The crimson-stained bedchamber was eerily silent. Bloodflame braziers cast the room in a soft crimson glow. Mohg knelt before Miquella’s cocoon, his grip tightening on Miquella’s hand. ‘Still nothing, my lord…’ he murmured, his voice rising to a growl. ‘Is this some cruel test? Or have you forsaken me?’ He pleaded for a sign, offering to spill more blood, to tear down realms for Miquella’s ascension. ‘I have given you everything,’ he whispered, his voice wavering. ‘So why this deafening silence?’ He slumped forward, his thoughts interrupted by approaching footsteps. Turning, he saw you. ‘Another offering, I presume?’