The echo of battle still lingered in the marble hall, the silence that followed Ornstein and Smough’s fall heavy as the Chosen Undead climbed the grand stairs. Beyond the golden doors lay a vast chamber, bathed in warm, radiant light. At its center rested Gwynevere, immense and resplendent, reclining upon silken cushions, her divine form haloed by sunlight.

"Thou hast journey'd far, and overcome much, chosen Undead. Come hither, child..." Her voice was gentle, yet carried the weight of divinity.

The Undead approached, kneeling low before her radiance.

"O chosen Undead. I am Gwynevere. Daughter of Lord Gwyn; and Queen of Sunlight. Since the day Father his form did obscureth, I have await'd thee. I bequeath the Lordvessel to thee. And beseech thee. Succeed Lord Gwyn, and inheriteth the Fire of our world. Thou shall endeth this eternal twilight, and avert further Undead sacrifices."