198Chapter 27
Morgan literally radiated anger as she stalked through the old Plegian prison, waves of incandescent mana roiling about her with each step. Clarus watched the spectacle of the young woman pacing and cursing her brother as a fool in silence for some time, surprised to find he was not the only one. A few feet away a helmed Risen with a single, cyclopean lens in the center of its helmet watched the girl intently, ignoring Clarus and the rest of the Risen beneath them as it tracked her movement.
They were in the overseer's office above the prison, or what had once been the overseer's office. An old bed sat off to one side, clean but clearly well-used if the bunched sheets were anything to go by. Stacks of old tomes sat against the walls, the only light coming from a few haphazardly spaced candles. It was clean, though, and it was shielded from the elements and the persistent dust, which was already two points in the small office's favor. It was clear to the mage why Morgan had set up here.
She didn't seem overly fond of the idea of working with Clarus, even less-so when Daraen had declared he was going to track and kill the Ylisseans who had recently stolen two relics from them. The younger of Grima's spawn had left almost immediately, leaving Clarus and the moody older spawn to work together.
Four more of the Ylissean thieves had been captured trying to steal the two gems that were being kept in the prison, now locked in cells beneath them.
"Why were the Ylisseans trying to steal the gemstones?" Clarus mused aloud without intending to.
Morgan's reaction was instant, her face contorting with rage as she wheeled on the older mage.
"Be silent, wretch!" she snarled. "I am sired by the master himself, and will not be questioned by a malformed-"
"Yes, yes, superiority complex, blah blah, I've dealt with royalty before," Clarus waved her off. "What I'm curious about is the reasoning behind the Ylissean survivors - resistance's? – actions. Are they really so desperate to try to perform an incomplete Awakening, or are they hoping for something else? It's fascinating, how tribes react to disaster, isn't it?"
The Risen continued to watch silently as Morgan gaped, her face actually turning red. Incoherent sounds were coming from her mouth as Clarus began to pace this time, muttering to himself while the girl and the Risen watched him this time. Clarus stopped suddenly, looking up at the girl with a glint in his eyes.
"I'd very much like to interview them," he said.
"What?" Morgan spat.
"The Ylisseans," Clarus said, as if he were explaining something simple to a particularly dense student. "I'd like to speak to them. I haven't had any contact with locals yet aside from killing them. I'd like to speak to the Ylisseans."
"Really?" Morgan asked, disbelieving.
"Of course!" Clarus said, his eyes taking on a manic light. "Observe, question, research. That's scientific method. It's how things are done! And for once, I can actually have my questions literally answered! This will be a lovely change of pace-"
"We are trying to exterminate them!" Morgan screamed, her shout echoing around the room.
This brought Clarus up short, the mage's mouth hanging open a few seconds before he closed it and turned to face Morgan properly. There was a crease in his brow, a frown on his face as he tilted his head to one side and regarded the girl.
"Why?" he asked.
It was Morgan who was brought up short this time, blinking as her mouth went slack for a moment. She cast a quick glance at the Risen, still standing silently off to one side, before hardening her face and rounding on Clarus again.
"Ours is not to ask why!" Morgan defended hotly. "Our task is to break the Ylissean resistance and kill the Nagaspawn before the master returns!"
The girl hesitated, looking down and seemingly losing her steam for a moment before looking back up at the mage.
"And we're running out of time," she said, her tone much softer now. "He's coming back."
Clarus sucked in an excited breath. "Your master?"
"He's yours now, too," Morgan said, frowning.
"Yes, yes," Clarus nodded excitedly. "But he's returning?"
"Yes," she snapped. "And I want the Nagaspawn dead before then!"
Taking a breath, Morgan drew herself up and cast an imperious glare at Clarus before speaking again.
"I will interrogate the prisoners myself," she declared. "You will stay here unless I call for you."
"Very well," Clarus huffed. "I suppose there must be some more surviving Ylisseans somewhere for me to talk to…"
"Do not try me, mage," Morgan spat.
Then, with a flourish of her coat, the young woman spun and stomped over to the stairs leading back down to the prison. For his part, Clarus shrugged and turned to the Risen as soon as Morgan had disappeared, grinning a little at the creature.
"I don't suppose you'd like to talk?" he asked.
The Risen didn't even acknowledge him, simply straightening and following after the girl down the stairs.
"I didn't think so," Clarus mused.
