Pure and immaculate, St. Trina held the hand of Mohg, whose body was covered in sewage and muck. To an Omen child who had been cast lower than dirt, encountering someone who embodied such beauty and kindness gave him something upon which he could place every beautiful hope in his heart.
"Miquella..." Mohg held tightly to St. Trina's hand, yet called the Empyrean's name. "I came to see you."
"You're hurt. You fought them again, didn't you? You're always getting yourself into such a miserable state."
"Morgott will heal me."
"Yes. He's a good older brother. The two of you must always help each other."
"But I don't like him. My brother is too naive. He thinks that if he saws off his horns and tears out his scales, they'll eventually accept him. Mother has always been cruel."
"Don't say that. Your mother truly loves both of you, and she loves every living thing in the Lands Between. Morgott learned Incantations, didn't he? Wasn't that also a gift from Marika?"
"I don't need anyone's pity!" Mohg roared.
Immediately afterward, he looked at St. Trina in alarm.
The girl in white giggled. "That's right. You don't need anyone's pity, because you're Mohg, mighty Mohg. One day, you're going to be a king. You're simply still too weak right now. Do you understand?"
"...Yes. I know."
St. Trina was like a young mother, while the enormous Omen child crouched faithfully beside her like a loyal hound. She gently stroked Mohg's curved horns and placed a wreath of flowers upon his head, then washed his cheeks with dew. Her soft palm brushed across skin as rough as a rock python's scales, making the boy's entire body tremble.
Sunlight poured down, turning her golden hair into flowing silk.
The hideous creature gazed up at her in a daze.
Watching the scene before him, Skyl finally understood the Empyrean's plan.
There was one truly unbeatable strategy in this world, become everyone's friend.
Of course, no one could possibly satisfy everyone. That was why charming people became such an extraordinary tool.
There were countless ways to charm someone. In the world of Harry Potter, the Imperius Curse, one of the three Unforgivable Curses, could reduce its victim to unquestioning obedience. That was magical coercion, forcibly seizing control of another person's mind, the sort of trick wizards could perform.
Ordinary people, however, could achieve similar effects in less supernatural ways. Someone breathtakingly beautiful could leave others hopelessly infatuated, while hypnosis or drugs could also weaken a person's will.
Yet beyond all such tricks and methods, there was another approach, the simplest and most enduring of them all.
Repay sincerity with sincerity.
The reason Malenia remained devoted to Miquella without regret, even unto death, was that they had supported each other since childhood. Each had become an indispensable part of the other's life, giving birth to a selfless love without concern for the self. Even death was an acceptable price if it meant the person they loved could be happy.
To someone incapable of understanding such feelings, that kind of love might seem as terrifying as poison.
To those experiencing it, however, it was honey of the purest sweetness, with a flavor that never faded.
Miquella's charm worked the same way.
He appeared within dreams, followed memories backward into a person's past, and quietly altered part of it, inserting his own existence into their life. He shared their joys and sorrows, endured adventures alongside them, and grew together with them.
How could a bond forged that way ever be weak?
Even if the charmed person later awakened and discovered that their past had been altered, it would still be difficult for them to truly hate Miquella.
That was the power of genuine emotion.
No matter how hard or cold someone became, there would always be a soft place buried somewhere inside them. A time when they had been weak, helpless, confused, or lost.
Miquella could always find those moments.
And once he found them, he could be there to guide them through.
Someone you've known all your life already holds a special place in your heart. But if a stranger can rewrite himself into having been beside you since childhood, then no one else has much of a chance.
Skyl raised his hand and opened hundreds of Doors.
Behind every Door was another meeting between Mohg and St. Trina.
In one, Mohg had only just been born. He lay bloody upon the birthing bed in the royal chambers, trembling in the faint chill. Most of the attendants around him stared in horror and disbelief.
Queen Marika stood beside the bed.
With a wave of her hand, she severed the umbilical cord and ordered the attendants to cast the Omen child away.
At that moment, St. Trina was holding the newborn's hand.
In another memory, Mohg rummaged through garbage in the sewers and fought enormous rats alongside Morgott, leaving himself covered in wounds.
