Kasha was a craftsman living in Old Yharnam. He was not a hunter, but he was deathless; protected by fate (bloodborne-interpreted privileges of his ancestry), saved by pure luck. He lived, quiet and sturdy, sometimes wandering. One night he found himself in a cathedral before a crucified beast.
Kasha found the beast, the corpse, and shared my reverence before the image. He watched the frayed body until it became a comfort.
The feeling was not magical or inhuman but a natural pull of empathy born from alienation and intimate knowledge of alienation. It was not wrong then to feel consoled by a chained mummy, Kasha thought while reaching out. He climbed the building following the wooden planks from which the body hung, he reached for the bound remnant of a wrist and found, instead, a faint heartbeat.
Kasha brought his tools to the cathedral and snapped one link per night, per long long night. He noticed a gentle manipulation, a calm emanating from the beast. Kasha would sit next to the wrist in his visits leaning slightly on it, and feel faint warmth. He counted then: one digit, two digits free — a slow rhythm, fourth digit — a hum.
Lost track of time. Kasha came to himself and Kasha also disappeared: returned and listened to the faint rustle of grass echoing in the burnt halls of the cathedral. In time a sky came, grey and even, upon an overgrown field. Once the left arm fell free from the chains a trail appeared within the field.
Kasha could see the implications behind the moments of unreality, the risk. Still, he walked the field. In simple clothes, hammers and saws left behind, he followed the trail until it merged into a road. Sitting down on a nearby stone Kasha looked into the distance.
Surrounding him were the fields of ochre with a forest on the horizon. He noticed birds in the sky: the place never felt empty, but never did it feel present enough.
He started talking to the chained presence then. An arm was free and dangling limply, some chains lifted from the back and neck when Kasha finally introduced himself. He spoke of his life from a safe distance: of his craftsmanship, his routine. Working was easier and Kasha felt his labour bear fruit when he misstepped. Fell down, luck and life. The first deliberate movement he witnessed from the flayed prisoner caught him: he caught the man in his free wrist. Slowly, the hand lowered Kasha to the ground and let go.
When Kasha returned he saw a man on the road. Clothes identical to his own, the man stood in the distance and did not move once Kasha headed in his direction.