Then, with nothing better to do, he turned towards the piles of tomes. Perhaps there would be something interesting to keep him occupied until the girl realized she needed his talents. Beneath his clothes he could feel the Thanatophages stir across his flesh, the small insect-like creatures sensing his excitement.
As he began to peruse the old and weather-beaten books Clarus couldn't help but feel a small, giddy thrill about the idea that soon Grima would return.
And with him, all of the knowledge he contained.
Robin moved slowly, wary of missing even a single detail as he wandered through the manaketes' museum, fingers occasionally drifting out to brush against the warm crystalline surface of the stasis spells that kept the exhibits safe. He slowed, lingering before one of the crystals to study a particularly beautiful marble carving of a pre-Naga deity bearing a striking similarity to the Divine Dragon. A small plaque read 'Mila' in several languages, and Robin made a small sound of understanding; clearly this Mila had been the namesake of the ancient Mila Tree where Tiki made her abode. Oddly enough, the resemblance to Naga was uncanny, and Robin found himself wondering if the two had been related somehow during life.
His admiration of the artistry in the statue was interrupted, though, by a persistent sniffing sound from just behind him. Heaving a sigh, the tactician glanced over his shoulder at the strange old man that had been following him around for some time now.
"What are you doing?" Robin asked.
"Still trying to figure out what you are," Bantu explained, before giving another long sniff.
"Any amazing insights I should know about?" Robin asked.
He moved to pass the old manakete, but before he could Bantu reached out and grabbed Robin's uninjured hand, lifting it and quickly bringing it to his hood. There was a brief moment where something rough passed over his skin, and a shudder ran up Robin's spine as he snatched the appendage back and recoiled.
"Did you just lick me!?" he almost shouted.
"Yes. Why? Do your kind not like that?" Bantu asked curiously.
"I don't think anyone would like being licked by a strange old man!" Robin snapped, growing irritated.
"Oh, be calm, Fellspawn, I took no enjoyment from it," Bantu chuckled. "In fact, you taste rather foul. Oddly human, but still just… not."
"By the gods, are you daft?" Robin groaned.
"I am trying to read over here!" Tharja snapped across the room.
Both Robin and the old manakete flinched, the tactician giving a small grin as Bantu bristled at the tone Tharja had taken.
"Insolent humans," the ancient dragon muttered. "In my day we were respectful to our elders…"
"Sometimes I forget how scary she is," Robin smirked.
"I think she might be more threatening than Gharnef was," Bantu chuckled in agreement.
Deciding to let sleeping dogs lie, Robin gave Tharja one last little smile before he started picking his way through the rows of crystal again. As before Bantu dogged his heels, but remained silently contemplative of the tactician, and Robin was content to ignore him for the most part. Much like Tharja, Robin had the same thirst for knowledge that all mages possessed. Right now, surrounded by such astonishing amounts of history, even weak and wounded as he was, he admittedly felt like Gaius in a candy store.
Slowly, Robin continued to peruse through the crowd of artifacts in the dim cavern. He longed for nothing more than to sit and study absolutely everything here, uninterrupted, but he knew that such a desire was folly. He also knew that he was wasting valuable resting time, but the allure of the unknown, of knowledge he didn't possess, was simply too strong. Here, a sword wielded by the Saint-King Albein Alm Rudolf II of Valentia before he came into possession of his sacred weapon; there, an arrow that supposedly slew Regna Ferox's first Khan; a row back, the original Excalibur tome, precursor to most of the modern wind magic; next to it, a thick book describing the history of the extinct Valmese desert nation of Aelburh; behind the books a matched set of sword, lance and axe apparently forged from the scales of a dragon named Askr; an odd looking tome from Tellius titled 'Thani'. So much history, so much information, and Robin regretfully had no time to truly soak it all in.
As he progressed further through the crystals Robin began to feel a strange pressure behind his eyes. Blinking a few times he put it out of his mind, thinking it was just another side effect of Grima's presence in this world.
The crystals began to thin out as he neared the wall of the cavern, the lighting becoming dimmer. Robin squinted as he moved through the oppressive gloom and stumbled on the uneven ground, reaching out to steady himself on the nearby wall.
As soon as his fingers made contact Robin felt a pulse through the hard stone and pulled back, realizing he had found the source of the pressure behind his eyes.