St. Trina appeared beside him and washed those injuries with sweet dew.
In another, two-year-old Mohg secretly climbed out through a well and gazed upon Leyndell at night during the Royal Capital's golden age.
He saw its magnificence and prosperity.
He saw the happiness and laughter of its people.
None of it had anything to do with the Omens.
The deeper that realization wounded Mohg, the happier and more ashamed he became when St. Trina emerged from a nearby corner holding a stolen loaf of white bread.
Another memory showed Mohg after he had grown older. In a dream, he sensed the Formless Mother for the first time and received her power.
Overcome with joy, he immediately ran to tell St. Trina.
There was also a time when Mohg and Morgott joined forces and subdued every Omen in the sewers.
Drunk on their success, Mohg once again found St. Trina late at night and confessed every ambition for power buried within his heart.
Then came the Shattering.
War engulfed Leyndell.
Morgott stepped forward to defend the capital. His true body occupied the Elden Throne while he allied with the Haligtree faction against the rebel forces. Meanwhile, his projection went forth under the name Margit, the Fell Omen, to confront their enemies beyond the capital.
Mohg fought beside his brother, but his thoughts had already wandered elsewhere.
He wanted a dynasty of his own.
Mohg's path from discarded Omen child to Lord of Blood had originally been a lonely journey.
Now, someone else had been inserted into every step of it.
Skyl watched Mohg's entire life unfold before him and could only admire Miquella's methods.
For an Empyrean like this, judging his behavior by ordinary mortal morality was extraordinarily difficult.
He loved everyone.
And those who loved him were expected to devote themselves to him in return.
Mohg, however, was hardly a man defined by loyalty or selfless affection.
He was an ambitious ruler through and through.
Even if Miquella won his genuine love, Mohg ultimately loved himself above everyone else. He would never willingly sacrifice himself purely for Miquella's sake.
So Miquella bound him with something else.
Self-interest.
Using his status as an Empyrean, Miquella offered Mohg the chance to become his king.
Mohg could not resist that temptation.
Within these memories, Skyl clearly saw that Mohg had only managed to take Miquella away from the Haligtree because St. Trina had guided him beforehand, allowing him to pass through the layers of defenses surrounding Elphael, Brace of the Haligtree, as though they weren't there at all.
This was not an invented memory.
It was what had actually happened.
Miquella appeared to have been the passive victim, but everything Mohg had done had merely served Miquella's plans.
In the end, even selfish Mohg would choose to fight to the death to protect him.
Love and self-interest.
Most people would surrender to just one of them.
Miquella possessed both.
After briefly reviewing Mohg's life, Skyl closed every Door.
At some point, the brilliant field of flowers before him had become completely empty.
St. Trina was gone.
So was Mohg.
Step.
Step.
Another figure emerged from the shadows deep within the flower field.
He too had golden hair, and his youthful face was so delicate that it was difficult to tell whether he was male or female.
He was the master of this dream.
Miquella.
Unlike the maternally gentle St. Trina, Miquella was calm and detached.
A god who loved everyone could, paradoxically, be more heartless than anyone.
There was a price to rewriting yourself into countless people's lives and becoming the person they had always needed. Exchange genuine feelings for genuine feelings too many times, and eventually you might forget what your own genuine feelings had looked like in the first place.
Skyl was not surprised that Miquella had finally chosen to reveal himself.
He inclined his head in greeting.
"At last we meet, Lord Miquella."
"Hello." Miquella stood before Skyl. "I've slept for a very long time. I no longer know what has happened in the world outside. Traveler from afar, would you tell me?"
"If you can see it with your own eyes, there's no reason to hear it from someone else. If you want to know, all you have to do is open your eyes."
Skyl closed his eyes and pretended to listen.
"Hmm. Malenia and Godfrey are fighting."
Miquella showed no concern even for his beloved twin sister.
Compared with the burning intensity of Malenia's devotion, Miquella's composure seemed almost coldhearted.
"I would like to see it too. I would also like to stop Malenia from fighting Lord Godfrey. But I can't do that right now."
Miquella suddenly smiled, warm as a spring breeze.
"The blood has trapped me here."
He looked at Skyl.
"Will you help me?"
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