The journey went on, with Leda taking care of practically everything while Miquella focused on studying the power of his ring. If he could say anything about his earlier use of it, he would surely call himself a fool for how he had handled it. But, as with all things in life, practice makes perfect, and little by little Miquella had learned to be more efficient with his magic.
Every creature they hunted became new material for research. The seal he now bore was proof of the immense potential of his summons. He had been testing them one after another, small, controlled ones… at least until now.
He had discovered how to store energy absorbed from his surroundings up to a certain point, but it wasn't an unlimited power. Over time, the constant loss of that energy rendered it useless. That was why, after several days of gathering energy from the environment, the plants, and the prey they found along the way, Miquella decided to attempt a new summoning.
He knew that the more powerful the creature, the greater the cost. So he chose another path: not to summon the creature in its full form, but a weakened, incomplete version… much like how he and Leda had arrived in this world at first.
Clasping his hands, a faint light emerged as Miquella concentrated, channeling his will into the ring. The energy began to flow, slowly being consumed—both from the ring and from his own body. But unlike before, this time he was in control. He would not be devoured by the force.
Leda, at his side, watched in silence as her master worked. She admired him deeply, though she was also ready to act at the slightest sign of danger.
Suddenly, the light between Miquella's hands burst out in a small explosion… and then, nothing. Just a few seconds of silence. Miquella kept his eyes closed, focused, until the air itself began to ripple, as if space were being torn apart. A figure began to take shape and, in an instant, fell heavily to the ground.
Exhausted, Miquella was drenched in sweat. He took a moment to catch his breath, inhaling the pure air as he gazed at the figure on the ground. Then he let himself collapse onto a nearby rock to rest.
Leda, on the other hand, felt a deep hatred flare in her eyes. Without a second thought, she drew her sword, ready to behead the newcomer.
"Where… am I?" the figure muttered.
"Welcome back to the world of the living… Sir Ansbach," Miquella said in a neutral voice.
"Mi–Miquella…?" the old man recognized the voice at once. He turned and saw the empyrean seated, watching him, while Leda approached with her sword raised to kill him. "So… this is how it ends," he said, closing his eyes with a faint smile, resigned.
"Stop, Leda," Miquella ordered.
"We must kill the traitor," she replied, still moving forward.
"Leda… there are no more traitors. Let him at least stand, please…" Miquella added in a childlike, almost pleading tone.
Though she had grown used to that tone during their journey, Leda still trembled every time it came from her lord's lips. And even though at that moment she desired nothing more than to end the traitor, she would not disobey Miquella.
"Is this a dream…?" Ansbach asked, dazed and confused, as he looked around, trying to make sense of the scene and the people before him.
"No," Miquella replied with a faint smile. "But if you knew a little more, you might say it seems like one. It's a pleasure to see you again, Sir Ansbach," he added politely.
"There's no need to mock me. Just finish me. I don't think I even have the strength to rise," Ansbach said, not lifting his gaze, resigned to his fate.
"Weakness is temporary," Miquella explained. "It is true it will take you much to regain your former strength, but at the very least, you'll soon reach the level of an ordinary man in this world. And please, stop speaking as though I truly intended to kill you."
"And what does the kindhearted Miquella wish to do with my wretched life, then?" Ansbach retorted with irony. To him, who remembered breaking free of the empyrean's control and betraying his cause, death was the least he expected.
"An apology might be a good start," Miquella replied, rising from the rock and kneeling before him. "Sir Ansbach… I'm sorry. Forgive me for everything I did to you."
"Your Majesty!" Leda cried in desperation, rushing to him and trying to lift him up. "How can you abase yourself before such filth? He was under your grace and betrayed you. You cannot…" she stammered, shaken by a storm of anguish, anger, and confusion.
Her gaze shifted between her beloved lord and the enemy she hated with an ever more dangerous intensity.
Ansbach could hardly believe what he was seeing. He now doubted seriously whether this was a dream… or perhaps it was, and his mind had once more fallen under the empyrean's control.
"It's alright, Leda," Miquella said, his voice soft yet firm. "Mistakes must be corrected. Apologies must be made. Ansbach served me faithfully, even against his will, and such service deserves recognition… But I will not apologize to his lord," he continued with a slight shudder. "What I did to him was terrible. But the desire he felt for me was not something I imposed… I merely manipulated how he acted upon that desire."
Miquella lowered his head slightly, as though the memory weighed on him. His 'human' self abhorred the thought of Mogh and all it implied. The mere idea that someone like him might have felt something for him churned his soul.
"What is happening here…?" Ansbach finally asked, utterly lost. With effort, he managed to sit up on the ground, panting.
"I suppose there is much to explain," Miquella sighed.
He moved closer and sat before his former knight, speaking to him with a strange familiarity, as if past wounds could be healed through dialogue.
Leda, though unwilling to allow it, held herself back. Still, she did not retreat. She remained at her lord's side, sword in hand, ready to act at any moment.
"I suppose you remember your death… just as Leda and I do?" Miquella asked softly.
Ansbach fell silent. Yes, he remembered, though it was a hazy memory. Even so, he could recall the very last words he had spoken to that tarnished.
