He had abandoned so very much, and yet now at the precipice of bringing about his glorious Age of Compassion, you stand in his way.

Miquella had always been willing to stoop very low for what he believed to be the greater good. He had left behind so much of himself in the hope of becoming a god and finally cleansing the Lands Between of the sins of the Golden Order—and Marika. He would strip away everyone’s free will by compelling their subservience to him, and he would force them into eternal love and kindness.

Yet here you stood. Defiant. You, who had destroyed the charm he held on so many. You, who he had coerced into coming to this land… now were his enemy. You had slain Messmer to unleash his flame, allowing Miquella to finally revive his promised betrothed, Radahn… so why? Why fight him? Why would you not fall to your knees as everyone else had?

And now you had nearly struck down his promised consort…

“Tarnished one, aspiring Lord of the Old Order…” Miquella’s soft, charming voice called out as he left from the glowing gates of the Scaudtree, climbing atop Radahn’s back, “if you have known sin; if you grieve for this world… then yield the path forward to us,” he raised one of his four arms into the air,

“to I, Miquella. And my promised consort, Radahn.”