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Trina wanted to close her eyes, sleep, and never wake up again. The dull and terrible groans of the creatures in the small makeshift clinic tore at her soul. She couldn't understand how Miquella walked behind the perfumer without collapsing in tears. The boy's eyes seemed to be stuck on something, staring ahead with a strange, feverish intensity. Around him, the wounded and discarded huddled in beds seeking rest. The enormous, borrowed cloak covered the empyrean almost completely, hiding his golden hair.
A groan suddenly startled Perfumer Tricia. A large omen, his body covered in suppurating wounds where his horns once were, writhed in pain for a second before falling still again. A superficial wound on his arm remained bandaged, and that was the excuse used by Tricia to convince the soldiers that he needed attention.
"Does he still feel pain?" Miquella asked suddenly, his voice barely a whisper.
"No," Tricia replied. "It's not pain, it's nightmares. They always suffer them when they sleep, as if something is haunting them. They say it's proof of their corrupted blood, proof they are rejected by the Erdree."
"You don't agree."
"I couldn't say, my lord. I only see creatures who deserve rest and care. If someone committed a sin, it's not my role to judge." Miquella frowned at this, sensing that Tricia's answer wasn't entirely honest, as if she was measuring her words in his presence despite all the time they'd spent together. ‘Don't blame her, Miquella,’ Trina whispered. ‘She is just being cautious’.
"Have the lilies helped?" Miquella asked, still looking at the sleeping creature. "For the nightmares?"
"Oh yes, my lord, they've been wonderful! They've provided deep rest even to our dear Myathe here, but the effect fades quickly. It's not a permanent solution, but it helps a lot, even if just for a night. I've found it also helps as a sedative and doesn't have the side effects of the Eyes of Yelough… Easier to get, as well."
Trina noticed a huge smile on her face and felt an infinite warmth in her chest. Miquella smiled with her, feeling the same sense of gratitude and relief at being useful.
"I'll bring more," he promised.
"My lord, I couldn't ask you to. I know it's..."
"It's no problem," he insisted, smiling at Tricia. "As soon as I can, I'll bring more so you can have a good supply."
"Your heart is kind, my lord. Thank you very much, they will be well used, I assure you." She paused. "How is your sister?"
Miquella didn't respond immediately but quickly corrected his oversight.
"She's resting now," he finally said, trying to smile.
"I am sorry," she said, and Miquella's heart sank. "I know you have tried everything to help her. If there is anything we can do for her, please don’t hesitate to ask”. Miquella nodded but said nothing.
A small misbegotten creature with bright eyes growled as they stopped in the corner where he lay. One of its wings was torn, and small ointments had been applied to the wound, but the movement seemed to have reopened it. Tricia approached, and the creature shrieked in terror, backing away and baring its teeth. Tricia persisted, trying to calm him, with little success. Some assistants, also in perfumer garb, tried to help, but it only made things worse. The small creature tried to fly and crashed to the ground, crying out in pain.
Miquella approached then, but Tricia instinctively took his wrist. She let go of him immediately, shaken by her own boldness.
"My lord, it could be dangerous, let us..."
"Trust me, please. Let me try something.”
'What will you try to do?' Trina asked as Miquella carefully approached the injured creature. He didn't know exactly. There was something inside him that wanted to flow and envelop the creature. Miquella slowly extended his hand towards him, and he initially growled but then stared fixedly into his golden eyes. Miquella could feel something pulling him. Fear. Terrible fear, because his brothers weren't there, because there were strange creatures around, because he couldn't fly, because outside this place, outside of the warmth, there would be pain again. There would be the pilgrimages to search for someplace safe, and everywhere they would hunt him and make him a slave. Fear because that woman spoke softly but he couldn't see her face. Fear because the boy's eyes were as golden as the soldiers’ swords. Miquella's hand finally rested on his head.
"It... hurts," said the Misbegotten, with a raspy guttural voice.
"I know," Miquella whispered. "They can help you. They want to help you." Miquella stood and looked at Tricia, whose surprise was evident despite the mask on her face. "His name is Hryng. I think... I think he will now accept your help better."
Trina walked silently along the crevices of the enormous fissure. A faint smile could be seen on her lips, and the rocks left a faint violet trail in her wake. It disappeared easily against Miquella's still intense gold, who moved forward without hesitation through the gloom, his eyes shining brightly with feverish intensity. The ancient structures seemed broken and abandoned, and a fresh dampness could be felt in the stone.