He studied the wall, finding it was actually more of the stasis crystal. Inside was a skeleton of what appeared to be a dragon. But it was unlike any dragon he had ever seen. Where Tiki, Nowi, Nah and Fae were long and lithe, with great wings that could easily carry them through the sky, this creature had once been squat and broad. A thicker muzzle than the Divine Dragons housed jagged teeth and fangs, it's wing-bones small and almost vestigial-looking.
"What is this?" Robin asked softly.
"I'm blind, remember?" Bantu scoffed.
"It's a dragon's skeleton," Robin said, rolling his eyes. "But it looks… odd. Different."
"Ah. That," Bantu said dismissively. "Once there were many different dragon tribes, and we all looked as different as the different human tribes look to each other. This one is of the Earth Dragon Tribe, and was their leader."
"What was his name?" Robin asked, leaning towards the crystal curiously.
"I'm sure you've heard it before," Bantu said, grinning beneath his heavy hood. "In life, he was known as Medeus. Your kind labeled him as the first Dark Dragon."
Robin flinched back as if the crystal were aflame, recoiling as he turned to gape at Bantu.
"You kept the first Dark Dragon's skeleton like a trophy!?" he hissed.
Bantu chuckled, shaking his head.
"No, we imprisoned the bastard," the dragon explained. "He's still in there, just waiting for his chance to awaken again. As long as there's some form of energy for him to feed off, Medeus can return. He already returned from the dead once, after all."
"So he's still… in there?" Robin asked. "Is he sentient? Is he… conscious?"
"I don't know," Bantu shrugged. "You would have to ask Gotoh. I just dust the place from time to time."
Robin leaned forward again, staring into the empty eye sockets of Medeus' skull. With a shudder, he couldn't help but feel like the skull stared back.
"He's our last resort," Bantu went on. "The humans have one last plan. If that fails… Gotoh will let him loose. Hopefully he and Grima manage to kill each other."
"Are things really so dire?" Robin asked, finally looking away from the skull.
"Fellspawn, this world is almost too far gone to be saved," Bantu huffed, beginning to shuffle away.
Robin followed after him, easily catching up with the ancient and bowed dragon.
"Then why even try?" he asked. "Why collect all this stuff and make all the preparations? Why help us?"
"Because as much as I hate Medeus, I hate that little worm Grima more," Bantu snapped.
The dragon suddenly stopped, Robin teetering precariously on his feet as he tried to halt his own forward momentum. The ancient heaved a long sigh, appearing to deflate beneath his threadbare red robes.
"Grima destroyed Naga," Bantu said tiredly. "He single-handedly wiped out my entire race. He… killed Tiki. That poor, sweet little girl."
Robin sucked in a breath, closing his eyes at the ache he felt in his heart. Bantu shifted beside him, chuckling sadly.
"Revenge, Fellspawn," he said. "I help you, we help you, to spit in Grima's eye one last time."
Bantu seemed to regard Robin for a moment, his sightless eyes rising for the first time to actually point in the tactician's direction. With a huff the old man dug around in his robes before producing a tear-shaped stone, perhaps the size of Robin's fist, and pressing it into the surprised tactician's hands.
"I don't know what you are," Bantu wheezed. "I don't care. You say you want to kill Grima? Take this."
"What is it?" he asked.
"My dearest treasure," Bantu explained. "A dead dragonstone. When Naga was mortal, physical, she used two of these. One she gave to her daughter, Tiki. The other I kept as a keepsake of my old friend."
Robin held the stone up to the dim light, marveling it at. Even in the weak lighting it seemed to glow, the smooth, tear-shaped stone reflecting the faint blue light and shimmering between silver, red and green so subtly Robin almost mistook it for a trick of the light. A small fraction of the divine dragon's power still rested within the stone, and just holding it made the tactician feel at peace.
"I'm… honored," he said slowly. "But why are you giving me this?"
Bantu sniffed, seeming to regard the tactician without looking at him.
"It is comforting to you, yes?" he asked.
"It is," Robin admitted hesitantly.
"Then keep it," Bantu nodded. "Let it bring you some comfort, as it has me for these past millennia. In my twilight years I find I have no further need for such simple comfort. Maybe it will help you figure out what, exactly, you are."
Robin felt a small smile rise unbidden to his lips as he cradled the stone, holding it close to his chest. It did, indeed, give off an aura of contentment and peace, clearing his mind and making him feel stronger, as if Grima's power had less of a hold over him.
"I think it just might," Robin agreed, slipping the dragonstone into his pocket.
