm sure the Acting Grandmaster is waiting. If you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to visit the Cathedral, okay? I'll do anything I can to help." Barbara stated seriously.
"I understand. And if I wish to just hear another song?" Cyril grinned with more than a little cheekiness.
Her eyes widened at his words, before she beamed with happily narrowed eyes, "I'll think about it. But only if you don't end up in the infirmary again too quickly, mister!"
She gave him a cute little final wave before turning back in the direction they came from. The two knights gave Cyril a curt nod, which he returned respectfully.
"Please, come this way." One of them opened the door and gestured for him to follow. The other remained at his post.
"Of course," Cyril agreed, keeping his hand far from the hilt of his sword.
The entrance opened into a large foyer, with many doors lining the sides and a set of large stairs in the back. His escort led the way silently, something Cyril appreciated as he prepared himself for a meeting with the unknown.
Somehow, the more utilitarian construction of this building put him more at ease. There was still a sense of ornamentation in its design and decor, but it was nowhere near the extravagance of the cathedral. And, importantly, it still felt human, which was more than what he could say about the glistening spires of Anor Londo.
After a short walk, they arrived at a nondescript wooden door. He'd been expecting the office of a leader to stand out, but perhaps that just wasn't how things were done here. With polite silence, he watched as the escorting knight approached the door and knocked crisply.
"Come in." A muted woman's voice called from the other side.
His escort turned to him and nodded, before stepping aside to let him through.
Stepping forward, Cyril took a deep breath and suppressed a sudden surge of apprehension.
He placed a hand on the door and pushed…