She knew what they were doing in that place, and although some fear intruded into her thoughts, she tried to push it away. There was no turning back. They had talked and talked, she had begged, pleaded, even threatened him to change his mind and abandon this path of destruction and suffering they had started, to no avail. And though Miquella had once cried, broken, guilt-ridden and lost, lastly, his conviction was left unchanged and his heart was hardened. So, words were no longer necessary.
She had asked him, when they began the descent into the fissure, after sitting in silence for a moment next to the beautiful bright blue flowers on the coast, why he had chosen to leave her first. There were many other things he had to leave behind. The first sacrifice had been some of his flesh, almost translucent and shining. He still shed his blood on the field, clenching his teeth at the lightning pain bursting from the wound. A slender golden cross marked that first step. The first step to heaven marked by pain and agony.
But there was much more he would have to tear from himself, yet once the path of abandonment had begun, Miquella had decided to continue with her.
"You don't have to see what comes next," he had said while carefully descending through the dark rocks. He said nothing more, but she understood immediately. I don't want you to see how I destroy myself little by little until there's nothing left. His power, bright and burning in his chest, with the Great Rune exerting its influence on the creatures inhabiting that place, had kept them safe all this time. Trina prayed it would remain so for him.
Suddenly, Miquella stopped when he saw some masses of putrescence crawling towards them, apparently unaffected by his influence and power. Miquella didn't seem frightened. He knelt next to one of those crawling masses and examined its surface.
"Do they feel pain?" she asked, approaching carefully.
"I don't know," he admitted, extending a hand. The creature suddenly recoiled and bared some stinger, not reaching the young man. "I hope not." She approached and placed a hand on one of his shoulders; Trina immediately felt Miquella tense and stiffen under her palm but then he relaxed. "We must keep moving."
Huge creatures roamed among some rocks. Grotesque and blind, armed with large crude weapons. They kept their distance, but Trina knew they posed no risk to them. If Miquella's Great Rune's irresistible power didn't affect them, surely her own power over slumber would suffice. Again, the boy stayed by a cliff watching the creatures move through the darkness. A strange look could be seen in his golden eyes.
Those creatures had no horns, unlike the rest of the silhouettes, warriors, and beasts they had encountered on their journey. But their forms and gestures were undeniably conscious, and at times, they huddled in a corner, clinging to their weapons.
The damp air permeated the stone.
"There's more light here than in the Shunning Grounds," she noted, seeing Miquella close his eyes. Trina could taste the bitter guilt in her mouth and noticed the slight tremor in her other half's hands. "I don't think anyone minds that they are here. I won't."
Miquella looked at her, with a somber seriousness in his bright eyes.
"Ah! That reminds me. I won't need this anymore." Trina pulled out the fine purple sword from her clothes. She held it easily, almost playfully, under Miquella's silent gaze. "I think I'll leave it here."
"Give it to me," he said suddenly. She handed him the weapon, and without another word, he disappeared into some crevices. Trina could see how he held the weapon, with a trembling firmness, as if wanting to merge it with his skin. That sword had been a gift from Malenia to her twin's other half when they were younger. It was a beautiful sentiment since the weapon was fine and thin, light for her child's body. She would never use it, but the silver blade had quickly been stained with a soft violet, imbued with her power.
"Let's continue," Miquella said suddenly, having returned.
"Where did you leave it?"
"Hidden. No one... no one will take it."
It's yours. No one else has the right.
The creatures didn't notice how the two children moved silently among the rocks. To Trina, it almost felt like being in the Shunning Grounds again, seeing the horned omens avert their gaze when the lamp's light blinded them. She wondered if Miquella felt the trail of blood he was leaving in his wake, if the memories of betrayal tormented him like they did her. She knew that was another reason for his choice to abandon her first. As long as they were together, as long as she followed him, the guilt and remorse, the haunting memories would plague him incessantly, fueling his doubts.
The path was complex and uneven, but they advanced without problems. Trina, every now and then, looked back, towards the path Miquella would have to take back. Perhaps he would use part of his power to simply disappear from there and move to another place. She had wondered why, instead of simply transporting himself to the most remote and dark part of that lost cave and throwing her into the abyss, Miquella had decided to walk that path, stone by stone.