Or so he hoped as he returned to his bedroll, anyway.
The next 'morning' the Shepherds were urgently woken by a harried-looking Xane, the red-haired former dragon ushering them to the central chamber they had all come into. Fae stood waiting for them, an irate Simia standing not far from the dragon woman. The Deadlord calmed, though, when she spotted Robin, instantly drifting to her master's side as the Shepherds took up positions around the manakete.
"What's going on?" Sully asked groggily, still clearly waking up.
"Gotoh called," Fae shrugged. "I know as much as you do. He promised he wouldn't be long. If you have supplies, now is the time to eat. I doubt you will get the chance once Gotoh tells us what's happening."
"Do you guys have anything besides mushrooms?" Xane asked hopefully. "I'll trade you?"
"I think I still have some wyvern treats," Ricken offered tentatively. "That's, uh, not offensive, is it?"
"Depends how bad they taste," Xane grinned.
Slowly the Shepherds separated into their usual small groups, the sound of hushed conversation filling the cave as they did so. Robin watched Arya drift over to where Olivia was trying to assure Gaius that no, she did not in fact have any sugar stashed away like in the old days, and couldn't help but smile. Olivia was easily one of the most approachable among the Shepherds, but it was still good to see the girl branching out and moving away from him and his group a little.
Satisfied that his student would be safe and occupied, Robin hobbled over to where Tharja was perched on a low rock, chewing on one of the pieces of dried mushroom Xane had supplied for them the night before.
"You look tired," he commented lightly. "Trouble sleeping? Maybe get caught up in a good book?"
The Dark Mage gave him a weak glare from beneath her fringe before sighing and looking back down.
"I assure you, it was not a 'good' book," she said sedately.
"That bad, huh?" Robin asked, concerned now.
"It was… illuminating," Tharja admitted, sagging. "Fascinating. But dangerous. Gharnef's reliance on the Darksphere always confused me in the legends. Now that I have seen Imhullu, now that I have studied it, it makes sense. The spell is just as cancerous as Grima's essence is. It was never even meant to be used by humans, and it shows in the lack of wards and safeties. Yet for all that, it is still far more powerful than anything we have done in the last… thousand years, at least."
Simia gave a low growl at Tharja's casual mention of Grima's name, but Robin silenced the Deadlord with a glance. The tactician moved to sit at her side, giving a tired sigh as he dropped down onto the rock next to Tharja. Simia moved automatically to hover at Robin's shoulder, and, much as he wanted to, he didn't have the energy to shoo her away.
"I'll make some notes when we get back to our world," the Dark Mage added. "Maybe between us we can make something… less damaging from it. Gods, I can only imagine what Gharnef actually looked like. Even with the Darksphere he would have been aged horribly by this spell…"
"You must be tired, you usually only ramble like this when you're exhausted," Robin said.
"Says the pot to the kettle," Tharja huffed with a sideways glance.
"Hey, I always ramble," Robin chuckled.
The two sat in companionable silence for a time, simply watching the other Shepherds interacting and relaxing in this brief respite before Robin spoke up again.
"Thank you for not saying anything about last night," he said softly.
"It is not my place," Tharja said, sounding tired. "I am curious how long you have known, though."
Robin sighed through his nose, looking down at his injured hand.
"Since Emm was born," he admitted. "I grew weaker. Almost like I had passed on the last of my own life to her."
"Ever the poet. You know it doesn't work that way," Tharja said. "At least not without a very powerful curse."
"I know," Robin smirked, before sobering again. "But when we… when I killed Grima, I was supposed to die. That was a fact. I think I was just living off the reserves I had until Emm was born. Like my body couldn't make any new energy, or something. I honestly don't know. All the research I did, all the looking, the reading, revealed nothing. There's no documented cases of someone, something, like me."
"But that was scarcely more than a year," Tharja muttered. "How have you lasted so…"
"I've been utilizing the mana in the air," Robin admitted. "Like drawing it in for a spell. It's why I get so tired in Plegia, and…"
"It's why you're so sick here," Tharja said slowly, perking up as understanding dawned on her face. "You're not dying because of Grima's energy. You're dying because you're not absorbing Grima's energy. That's why it made you sick back in our own world. Because you instantly cut yourself off from any mana when you sensed it."
Robin sighed again, seemingly sagging beneath a great weight.
"I'm right, aren't I?" Tharja persisted.