"It's not your imagination. As I said, Leda and I also… we all died," Miquella continued, as if reading his mind.
What followed was a brief yet precise explanation. Miquella spoke of how this world was not their place of origin, but another plane, different yet echoing the former. He told how he had been the first to arrive, and how from there, he had summoned both Leda and him, pulling them back from the death that had been theirs.
"I hadn't planned to bring you here personally, but I don't mind. You were a loyal and capable follower, Sir Ansbach… and my current self —which, as you've surely noticed, is very different from the one you once knew— values that deeply. I know your actions, even after freeing yourself from my influence, were questionable from my perspective, yet also understandable… What I mean is: in this new world, how would you feel about serving under my command once more —this time by your own will?"
He spoke in a calm, almost hypnotic tone. His gestures, subtle and measured, carried a captivating grace. From time to time, his gaze drifted off into some distant point in the vast field, as if something unseen was calling for his attention, but he never strayed from the thread of the conversation.
"So my fate is to fall once again under your spell and serve you?" Ansbach shook his head. "I would rather die," he said bitterly. Yet he knew there was little he could do: he barely had the strength left to end his life before they stopped him.
"There will be no spells, no mind control. That was the old Miquella, and he no longer exists as such. Besides, if you managed to free yourself once, who's to say you couldn't do it again? I don't want to sleep knowing my followers are waiting for the chance to betray me," Miquella denied, gazing at him once more with those childlike yet piercing eyes. "If you decide to follow me, it will be by your own choice."
"You're a monster, Miquella… a terrifying one," Ansbach said frankly, with such profound fear that Leda barely restrained herself from reacting.
"Why?" asked the boy, without a trace of anger or annoyance. Only curiosity. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze fixed on him.
"Your words are like poisoned honey. Now you're even worse than before. I have no idea what you're plotting, or what kind of game this is," Ansbach spat.
And he meant it. Miquella's demeanor, which seemed genuinely sincere, terrified him more than ever. The childish tone, the innocent gestures—everything seemed to cloud his thoughts, as though he were being enveloped by a natural enchantment. He had heard that the empyrean had lost his power, that he was no longer different from them… yet he couldn't fully believe it. He knew all too well his capacity for manipulation, and now, even without sensing his power, he felt that his very presence alone was enough to place him above mortals.
"All I want…" Miquella began, rising to his feet, his voice firm, "is to live a good life here. Without outer gods trying to control our world and our lives. To be able to have food on my plate… delicious food. To have friends, a family… one where we don't have to kill each other because of the conspiracies of beings that should never have come near us."
He slowly rose from the ground as he spoke, every word laden with determination, but also with genuine emotion: longing, sorrow, hope.
"But it's not that simple. I know a little of this world… and I know the struggle we left behind is not over. Here too, there are enemies that threaten our peace. If we truly wish to reach it, we'll have to fight for it. And I know I cannot do it alone. That's why I brought Leda, you… and many more who will come. I want to gather the right people. To fight for our freedom. For our happiness. So that together, in this unknown world, we can build a place we may call home."
Ansbach watched him in silence. The empyrean spoke with a child's voice, yet his words bore immense weight. And that made him all the more terrifying. He was falling under his spell again. A world of peace… it was something he could long for right now, but he hated that such a vision came from Miquella's lips.
"I don't plan to ask this of you without reward," Miquella continued, looking straight into his eyes, golden and shining like the promise of something unattainable. "And I don't mean illusions like before. I won't tell you 'a better world for everyone' without anything tangible. If you help me, I will reward you properly. I made mistakes with your lord… and I can amend them. I can bring Mogh back to life, just as I did with you all, and as I plan to do with many more. I will revive my brother. As an act of redemption."
He took a step closer, his gaze fixed on him, penetrating, as if seeing straight into his soul.
"You don't need to believe me now. I only ask that you follow us for a time. Learn with us in this new world. See for yourself what I am capable of… and then decide if you can trust me," he said, extending his small hand naturally. "One of my purposes is to save all my siblings… and put an end to this struggle among us, a struggle that should never have begun."
Silence fell among those present.
Ansbach wanted not to believe. He wanted to reject every word. But he could not ignore what he felt. Was he falling once again into the hands of the empyrean? And yet, what other choice did he have? He was alone, without lord, without purpose. Lost in an unknown world. If all this was a sweet lie… at least it was a lie with a goal. One more worthy than simply waiting for death.
"I don't know what to believe…" he finally murmured, his voice low, as he took Miquella's hand. "But I hope you can show me you mean what you say."
He did not intend to surrender blindly to him. But he could give him a chance—one where he would discover what was true, what was not, and what he would do about it.
Miquella smiled as he took Ansbach's hand, trying to lift him up gently. He tugged with strength, but it was useless. He tried again, now with both hands, sliding his small feet across the ground without moving him an inch. In the end, he ended up clinging to his hand, hugging it stubbornly as he pulled with all his might, until his face turned red from the effort.
