Only a faint sigh and the sound of a kettle boiling could be heard, signaling that the water was already far too hot. A young man rose from his bed with difficulty, shattering the meager rest he had managed to get.
Twenty-seven years old. Dark hair and a patchy beard, disheveled and swaying from exhaustion. His eyes scanned the room, and he could do nothing but accept his reality: a small century-old house where the kitchen, dining room, and bedroom coexisted in a single space. The only separate room was a tiny bathroom which, no matter how much he cleaned it, never seemed completely hygienic due to the relentless passage of time.
The house itself spoke of its age: low ceilings, built in an era when proportions were more modest. Everything inside, from the kitchen to the furniture and the bed, was either inherited or bought second-hand. Nothing was new… except for a computer — the greatest treasure in that dwelling
The young man turned off the burner, poured himself some tea, and with dragging steps, made his way to the desk. There, in front of his faithful computer, he sought refuge in one of the few things that still gave meaning to his life.
"Alright, this time I'm going to make it. No restarting. I have the guide, I have the motivation… This time I'm getting Ranni's ending," he told himself, trying to muster some enthusiasm.
The golden logo of Elden Ring appeared on the screen, pulling a fleeting smile from him. But it lasted only a few seconds. Before he could savor the moment, his body collapsed, lying motionless.
Yet the experience did not end there. In that brief instant that felt eternal, something inexplicable happened. It was as if an invisible hook had ripped him from his reality, carrying him elsewhere.
His body would be found days later. The cause of death would remain a mystery, with no signs of violence or clear indications. Yet there was something unsettling: a perfect circle marked on his chest and back, as if something beyond comprehension had passed through him.
...
What happened in the physical realm drew no attention. To the world, everything remained the same. But beyond the material, things were different.
Something moved at great speed, invisible to mortal eyes. It was hard to describe — a gale that slithered like a dreamlike river, a current of entropic energy that followed no human logic. It was not something mortal minds could comprehend.
This chaotic wind passed through everything in its path: walls, objects, solid matter. But when it crossed the chest of that insignificant human, something changed. Unlike inanimate objects, passing through him took something more. A spectral, undefined figure was caught in its flow.
The human's essence, now stripped of its body, was dragged away without escape.
...
The gale continued its journey at an inconceivable speed, where time and space seemed to lose all meaning. There was no swiftness nor slowness, only a constant movement that defied all logic.
It no longer traveled in the physical world. Now it crossed alternate realities, dimensions that shifted between the incomprehensible and the familiar. The spectral figure, still trapped in the chaotic wind's flow, was barely aware of its surroundings. Its senses were faint, as if it were deep in a dream.
At one point, the gale crossed a place the human would have recognized. It was a world surprisingly familiar to him: the setting of the video game he had been about to play. Yet it was not a simple planet or region. The gale did not linger in a physical space. It passed through a singular point — a node where the past, present, and future of that world converged. A place where the entirety of that universe existed simultaneously.
...
The spectral figure, still weakened and without physical form, could barely process what was happening. Its fragmented and confused mind tried to cling to any shred of understanding, and could only associate the being dragging it along with the image of a massive serpent, gliding between dimensions.
The surroundings were a chaos of incomprehensible lights and shadows. It could not discern what lay beyond — or rather, its mind, insufficient to grasp such things, simply could not process it. What it could not comprehend, it could not perceive. Yet something new began to draw its attention.
The serpent was approaching a small point of light. Strangely, no matter how close it got, the point remained the same size — unmoving, constant. But in an instant, the point was behind them. It had been crossed without the spirit even noticing. As if it had never been there… and yet, something had changed. Now, something else clung to the serpent's body.
With its perception distorted and slowed, the humanoid spirit began to notice a presence. It was another figure, also trapped in the serpent's flow. This new form was more defined, more solid. It seemed to be a child, a boy... — or perhaps a girl — with long hair flowing as if moved by the wind. Unlike the pale, faded human specter, this figure shone with an intense golden light that enveloped its entire being.