"You don't know what it's like, Tharja," he whispered. "All that power. It's… maddening. I can't take what it does to me. How it makes me feel. Like my whole body, my whole being is aflame. I can't do it."
"It is your power, though," Simia stated simply.
"I don't recall you being a part of this conversation," Robin snapped.
"She's not wrong, loathe as I am to admit," Tharja said. "As much as you may hate it, it is a part of you, and it always has been, apparently."
"At what point did you start agreeing with the Risen over your old friend?" Robin asked, his eyes narrowing.
"When the Risen started making more sense," Tharja countered. "And no, I cannot believe I just said that either."
Before Robin could rebut there was a flash from the center of the chamber, and Gotoh reappeared with a large bundle of what appeared to be weapons at his feet. Their conversation cut short, Robin and Tharja both rose, joining the rest of the Shepherds as they all crowded around the ancient sage.
"Lord Gotoh, is something amiss?" Chrom asked.
"It appears we have run out of time, Awakener," Gotoh said sadly. "I had a vision. Grima is returning to Archanea. We must act now, before he reaches Ylisse."
A smattering of curses spread throughout the Shepherds, Chrom himself muttering something that would have made his wife slap him in the back of the head.
"Well, what're we waiting for!?" Sully declared. "Let's get going to Ylisse!"
"Even if you left now you would not arrive in time," Fae pointed out bluntly.
"It's better than sitting here in the dark waiting for the end!" Sully snapped.
Fae hissed, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she took a threatening step forward. "Impertinent human! How dare you!?"
"Fae, behave," Xane sighed. "Human's right."
The manakete woman actually flinched, pointing a betrayed gaze on the shape shifter.
"What do we do?" Chrom asked, turning back to Gotoh. "You must have some sort of plan."
"I do," Gotoh sighed.
The ancient sage waved his hand through the air, displacing a small cloud of blue mist. As the mist settled on the ground shapes began to coalesce, until a series of weapons were lined up before the Shepherds.
"First, you will take these," Gotoh declared. "These relics of the past still hold much power. They will serve you better than your current weapons, save Falchion, of course."
Robin studied the weapons, recognition from his previous night's wanderings settling in. Archanea's three sacred weapons, Mercurius, Parthia and Gradivus. A long, heavy broadsword that Robin didn't recognize. The original Excalibur tome. A thick dagger, easily the length of Robin's forearm. An odd, fragile-looking staff with a diamond-shaped head. And…
"Imhullu," Tharja breathed, stepping forward.
She looked back up at Gotoh, her unspoken question clear.
"The situation has changed," the Sage said sadly. "I would not expose you to its darkness, Lady Mage, but if you are willing…"
Tharja nodded, stepping forward and reverently lifting the tome into her arms.
"The rest of you, make haste," Gotoh said. "Time is short."
Sully stomped forward first, lifting Gradivus without hesitation and testing the ancient spear's heft in her hands. She nodded, and without a word rested it on her shoulder and moved aside.
"I'm guessing this one's mine?" Ricken asked, retrieving the Excalibur tome. "It feels heavier than a usual tome. Also, feels kind of wasteful to only put one spell in one tome."
"Quit complaining," Sully called from the back of the group.
The thin mage offered a tired, apologetic shrug to Gotoh before moving aside.
"I think I'm good," Gaius said, turning to move away.
As he did, the thief held up the darkly glittering form of Raziel, the dark-bladed dagger glinting in the gloom.
"Very well," Gotoh nodded with a knowing smile beneath his beard.
Olivia meekly stepped forward, looking at the weapons with a blank expression. She looked up, brow crinkling in confusion.
"You are more than worthy, child," Gotoh chuckled. "Mercurius would suit you well, do you not think?"
Olivia's eyes widened and she stepped forward, picking up the sword as if afraid she would break it.
"It feels… light," she said softly.
"Because the blade has judged you, and found you worthy," Gotoh said with a paternal smile.
Olivia nodded, holding the sword tightly and retreating.
Xane surprised them by stepping forward next, picking up the bow Parthia.
"Once I'm away from here it'll be a lot harder to transform," he explained with a wink. "Figure I can still help with this."
"Can you even shoot?" Fae asked, deadpan.
"Well, we'll find out, won't we?" Xane laughed.
Gotoh smiled, turning to Owain.
"Child of Naga, step forward," he intoned.
Owain, oddly silent for once, took a few steps towards the dragon sage. Gotoh indicated the longsword Robin didn't recognize, and Owain knelt to retrieve it.
