On the body, you find a key. The key has a marking on it that matches your cell. You use the key to open your cell door and step out into the hallway. You step out cautiously, hearing the howls of other Hollows far out in the distance. Following the hallway, you pass cell after cell of Hollows, some wailing, some banging their heads against the walls, some deathly silent. As you turn the final corner, you see a wooden door slightly ajar. You enter the room and see a knight bathed in a pillar of sunlight coming from a hole in the masonry of the ceiling. Covered in a pile of rubble, the knight has many identifiable wounds and broken bones, and many more not so clearly apparent. You recognize him as the knight who tossed you the key. He notices you as you enter.

Oh, you... You're no Hollow, eh? Thank goodness... I'm done for, I'm afraid... I'll die soon, then lose my sanity... I wish to ask something of you... You and I, we're both Undead... Hear me out, will you? ...Regrettably, I have failed in my mission... But perhaps you can keep the torch lit... There is an old saying in my family... Thou who art Undead, art chosen... In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, maketh pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords... When thou ringeth the Bell of Awakening, the fate of the Undead thou shalt know... Well, now you know... And I can die with hope in my heart... Oh, one more thing... Here, take this... An Estus Flask, an Undead favourite... Oh, and this...

He hands you a small, flask, filled with a milky liquid. It has a soft, comforting glow, and simply touching it makes you feel just a little bit stronger.

...Now I must bid farewell... I would hate to harm you after death... So, go now... And thank you...

And with that, the knight sighs, and his body slowly fades away.

You turn to leave the room, flask in hand.

Outside the door, you notice something that wasn't there when you entered: a ghostly white door of fog covering a nearby hallway. Patterns fade in to view then disappear in a wisp of air, you hear soft whispers emanating from its surface, all speaking words too quiet and nondescript to comprehend. Your estus flask pulses softly in its presence.

Enter the fog