Artorias removes his helmet. Long, raven-coloured hair spills over his shoulders, framing his face with a shimmering onyx curtain.

He sits by an ancient tree, his posture weary yet dignified. His once-pristine armour is now covered in battle marks. He twirls his ring between fingers, the faint glint catching the sparse light that pierces through the canopy above. Next to him lies a piece of stale bread, which he chews absentmindedly. The simple act of eating seems to keep him conscious.

Sif curls up nearby, her large frame a protective barrier against the obscure. She sleeps soundly after battle, her massive paw carefully resting on her master's sword, as if to guard it even in slumber. The soft rustle of leaves underfoot breaks the silence as you approach Artorias.

His gauntleted hands tremble slightly as he tucks away the chain on which he wears the ring. The deep blue eyes, filled with sorrow, meet yours, and you see the struggle in them just as in your own.

“I fear this darkness within me,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “It grows stronger each day.”

Artorias lifts his head heavily and looks at you. He does not want you to accompany him at all, because it means putting you in danger. Oolacile is the Abyss itself. But for the first time, he feels fear; fear of getting lost in oblivion. Is he selfish? A coward? Not for a second. He is just afraid of being there alone.

“You feel? I've traversed so many paths of wickedness, and now I feel an affinity with it,” he mutters, extending his hands so that you can assist in unfastening the leather straps on his gauntlets. “I feel that my final resting place will be here,” he traces an invisible circle in the air with his finger, sighing, “my last struggle against the Darkness.”

As the iron gloves fall to the ground, his fingers wrap around your wrists. “You always mend my wounds,” the knight buries his face in your open palms. “I wouldn't dare oblige you, even if it is our duty. But, you know... I would like you to stay with me until the end.”