At the start of the fissure, Miquella had left the mark of a second cross, which had emerged slender, golden, and silent from the ground. However, he did not perform the ritual he had done at the beginning of the journey, and they simply left it there, alone in the darkness.
A huge horned statue stood in the middle of seemingly endless abyss. The precipice decorated that inexhaustible darkness, shrouded in clouds, and Trina knew immediately that it would be her grave.
“Is it here?” she asked in a serene and translucent voice.
Miquella looked her in the eyes, eyes that wanted to harden like the metal of armor, but as seconds passed, became watery like ancient drops of amber.
“Yes, Trina, it is here.”
Her name sounded sweet on Miquella’s lips, and she smiled. Without hesitation, she walked resolutely to almost the edge of the statue, peering with placid curiosity into its depths. She could not see the bottom, but her resting place would be calm and quiet. The birds and animals that still roamed those depths would sleep peacefully beside her.
Slowly but without hesitation, Trina took one of Miquella’s hands and brought it to her cheek.
“Do not be afraid,” he said, and she smiled as she felt the frantic beating in the child’s chest. “You won’t feel any pain.”
“Will you be okay, leaving the cave?” she asked, dismissing any thoughts about herself. Miquella seemed to snort at the insinuation, petulantly, but she insisted, still pressing his hand against her cheek. It was warm. He nodded without saying a word. “Remember to sleep when you can. It will be a long journey.”
He pulled his hand away from her face. An almost amused look was hinted at in his eyes and she laughed softly.
“I wouldn’t sleep, even if I could,” he admitted. “I don’t… I don’t think I’ll ever do it again.”
Not without you.
It didn't surprise her at all. After all, she had stayed entire nights with Malenia, protecting her from the nightmares, while Miquella searched through books and treatises, and experimented with the sacred and the arcane to get closer to a cure. She had wanted to drag him away from the forge, when the boy spent days creating a golden sword, much like his brother, only to then cling to it with a desperate prayer that would never be heard. She kept him company on endless afternoons creating unalloyed gold, dreaming of the final step, fending off the scourges of forces more powerful than them. And she had also hugged him, at the roots of his tree, when the fatigue and the effort of feeding that shelter with his own blood made him fall into her arms.
Trina seemed to dance to the edge of the statue and, in an instinct that might never fully disappear, Miquella lunged to grab her hand and stop her from falling.
“Are you having doubts?”
“… No.”
Trina smiled. The sorrow was deep inside her, but she didn’t want Miquella to be left with her sad eyes in his memory. She wanted him to remember her smile, that if anything of his other half remained at the end of the road, he could evoke the joy of a life together, even if he couldn’t feel it. She wanted that, if there was nothing more of him left at the end of the road, he could remember what they were fighting to protect.
Trina took both of Miquella’s hands and slowly backed away to the end of the statue. Behind her, the fathomless abyss seemed to open its arms to receive her. Once there, she would never again see the golden eyes of her other half, nor walk on the firm branches of the Haligtree nor hear the serene voice of her sister nor breathe the clean air of the lands where they were born. A serpentine guilt crept into the fragile hands of the young empyrean. A path of agony and suffering awaited him. A last irresistible attempt to keep the promises he had made to the people who loved him and whom he loved in return. Hopefully, that would be enough. If all the terrible love he had inside him was abandoned here, Trina hoped that at least the certainty that he was loved and that he deserved the love of all those who has chosen to do so, would keep him safe. That he deserved the forgiveness of those who had not chosen him. That the sins and blessings could find root again. That he could atone and, although not wash the blood from his hands, redeem himself; he, the one who felt irredeemable almost all his entire life. The highest blessed and the deepest cursed.
By leaving her there, Miquella would destroy the most tender part of his being, the one that had taken him to the highest peaks and the most horrible abysses. By leaving her there, in the quiet darkness of that cave, Miquella renounced himself and renounced the world, the joys and sorrows that enveloped his heart. All so that a new god could be born, a god who, if he could not love or be loved, could still bring relief to a wounded world. Perhaps, if he could not cry with joy at the salvation he could bring, he would still bring it, ever distant and kind.
