*clank* *clank* *clank* 

The undead was still going at it, hitting the metal bars on the door without rest while muttering to himself. One could only wonder for how much longer would he be able to keep doing that. Hopefully, not for long. 

*boom* 

A loud sound of rock and bricks being crushed came from a place far below the undead’s cell. This wasn’t something uncommon, there had always been something down there, something huge enough for its steps to be heard several meters away. The creature, like any prisoner would be, wasn’t happy to be locked in a cage, and so it would occasionally hit the walls to vent the accumulated anger. Since the action remained futile to his escape throughout the years, he always stopped after a few hits. But this time was different. 

*BOOM!!!* 

A hit stronger than any other before slammed the underground walls with a vigor unheard of to the undeads that had gotten accustomed tothe occasional tantrums of the creature. While the impact still wasn’t nearly enough to make the place crumble, it managed to travel through the walls all the way up to the cells above. The undead who had been hitting the door with his sword suddenly felt the tremor and a second later saw that the door began to tremble, the hinges that had become loose since a while ago snapped and fell from the wall, followed by the door itself which came crashing down onto him... 

“Ugh... huh?” 

A while later, the undead let out a grunt. Hitting his head on the cold floor had made him pass out for a few minutes. He tried getting up, but one of his feet was stuck between one of the smaller gaps in the bars and the door’s weight was too much for him; using his frail and squalid arms he grabbed onto the door and once again tried pushing it away to no avail.  

“Hmph!” 

He tried once more, but this time he opted for moving the door to his side little by little while sliding his body slowly in the opposite direction. Eventually, he managed to pull out from the door and squirm from below it. He sat down, exhausted. That was the greatest effort his body had made in several years; hitting his head managed to awaken him from a trance, which made his senses come back, and little by little he started to feel the weakness of his limbs, hunger, thirst and migraine. While his body had managed to endure for decades thanks to the curse of the undead, he was still human, and the pain remained. 

He took a look at his slim body and saw nothing more than the dried flesh covering him from head to feet, as well as a single piece of dirty loincloth covering his nether region; then he glanced around his cell. It was pretty much empty, besides a few rats, cockroaches, flies, cobwebs and spiders. It was truly a pitiful place, but something caught his attention: a small book. 

“!!!” 

The undead seemed to recognize it, whether it was his or just a book he came across once he had arrived at the asylum, he didn’t know, but he certainly felt an undoubted sense of familiarity. He quickly crawled towards it, grabbed it and started reading... or at least he tried to. 

“...?” 

The pages were filled with countless notes, schemmes and drawings, although plenty of them had become unreadable due to them suffering from the effects of humidity, ink seeping through the pages, or because some of them had been torn off completely. He turned the book backwards and upside down repeatedly while squinting his eyes trying to understand what was written on the small book, but due to his hollowing, his reading ability had deteriorated to almost nothing. Still, he managed to read a few words. 

“Gods... Lordran... gods... Lordran...” 

The undead saw the very words he had been repeating to himself all this time and started to feel something he had long forgotten: a purpose. He slowly looked upwards to his now open cell’s entrance. The path to freedom was now his to take; getting up as he could, trying to get used to the feeling of consciously moving his body, he took one step towards the exit while holding onto the book as if his life depended on it. 

One step, two steps, three steps. 

“Must... reach... Lordran...” 

And a second later he tripped on the fallen door and fell face first to the ground.

• • • 

Walking through the empty corridors, the undead, still getting used to using his limbs, wandered aimlesly trying to find an exit while occasionally attempting to read the book's pages. The asylum, made to lock the accursed away from the outside world; was huge enough to fit thousands of them, making is easy to get lost inside. Built like a maze, it would be hard for an undead with a hindered thought process to even start navigating through it, let alone escaping the damned place.

"Brrr..."

While his migraine had receded, the cold breeze of the north could be felt through the undead's skin and bones; his pitiful trembling appereance discernible only thanks to the lit lighting of hanged torches; perhaps losing their self awareness was blessing for those who had to endure the harsh conditions of being locked in here. Alas, this was no longer the case for the recently awakened undead.

"Cold..."

He took a glance at his loincloth and figured he would need more to cover his whole body, and thus he frantically started searching for it. He walked all the way back to his cell while looking at the side passages, and then the other way around once more. But he couldn't find anything, most things that could be used as clothes had proabably been swept by the wind years ago, eaten by rats, or were now torn pieces too small to be worn.

Realizing that searching around the corridors would probably remain a fruitless effort and with the chilling winds becoming more and more insuferable by the minute, he stopped moving for a moment and looked at his surrounding. Endless cells could be seen all around him; most of them filled with undead who were either banging their head on the walls, staring emptily at the front or sitting inmovile in their places. However, almost every one of them was wearing some sort of clothing. Seeing this, he tried to open some of them.

"Hmph!"

It was useless. 

None of the doors he tried opening budged. His weak arms lacked the strenght needed for the task at hand; if he wanted to open one of these doors, he would need to find one as feeble as his cell's was just a while ago.