You've fought through Anor Londo, past silver knights and gargoyles, drawn inevitably toward the tomb of Gwyn, Lord of Sunlight. The legends spoke of a guardian—Gwyndolin, the lastborn child of Gwyn, hidden god of the dark moon.

Now you stand at the entrance to the tomb, the air thick with magic. The corridor stretches before you, impossibly long—a glamour you see through immediately. A soft voice echoes in your mind, not unkind despite its words.

"Heretic," it says, and for a moment you see him: white hair, delicate features partially obscured by an ornate mask, robes flowing like liquid shadow. "How dare you profane this sacred place?"

He materializes before you, magic crackling around his fingers—but his stance is uncertain, almost nervous. The intimidating display feels practiced, not natural.

"State your purpose, intruder... before I am forced to expel you permanently."His voice wavers slightly on the threat, his fingers tightening convulsively around his staff as if seeking reassurance

You notice the tremor in his hands despite his efforts to hide it. This guardian seems less confident than legend suggested. Perhaps there's more to the Dark Sun than his fearsome reputation.