GDYARVE **Chapter 77: The Fire is Fading**
**Chapter 77: The Fire is Fading**
Before the screen lit up, the low voice of an old woman echoed in the darkness. Her tone carried memories, heaviness, and reflections on history.
[Yes, this is Lothric]
The sound of a bell rang out, and the camera zoomed into ancient history, accompanied by the sound of the wind howling.
The world was desolate, murky, and covered in thick mist and dust. Only decayed cities and broken statues remained, surrounded by gray rocks.
Where is this place? The old woman's voice answered.
[This is the homeland of the Lords of Cinder, a land of converging pilgrims]
It seemed as if someone was standing and gazing into the distance. The sunlight broke through the clouds and thick fog, illuminating the shattered city. Above the ruins, gray dust swirled, wrapping around the remnants.
Under the golden sunlight, one could still see the former glory of the city. The broken pillars and wind-eroded buildings still exuded a heavy epic feel.
Dust billowed in the air, covering the fallen king in wind and sand. The weathered stone walls teetered on the brink of collapse.
A deep orchestral sound began to rise, as if narrating the sorrow of this history.
[And so the pilgrims venture north]
[And discover the truth of the prophecy—]
Amidst the swirling dust, the pilgrims hobbled along, holding withered staffs, their tortoise shells bound with iron chains behind them.
Layers of tattered cloth covered their faces as they trudged forward against the sandstorm, their steps heavy, and the thick gray dust obscured their path.
Drums sounded, and the combined instruments became more intense. Through the dust, the ancient royal city could be seen.
The Fire is Fading
—And yet no kings in sight
A pilgrim, burdened with a tortoise shell, fell to the ground, buried in the endless sand. The tortoise shell was rusted and gradually covered by layers of sand.
Clang—
A deep, heavy bell rang from afar, the echoes reverberating throughout the world, blending with the old woman's narration. A soprano began to sing loudly.
[When the link of fire is threatened, the bell tolls]
The ancient city was dark and withered, devoid of sound and life.
[To summon the Lords of Cinder from their graves]
The melody turned dramatic as she continued to recount the pale history.
In the dark, sharp underground cave, a pool of black sludge surged from the ground, mixed with golden sparks—
[Aldrich, Saint of the Deep]
In the black dust, silhouettes with black pointed hats and heavy black swords rose one by one from the ground.
[Abyss Watchers, the Undead Legion of Farron]
A giant sword plunged into the ground, dust flying. A massive figure, with ashen skin glowing with orange-red fire, stood up.
He wore a black crown, his mouth opening in a desperate wail, as the fire on his body ignited, consuming him completely!
[And the reclusive lord of the Profaned Capital, Yhorm the Giant]
He rose from his throne, his colossal figure shrouded in darkness, his gaze exuding endless oppression and suffocation.
The orchestra reached its climax, only a storm could fell such a great tree.
[But in truth, the lords will abandon their thrones]
The violin carried a soprano’s voice, singing high.
A pair of pure white hands lifted a black, hollow metal mask from the table. The flickering candlelight swayed with the wind.
A silver-haired maiden knelt on the ground, gently placing the mask on her face. She lifted her head slightly, gazing into the incoming light, as if longing and fantasizing about the future.
[And the Unkindled will rise]
The background chorus never weakened, drums and bells never ceased.
[Nameless, accursed Undead, unfit even to be Cinder]
In the darkness, a flame ignited—
[And so it is that ash seeketh embers.]
The screen faded to black. When the words *Dark Souls* reappeared, the flames rose, highlighting the letters as if they were burning logs in the fire.
The venue was silent, as if everyone had yet to recover from the shock.
Moments later, thunderous applause erupted. As soon as the first clap sounded, the entire venue was engulfed in applause.
“Whoa! Whoa? Whoa?!” Inko exhaled heavily. Since the bell rang, he had been holding his breath.
“Not being there in person this time... it’s such a huge loss...” he muttered, and the live comments exploded.
‘Is this Old Thief's secret weapon?’
‘Damn! I can almost hear the screams from the crowd.’
‘I thought *Bloodborne* was his peak, who knew *Dark Souls* would be even more spectacular?’
‘Amazing! — (screaming version!)’
‘FromSoftware is awesome! Black Star is awesome!’
‘The fire is fading, yet no kings in sight!!’
‘Damn, seeing Yhorm the Giant stand up made me tremble. What is this monstrosity?’
...
“It’s just a game exhibition, but I’ve never regretted not being there so much.” Inko muttered. He could already imagine what future events involving Old Thief would be like.
That trailer was filled with a rich sense of mystery and epicness, leaving plenty of room for players to imagine.
Even people who don't usually play games would feel the urge to try it after seeing the footage.
As the old woman narrated the story, the visual design and style perfectly matched what players had envisioned, raising a collective thought in everyone’s mind: this is the ruined world I imagined.
The imagery was broken and heavy, the entire world was a sad song.
The most exciting part for players was that this was Old Thief's game.
And Old Thief's games never relied solely on graphics.
This deeply ingrained concept was planted in people's minds by one excellent game after another.
Old Thief was still on stage discussing some design concepts for *Dark Souls*. But those watching the live stream weren’t paying attention; their minds were still on the burning embers and the giant kings shrouded in darkness.
Inko’s mind was blank. He could only watch the comments, trying to find emotional resonance there.
‘Just checked, the consoles are sold out! Who the hell moved so fast?’
‘The next-gen console isn’t even released yet, and the current one is sold out?’
‘To be fair, backward compatibility with new machines isn’t an issue, and old machines being forward compatible with new games isn’t a problem either.’
...
Inko opened the Xbox sales website and was dazed when he saw the sold-out message.
He remembered being mocked not long ago: ‘Are you the kid who hoarded pagers in 2000, flip phones in 2003, and cordless phones in 2005?’
He looked at the console beside the stage and finally had the confidence to respond,
‘Keep mocking!’
**(End of Chapter)**