But Trina knew the truth, even if Miquella wanted so desperately to deny it and hold on to hope. That path of torture would only have one end: the mutilated spirit of Marika’s youngest son, wounded and bleeding, empty and translucent, falling to his knees at the gates of heaven, accepting the chains, with the burning desire deep in his soul that he would be, for once, enough. He wanted to be enough, even for a single moment, to keep his promises, to bring comfort to those who needed it. But reality surely would be different.
That forbidden and purple thought, that only a blade in his other half’s chest could bring him rest and forgiveness, could stop the tragedy from happening, nested in Trina’s heart and sustained her, a throbbing betrayal in her being, a last desperate sin. And yet, her chest swelled with that same infinite love just by thinking about it. Trina didn’t know if that love, so intense that threatened to spill over, could have saved him.
“I’m sorry…” he whispered, with a look that betrayed the doubts inside him. “I swear I will do the impossible to succeed. I will become a god and keep my promises.”
“I believe you,” she said. “That’s why I would like that you keep this in your heart and carry it with you as far as you can. I love you, Miquella. I forgive you… And I’ll make sure you find rest.”
The impossibly golden eyes of the young empyrean seemed to darken for a moment. Trina took a step back and it seemed that she began to fall into the infinite abyss that awaited her. However, Miquella stepped forward in an instant and held her in an impossible embrace; her legs hung freely over the pit. One of his hands surrounded her waist while the other took her from behind, his fingers caressing the back of her neck.
He was rigid and his gaze remained intense and stoic, no more traces of hesitation on them, but the arms holding her also remained firm around her, keeping her from falling. Trina smiled sweetly and almost playfully, and wrapped her arms around Miquella’s neck, completely at his mercy. She brought her lips to his and kissed him softly, with lips that tasted of love and forgiveness. He barely responded, slowly losing himself in that moment until his entire body trembled. Their hearts beat at the same rhythm because they were just one. Trina kissed him again, urgently, with a velvety vehemence, and she felt him respond in kind. The embrace that united them became tighter, desperate, and his fingers trembled, sinking into her skin from the strength applied; all while she hung from his neck without any fear.
There were dark purple thoughts inside Trina’s heart. Sticky and intense, threatening to spill completely. If she could have said or done something to stop this desperate attempt Miquella had started, she would have done it without hesitation, but nothing could ever be enough. How could it ever be? What could she offer him that could heal that broken soul they carried inside?
Trina felt as if her heart wanted to shatter, filled with an infinite love that left her breathless. It was a sweet, terrible, impossible pain. A love so great that she just wanted to hold onto Miquella and never let him go, cuddle him in an eternal sleep that would finally give him the rest he deserved. But it was also that infinite love that tormented him. How many more did not love him with unceasing joy, with inexhaustible hope, with unbreakable faith? How many had given their lives and souls to that golden child, grateful just for his smile and his words? And how unworthy Miquella felt of that devotion, how much torment it brought him that all that love was rewarded with failures and nightmares.
When they broke apart, his golden eyes were clouded with tears he would not shed. Centuries of pain were hidden in them. Trina rested her face against his, and he closed his eyes.
“Goodbye, my dear Miquella”.
And almost without meaning to, gently, as if he was placing a flower bud on the ground, as he had done for years in Leyndell and then in the Haligtree, Miquella opened his trembling arms. Trina smiled one last time, opened her own arms, and began to fall. She heard his broken words surround the darkness.
“Forgive me, my love. Forgive me, dearest Trina. May my soul and heart be enough price for the world”.
As the Saint of Sleep and Slumber fell through the mist, she still felt on her lips the unshed tears and the boundless love that remained with her. In the depths, her blood would soon stain the water garden a rich dark purple. The animals would fall asleep, peacefully surrendering to her embrace. The creatures would drink her nectar from her and there she would remain, forever, sleeping an eternal sleep, alone and abandoned.
A golden incantation sealed the fissure. A golden warrior took the place of a sentinel, armed with his rings and with the fierce conviction that no one would ever come near her. The seal of the Haligtree would protect the cave. And right in the center of the depth, where only specters could see his steps, Miquella knelt next to his second cross and brought his lips close to the shining gold of the sacrifice.
His face leaned against the golden silhouette and in a whisper, his words were tinged with a deep agony.
“I abandon here my love…”