Ansbach and Leda could only watch, stunned, at the scene. The former god, acting like a child, with an innocence as disarming as it was absurd. For a few seconds, the tension dissipated before the ridiculousness of the moment… until Leda, visibly uncomfortable, intervened to pull her lord away from the traitor.
The old man eventually managed to get up on his own, though with great difficulty. Weakness still gripped him, and every movement was a struggle. Miquella pouted at the sight, glancing between his own hands and the staggering body of the resurrected man. Ansbach didn't know how to take it all in. Miquella's demeanor was so convincing, so natural… that he was beginning to doubt everything he thought he knew. As if he were witnessing something impossible to define.
"I'm not sure you're truly the real Miquella," he remarked seriously.
The words provoked an immediate reaction from Leda, who could no longer restrain herself and drew her sword, pointing it straight at him.
"Wouldn't it be better for us both if I weren't?" Miquella replied with a mischievous giggle. "That way, I wouldn't be the one who caused you so much trouble… and you might find it easier to trust me." Then his tone grew calmer. "Although, in a sense, you're right. I'm not the same Miquella you once knew. Take that information however you wish."
With unhurried steps, Miquella moved toward an object half-hidden in the grass and nearby shadows. He lifted it with both hands and revealed its shape: a scythe. With some effort, he returned to Ansbach and held it out, offering it back.
"This belongs to you…" (Miq.)
"My lord!" Leda cut in firmly, stepping closer. "We cannot trust him. He cannot come with us. He's a danger to you. He will betray you again!"
They were words she had been holding back for some time, but now she couldn't keep them in. She did not want Ansbach near her lord. She didn't even want him alive.
"Perhaps," Miquella nodded, still calm. "But even so, I choose to grant him my trust. How could I demand loyalty from him if I myself am unable to show even the smallest measure of trust? It's a risk I'm willing to take… if it means I can start building a friendship." He turned to Leda with a warm smile. "And besides, I trust that nothing will happen to me. Because I have the most incredible and worthy knight in the world to protect me."
Leda lowered her gaze, caught between devotion and frustration, while Miquella finally handed over the scythe.
With the weapon in his hands, Ansbach looked at the child who didn't seem like a god… and at his former companion. His lips moved without thought, letting out what he truly felt.
"A terrifying monster…" (Ansbach)
Miquella did not reply. As if he hadn't heard, or simply didn't care, he began to speak about Ansbach's condition.
He explained that he would remain weak for a while, that his recovery would be slow—much slower than Leda's—and that there would be limits regarding magic. His tone was light, almost cheerful. He shared details like a child excitedly showing his parents a new discovery.
Both Leda and Ansbach watched him in silence. Neither could grow accustomed to this version of Miquella. A divine, inhuman being… who now carried himself with such disarming warmth, so approachable.
The journey resumed, and Ansbach, just as he had been offered, followed them… or rather, he led the way, since Leda seemed unwilling to ever turn her back on him. The distrust was plain to see, though it did not surprise him.
What did surprise the old man was the group's dynamic: Miquella, that former god, was carried on Leda's back. He said nothing, merely added another note to his growing list of oddities. Everything was so different from how he remembered… so unsettling.
The tension in the newly formed group was palpable. But curiously, the only one seemingly oblivious to it was Miquella, who spoke to them both as if they had been lifelong friends.
Ansbach forced himself to remain silent. He felt that conversing with Miquella was dangerous, as if every word exchanged drew him closer to once again falling under his influence. And yet… he couldn't stop himself from asking a few questions about this new world.
The journey was slower than in the previous days. Leda did not want to tire herself unnecessarily, in case she had to act quickly to subdue the traitor. She kept her eyes fixed on Ansbach, watching his every move, and that constant vigilance slowed their pace.
Night fell quickly. Only the child slept peacefully, as if free of any concerns. The others eyed each other warily, keeping alert. No one wanted sleep to be the mistake that cost them their lives. But in the end, neither could hold out long: one was drained by the journey, the other still weak from his condition.
Though asleep, Miquella seemed to dream of something. Something troubling enough to wake him. That was when he noticed Ansbach, slipping away quietly, moving into the shadows.
"Leaving already?" he asked softly, his voice clear enough to stop him in his tracks.
Leda woke instantly. Her sword was already raised before her eyes were even fully open. She slept with one ear tuned to battle.
"I won't stop you," Miquella continued, unmoving. "But I would like you to give me the chance to prove I speak the truth. Here, everyone else is a native. There is no one else from home—only the three of us. I'd rather we not part ways… at least, not without a good reason." He paused, then added with a calmness that unsettled: "Besides, you can barely stand. If you plan to abandon us, at least wait until you've regained enough strength to survive on your own."
Having said that, Miquella simply turned back over and closed his eyes, as if nothing had happened.
Ansbach remained frozen for a long while, staring at his own trembling hand, truly feeling just how weak he was. And he could feel it… Leda's gaze, stabbing into his back, as sharp as the blade still pointed at him.
At last, he sighed and lay back down on the ground. He would try to sleep a little longer. He could endure… just a bit longer. He knew they would not let him leave alive. So he would wait. Wait until he was strong enough to fight. And when that moment came… then he would decide whether to escape, or to die fighting.