After stepping out of the embrace, Melina naturally disappeared once more.
Still, the experience had been novel.
It was the first time he had ever seen even the faintest hint of shyness from her—though the change had been subtle.
Over the next several days, he did not rush through Stormgate to challenge Godrick upon the great bridge before Stormveil Castle.
If he intended to change everything, preparation was necessary.
First, he visited the underground chamber of Waypoint Ruins to pay his respects to his sorcery teacher, Sorceress Sellen.
Yes, Sellen had committed countless atrocities in the pursuit of knowledge, conducting experiments with human lives as if they were mere materials.
But toward him?
She had been nothing but kind.
He still remembered her words clearly:
"If you become Elden Lord, I will rally the Academy to your cause."
"And if you fail, return and continue your studies. The Academy of Raya Lucaria will always have a place for you."
If Melina had been the first to extend a hand to him, then Sellen had been the first to treat him with such warmth.
In this cycle, if there was any way to save her from her fate, he would do so.
Though he still did not fully understand Primeval Sorcery, he suspected it allowed one to glimpse some greater existence.
Perhaps even the Greater Will, of which the Two Fingers spoke.
There were still fragments of information to piece together.
In past cycles, he had missed too much—distracted by Melina's fate.
This time, he would correct everything.
Afterward, he retraced his steps, evading swarms of maddened pursuers before arriving at a dilapidated shack on Stormhill.
Outside, fierce winds howled.
Inside, he sat by the fire, listening to Roderika recount her tragic tale.
Though he knew her story by heart, his thoughts drifted instead to Godrick, who ruled over Stormveil Castle.
Outwardly grand.
In truth, pitiful.
Before grafting, Godrick had been cowardly—so much so that he had been driven from Leyndell and forced to settle in Stormveil.
When the Elden Ring shattered, he seized a fragment and was consumed by its power.
In a desperate attempt to return to the Erdtree's grace, he imitated the Crucible knights of old, exploiting the bloodline of the Golden Lineage and grafting limbs onto himself.
He ordered his men to capture Tarnished, harvesting their arms and legs to stitch onto his body.
Yet he seemed to forget one simple fact—
Godfrey, the First Elden Lord, had also been Tarnished.
If grafting was the answer, why not capture Godfrey and attach him instead?
In summary—
The weakest demigod.
Inferior even to the Fell Omen.
And an embarrassment to Godwyn's golden legacy.
For the record, Roderika, like him, was Tarnished. Otherwise, her companions would not have been slaughtered by Godrick.
She longed for revenge.
But she lacked the courage even to approach Stormveil.
So she remained here, quietly weeping.
A pitiable girl.
Beyond that, however, Melina had appeared more frequently in this cycle than in previous ones.
True, he had summoned her each time.
But the fact that she responded was a good sign.
Today, however, was different.
While Roderika slept, Melina appeared of her own accord.
As always, she emerged soundlessly beside the fire.
"How rare," he said lightly. "You're appearing on your own. Did seeing Roderika confide in me make you jealous?"
"…."
As usual, he teased her without restraint.
As usual, she ignored the joke.
"…You can see the direction that golden light points to, can you not?"
Though her tone remained even, it carried a seriousness absent before.
Did I upset her?
A trace of unease stirred in him. He glanced at her face, but it revealed nothing.
He followed her gaze to the faint golden rays emanating from Grace.
"That small cluster of light is the Erdtree's Grace," Melina said. "In ages past, it faded from the eyes of the Tarnished. Now, it has returned to guide you."
Indeed, many Tarnished were guided.
Most died along the way.
Others faltered and turned back.
Aside from one—
Godfrey, the First Elden Lord of the Age of the Erdtree, once known as Hoarah Loux.
"The guidance of Grace leads you toward your destiny," Melina continued.
Her eyes lingered on the golden rays, and for the briefest instant, a complex emotion flickered within them.
He caught it.
Since the beginning of this cycle, he had pondered her origins.
Whether she was connected to the Erdtree.
From that fleeting look, the connection seemed undeniable.
"However, the challenge before you is no small matter. The guidance of Grace points to a demigod—one who claimed a fragment of the Elden Ring during the Shattering…"
"I know," he interrupted gently.
"Do not worry. I will not retreat simply because Godrick is a demigod."
"I promised I would bring you to the foot of the Erdtree. That promise stands. I swear it as a warrior."
The resolve in his eyes was unwavering.
Melina believed him.
A faint smile appeared upon her face.
"I thank you. May you hold to that resolve and, in the end, become Elden Lord."
"I will."
He nodded firmly.
Yet beneath his helm, a mischievous smile tugged at his lips.
"Before I challenge Godrick… could you give me another hug? For encouragement?"
"…If that is your wish."
This time, her answer came more readily.
The resistance in her heart seemed diminished.
"Thank you, Miss Melina."
Unlike before, he did not rush.
He removed his helm and set it aside.
Slowly, he leaned into her embrace, just as he had the first time he had embraced Fia.
Yes.
The same familiar sensation.
She appeared slender, almost delicate.
Yet in his arms, there was softness—subtle, surprising.
The only flaw was the absence of a heartbeat.
But that hardly mattered.
Others might call him shameless.
Thick-skinned.
But what use was pretending to be a gentleman?
If you like someone, you like them.
If you love someone, you love them.
If you desire them, then admit it.
In over six hundred cycles, he had learned this lesson well—
Feigning restraint and decorum earned nothing.
Better to face one's heart openly.
Even if it meant being brazen.
After all—
Wasn't it worth it, to finally hold the woman he had yearned for across hundreds of lifetimes?
Meanwhile, a blush once more crept across Melina's fair face.
…It was warm.
A strange sense of comfort filled her chest.
A long-forgotten feeling of reassurance.
She could not remember the last time she had felt such peace.