Lucian lounged in his own gaming room, playing games. He was utterly relaxed, savoring the quiet leisure of his routine. On the table sat a chilled Coca-Cola, freshly plucked from the fridge, alongside a bag of classic Lay's potato chips.
Chip in one hand, soda in the other, he crunched and sipped contentedly, wiping his fingertips with a crumpled wet tissue before continuing. Only when his hands were spotless did he pick the controller back up.
But then—
A pool of blood welled up from the screen.
Lucian froze in shock, utterly uncomprehending. He stumbled back from his chair, retreating step after step.
Yet the blood surged ever faster, spreading across the floor, filling the room.
From the crimson tide, a towering, twisted figure began to rise. The shape was black as pitch, with countless warped horn-like protrusions sprouting grotesquely from its frame.
It fixed Lucian with a baleful stare, then slowly raised one finger—pointing directly at him.
A sharp sound, like tearing silk.
Before Lucian could even react, a spear of blood pierced through his eye.
Agony seared through him. He barely had time to scream before more blood-spikes ripped into him, tearing his body apart piece by piece—until nothing remained but crimson shreds.
Lucian jolted awake, bolting upright in bed.
He panted heavily, sweat soaking through his thin quilted clothes. A nightmare—he had dreamt of his past self being attacked by Mohg.
In the dream, Mohg's endless strikes had shredded his body over and over, just as in their battle earlier that day. The only difference was that in the dream, Lucian was his former, powerless self, unable to resist in the slightest.
He drew deep breaths, forcing himself to calm the phantom pain wracking his body. Even now, the aftershocks of his clash with Mohg lingered, echoing as if his very flesh remembered being torn apart.
Though the ache had dulled enough to allow sleep, he had not expected it to follow him into his dreams.
Rubbing his face with both hands, Lucian muttered bitterly to himself:
"Immortality's strong, no doubt about it—but the aftereffects are a real pain… Still, better some lingering agony than losing my life outright."
"Lucian… are you alright?"
Melina's gentle, worried voice came.
He shook his head. "Nothing. Just a nightmare."
"I see… are you certain you're fine?"
"Mm. I'm fine. Though—shouldn't you be resting?"
He had long wondered about Melina's habits. Though she did not require sleep as mortals did, she had once told him that during the quiet of night, when there was little to do, she would sometimes rest nonetheless.
"...I've been troubled," she admitted softly. "Would you… speak with me, Lucian?"
"Of course," Lucian replied, rising from the bed. "Shall we go to a Site of Grace?"
Even if he could not help, he could at least listen. Sometimes, voicing a burden was relief enough.
But Melina refused. "No… not the Grace. Here will do."
That gave Lucian pause. They had always spoken at the Grace, where her form manifested. To choose here, in his room—it was unlike her.
Still, he trusted she had her reasons. "Very well. I'll follow your lead."
"Then… sit on the sofa."
He obeyed, settling on one side of the broad wooden seat. On the other side, unseen in this world, Melina curled with her knees hugged to her chest.
She had deliberately avoided the Grace. Here, Lucian would not see her expression, would not see the torment written across her face.
She watched him in silence, heart heavy, words caught in her throat. Only moments ago, she had resolved herself. Yet when the time came, voicing it was far harder than she had imagined.
Lucian, sensing her hesitation, simply waited. To press her now would only interrupt. Best to sit quietly, a patient listener.
His gaze drifted to the window, where the moon hung vast and pale in the night sky. Its silver glow spilled down, though half was veiled by the golden boughs of the Erdtree.
Fresh from his nightmare, that moon struck him deeply. Suddenly, he understood why the moon had always been bound to thoughts of longing and distant homes.
At last, Melina closed her eyes, her voice trembling faintly as she spoke:
"Lucian… I wish to ask you something."
"It may offend you. If you do not wish to answer, you need not. We can simply pretend tonight never happened… may we do that?"
Her voice shook with uncertainty. She knew full well that from the moment she asked, there would be no pretending otherwise. Even if they acted as before, a fracture would remain between them. That was the source of her pain.
Why must it be like this? For the first time, she had found trust in a companion, a life beyond her destined duty. This journey should have been filled with joy. So why did it hurt so much?
Lucian turned toward her voice, toward where he knew she must be sitting.
He understood. She wished to ask about the strange power he wielded—the power of the Wind Spirit Moon Shadow.
Of course she had noticed. She had been with him daily, had watched him wield abilities utterly foreign to the Lands Between. They were too unnatural, too extraordinary to ignore.
Lucian had long expected this day. Melina was not a fool, and unlike Elyssa, who had also witnessed his abilities, Melina had placed her entire trust in him. For her, knowing the truth mattered.
And Lucian—he had no reason to hide it from her. She was but a lonely soul, with no one else to confide in, no one else to tell. And he trusted her, not out of sentiment from a game long past, but from the bond they had forged here, in reality.
Even if she had remained silent, Lucian had planned to tell her—once their battles were behind them. She needed to know, so she would understand that she need not burn the Erdtree herself.
"Ask me anything," Lucian said, voice steady and warm. "No matter what it is, I'll answer. Because… we are partners."
Melina exhaled softly, relieved at his gentle certainty. Then, at last, she asked the question heavy on her heart:
"Lucian… that power you wielded—what is it, truly?"