The serpent continued its undulating motion, like eternal waves, and this swaying caused the two spectral figures to drift slightly along its body. They seemed to have no way of escaping, but the slow, inexorable movement drew them ever closer.
There was no way to tell how much time passed — perhaps seconds, perhaps eternities. But eventually, the two figures were close enough for their forms to touch. It was not something that should have happened. With each brush, each contact, it seemed that both entities exchanged fragments of themselves. The human spirit's consciousness began to blur, losing the few remnants of individuality it still had.
The serpent's movement did not cease, forcing the figures into more intimate contact. Little by little, parts of both entities began to overlap. There were no physical bodies to define where one ended and the other began. Forced by the power that held them captive, the two spirits crossed the threshold of the possible: they began to merge.
It was a terrifyingly gradual process. The identities of both — their thoughts, memories, and even the very essence of what they were — unraveled like a fabric torn thread by thread. Each fragment was rewoven with the other, forming something new, something that was neither of them, yet contained them both.
When the fusion was complete, there were no traces of two entities left. Only a single figure remained, its form diffuse and its essence unrecognizable. Its mind, if it could still be called that, had fallen into a state of suspension, like an eternal dream. There was no conflict, no pain — only a deep, overwhelming silence. The peace of a soul that was no longer human nor golden, but something entirely different.
...
The serpent continued its endless journey, traversing the many facets of reality, plunging into the void and into nothingness, as if those concepts were nothing more than mere landscapes along its path.
But even in absolute emptiness — in nothingness itself — one is never truly safe. There are horrors that lurk there, evils so unimaginable they could be described as the nightmares of nightmares themselves.
In that intangible space, a malevolent entity took notice of the serpent's slow advance. They were two beings of such an elevated nature that they could barely interact with one another — though not entirely incapable of doing so. No one could comprehend the thoughts, if any, of that abomination dwelling at the heart of the void. And yet, for some reason, the being extended part of its essence toward the serpent, attempting to reach it
The golden spectral figure resting upon the serpent remained in a deep sleep — a suspended state beyond time and perception. But even in that unconsciousness, the spirit was invaded by an indescribable pain, something that tore at its very essence. The most human way to describe it would be to imagine the malevolent entity extending an infinitesimal claw and pressing it into the spirit's chest, leaving a mark before withdrawing.
Under normal circumstances, that single touch would have been enough to utterly destroy the spirit, erasing it from existence or twisting it into something unrecognizable. But whether by accident or intent, the effect was minimal and inscrutable. The spirit's essence remained almost intact — though something had changed, something it could not even perceive.
Despite this event, the serpent did not stop. It continued its eternal advance without altering its speed or showing the slightest interest, as if everything that happened were insignificant in the face of its purpose. Its course remained steady, moving toward its next destination in infinity.
...
After a span of time impossible to measure, the spirit began to awaken. Its consciousness returned slowly, still confused and fragmented. For some unknown reason, it knew its awakening was connected to the end of its journey.
Its senses, still weak, began to take in the surroundings. It was no longer in an irrational, incomprehensible plane; now it was in a more recognizable space. It could see stars, planets — and when it looked back, it caught sight of a planet receding into the distance. A deep nostalgia welled up within, as if it were leaving behind something important, something it should not part with.
It turned its gaze forward, toward the blackness of space speckled with stars. And then something began to change. First came the sound: a song, powerful and resonant, that seemed to vibrate in the deepest parts of its being. It was incomprehensible, and yet extraordinarily beautiful.
With the rise of that song, the void before it began to transform. A disk began to take shape in the nothingness, changing and expanding at an overwhelming speed. The spirit watched in awe as the disk evolved — mountains rising, life taking hold of its lands, plants sprouting — and that flat creation slowly curving until it became a sphere.
