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“Miquella... What are you doing?”
Trina's voice, which once brought him peace and joy, now filled him with a dark bitterness, a sticky, cynical rage that clung to his skin like blood. The lamp's light barely illuminated the desk, where the golden strokes of his pen drew schemes. Futures that had to materialize. Plans that would soon be set in motion.
“Have you come to reproach me?” he asked, without turning or taking his eyes off the parchment in front of him. “After everything that has happened?”
Purple flooded the light of the room, drowning the golden hue of the oil lamp. Somehow, Trina's purple always managed to surpass his gold. It used to be a welcomed sight. It used to be a nice game.
“The path you seek will only bring pain and suffering. Marika has already walked it, and the broken world she left behind is proof of her failure”.
“It is proof of Mother's failure, not of the path she walked,” Miquella countered.
“Do you think you can succeed where she failed? Do you think your power is greater than hers?”
“Yes,” he said, but doubt resided in his heart, the same heart that had his other half. “It has to be.”
“What will happen to everyone? To your siblings? To the tree? To Malenia? Are you willing to risk everything for... that?”
He couldn't enchant her, just as he couldn't enchant himself. He always remained serene, kind, because that was also part of that strange essence that inhabited alongside him. It was easier to charm some this way, those who, docile before his power, could look him in the eyes with affection and admiration. But he couldn't convince Trina that way.
His small, fragile fist crashed against the wooden table in a muffled crash, splashing ink all over the desk.
“How can you ask me that?” Miquella's voice rose above the broken silence, and he turned to look her in the eyes. Trina smiled at him, with a sweet sadness that only filled him with despair. “How can you stand there, doing nothing, watching what is happening? What do you want from me? Look at this world! Look at our siblings! What else are we going to wait for?”
“Becoming a god won't fix the world.”
“You're wrong. It's the only way. It's all that's left to do.”
“You will lose everything you ever fought to save... It will be a tragedy that could be avoided.”
Tears sprang from Miquella's eyes. He wanted to hurt Trina, wanted to rip that sad smile from her lips.
“I have achieved nothing,” Miquella said finally, after a tense silence. His voice broke on the last word. “Absolutely nothing. I have... I have failed over and over again for millennia... I tried to find that other path… you of all people know that. It doesn't exist. There is no other path. Neither the Golden Order, nor Fundamentalism, nor the Unalloyed Gold, nor my needles, nor the Haligree... And Godwyn still... Nothing has managed to fix this broken and rotten world. The innocent remain enslaved. The gods remain silent. And Malenia...” The young demigod closed his eyes, feeling the guilt in his veins. “She has so much faith in me... that I will fix this world... I'd rather lose everything than continue like this. If I have to burn this world to save it, I will. If I have to enchant thousands of souls to follow my path, I will. I can't look back. I can’t do this anymore. I won’t.”
“And will you betray your principles? Sacrifice innocents, steal their hearts, destroy your body and soul on an uncertain altar?" asked Trina, with a somber tone on her voice.
“I must do it,” he insisted, but his hands were trembling. “They will understand... When the world smiles again, when I can look into Malenia's eyes again, golden and innocent, when my Lord Brother takes my hand and we reign together in a land that has healed its wounds, when a new order welcomes everyone in its embrace...”
“When you are a God, Miquella, there will be no one left there to forgive you. Mother tried to heal her people with her golden light, but there was no one left who could listen to her. No one who could forgive her.”
“So be it then,” said Miquella. “So be it... My power will be enough, I will become a god, I will have my King consort by my side and I will bring forth a New Age, a Compassionate Age for all.” That was his dream, the dream of a helpless child, his obsession, his hope. “I will…. I will…”
Trina lowered her gaze and approached her other half. Miquella was trembling, and golden tears stained his childlike face. Trina took the boy's face, who, for a moment, clung to those hands like a puppy to a mother.
“I know there is nothing I can do or say to stop you. I wish it were different, that you could see what I see, the path of peace we could walk. But I know your wounds are too deep, that your pain blinds you, that your hope is your last comfort.” Trina's caress was as sweet as it was terrible. “We know the pain that awaits you, the pain you will cause, and the uncertainty of the outcome. We know that godhood is a prison.” Trina sighed for a second and laughed softly. “I cannot stop you, nor can you stop me. I just want to say this before this journey breaks us both completely: I know your heart, and I know it suffers for this world. I know your soul and I know it cries for your sister. I know your very being longs for peace and solace. This is you, this is us. We dream of a kind and gentle world, with the smile of our people and the scent of flowers. I know you seek that world of goodness. I know you fought to do good and heal the wounded. I will keep that certainty within me. That no matter what you do now and the terrible sins you commit... that this was you, that this was us and that this was what we were destined to be. Let me mourn you, my dearest Miquella, my dear other half. Let me say goodbye one last time. May dreams bring you the peace that your path will take away. And if no one else forgives you, let me forgive you..."
The violet slowly faded, leaving only the gold that began to dim in the lamp. The night was still, and the air smelled of sweet lilies.
Miquella rested his head on the desk and wept, alone.