It was like witnessing the birth of a world — a majestic act of creation. And yet, still trapped in its confusion and exhaustion, the spirit could not fully appreciate its beauty. Moreover, it felt a presence — something vast and powerful was watching it. It did not seem hostile, but its very attention was unsettling, so intense it could not be ignored.
The serpent continued moving toward this new creation. The spirit, unable to look away, watched as the world changed and evolved before its eyes — mountains growing, rivers flowing, life flourishing. Yet the closer they drew, the heavier it felt, as if its very energy were draining away.
Finally, when the serpent came close enough, everything began to darken. The spirit's vision dimmed, until all was plunged into absolute blackness.
And then…
Nothing
...
In the middle of a forest, beneath the shadow of a towering tree, a small figure lay asleep with its hands resting on its stomach. Reclining on a bed of grass and mushrooms that seemed to have grown specifically to cradle its body, there was a child with long golden hair, dressed in a simple yet immaculate white tunic.
He slept so peacefully that he seemed a divine work of art, perfect in his stillness. Around him, silence reigned with overwhelming solemnity. Nearby insects and animals had ceased their movements, as if the child's presence were sacred — something not to be disturbed, a being that seemed not to belong to the mortal world.
A gentle breath of wind caressed the forest, whispering through the branches, and then the sleeping figure stirred for the first time. His eyelids trembled, and soon after, his eyes slowly opened.
With clumsy, confused movements, the boy rose from his bed of greenery. He tried to stand, but his legs — fragile as those of a newborn — gave way, and he fell to his knees on the ground, letting out a soft groan of pain. Looking at his hands, he found a small twig embedded in his skin, from which a thin thread of red blood ran.
"Why am I bleeding…?" he asked softly, dizzy and bewildered.
He looked around: the dense forest, the distant fields. Everything was strangely familiar, yet unknown, like a dream from which he could not wake.
Little by little, his mind began to clear, though that clarity only deepened his confusion. He stood again with difficulty, swaying, feeling the weakness of his body — as if it were not meant to exist in this world.
"Where am I…?" he murmured, barely audible. "Who am I…?"
His mind wandered, searching for answers that seemed just out of reach. He knew his identity was important — vital, even — but when he tried to recall it, only disjointed fragments emerged.
"My name… my name…"
"Miquella…"
"No… that's not my name…"
"Or is it…"
"But I had another name, too…"
"What was it…?"
The boy hesitated, trapped between two identities he could not reconcile. A part of him knew "Miquella" was his name, yet he also vaguely remembered another — one that refused to reveal itself. At last, he let out a trembling sigh.
"Then… I am Miquella… Miquella the Kind… Miquella the Empyrean… child of Marika and Radagon… brother of Malenia…"
As he spoke those words, his already frail body trembled, as if it could not bear the weight of the truth. He not only knew who he was — he also remembered having been someone else. Two lives, two perspectives, fused together, as though his soul had absorbed the essence of another being. That union granted him both strength and fragility — an unstable balance filled with unfulfilled desires, regrets, and unfinished goals.
Miquella looked at his own body — so familiar, yet strange. The curse that condemned him to eternal childhood was still there. Despite the improbability of his situation, that unchanging reality weighed heavily on him. But as he examined himself, he found two things that drew his attention.
Beneath his white tunic, over his chest, there was a black stain he did not remember. Its mere presence filled him with an inexplicable fear, as though it were a lethal poison — and yet it seemed to have no effect on him.
The other was a ring. It did not seem made of any tangible substance; it was a crown of luminous points drifting slowly in the air, like stardust caught in an invisible current. The ring, almost transparent, rested on his left ring finger, and along its surface danced shifting symbols — sometimes familiar, sometimes utterly alien.
Miquella brushed the ring's edge softly. As he did, a stream of words escaped his lips without conscious thought, as if dictated from some deep and distant place:
"A ring… the power to create… the gift to destroy… the ability to change everything…"