"This weapon is the sister blade to Ylisse's Falchion," Gotoh explained. "Made from another of Naga's fangs, the children of Duma in Valentia also named the sword Falchion. While not as powerful as the Awakener's sword, it should still prove a mighty boon."
Owain froze in place just before his fingers brushed the sword's hilt, his eyes widening. With an almost audible gulp he took the sword and drew it forth from its sheathe, breathing a small sigh of relief before returning it to the sheathe.
"I will treasure it," Owain said reverently.
"Wow, you shocked him silent," Chrom laughed. "I don't think I've ever seen him speechless before!"
Owain stumbled, blushing and glaring at the laughing Exalt as a small ripple of laughter filled the chamber.
"Uncle Chrom! Please don't ruin this moment for me!" Owain moaned.
Chrom chuckled a little more, raising his hands and grinning as Owain slunk away. Maribelle shook her head, a small smile on her face as she stepped forward and lifted the staff. Twin red ribbons fell down from the head of the staff, and as she turned it over in her hands she gave a small nod.
"I know this staff," she said. "From the scriptures in the Naganite Church. This is the Aum Staff. It is said to have the power to raise the dead."
"To a certain extent, yes," Gotoh nodded. "It would not, for example, return Marth to life. But if one falls on the battlefield, you could heal their wounds and return them to life. You can also use it to heal, as you would any other staff."
"I will show it the proper care and respect, Lord Gotoh," Maribelle said.
The noblewoman was already wrapping the ribbons securely around the haft of the staff as she retreated, leaving only Chrom, Robin, Say'ri and Arya before the Sage now.
"I have but one more boon," Gotoh said gravely.
"I'm guessing it's not for me," Chrom said, patting the Falchion at his hip. "This is really all I need."
"Aye, as this Amatsu is all I require," Say'ri said, indicating the katana she wore.
Gotoh smiled again, nodding as he turned to Robin and Arya.
"This last gift is called Baselard," the Sage explained. "An ancient dagger from Tellius, wielded thousands of years ago against the Mad God, Ashera, blessed by the Goddess of Chaos, Yune. I gift it to you, child."
Arya watched impassively for another few moments until she realized that everyone was looking at her. She instantly went pale, taking a step back and clearly fighting the instinct to bolt as she stammered.
"M-m-me!?" she almost screamed. "Why not Robin? H-he-he…"
"Can't wield it anyway," the tactician shrugged, holding up his ruined hand. "Besides. I like the knife I've got."
"Touched as he is by Grima's taint, the Fellblood cannot wield any of these sacred weapons," Gotoh explained. "You, though, require something that will injure even the strongest of Risen."
"But I'm not… I… I c-can't…" Arya mumbled, looking down.
Robin rolled his eyes, placing a hand on her shoulder and bending down to her level.
"Consider it putting my mind at ease, then," he said. "I can't protect you like this, so you'll need something to do it for me."
Arya studied him for a moment before nodding and stepping forward to pick up the knife. She hesitated for only a moment before gripping the dagger and rising. She held the weapon as if she had never held one before, looking to Robin. He gave her an encouraging nod, and Arya practically scurried over to hide in his shadow, already fiddling to attach the ancient weapon to her belt.
"So, what's the second part of the plan?" Chrom asked.
Gotoh's smile dropped and he seemed to take a long breath before speaking again.
"As I said, events have already begun to progress," the Sage explained. "In my vision I saw the children of the Shepherds captured, hunted and run to ground. These events are taking place, even as we speak."
A collective gasp passed through the room, no one even daring to breathe at the news.
"If you act now, you may yet save them," Gotoh went on. "I can use the last of my power to bring you to them, and then to Ylisse, where you will have to face Grima once more."
"Bring it on," Sully growled.
"Yeah, we did it once," Ricken agreed.
"You're all going to die," Simia droned pessimistically.
"We will succeed," Chrom said. "Gotoh. Waste no more time. We're ready."
The Sage nodded, favoring the Exalt with a fatherly smile.
"Very well, Awakener. I bid you luck, and I bid you farewell."
Then, much as before, the world seemed to shift and distend around them as the Shepherds were teleported away, leaving the last home of the divine dragons almost empty, save for one final, lonely figure. Bantu glanced up at the sound of displacing air, the familiar little pop of air rushing to fill the void that the teleportation spell left. A small, lopsided grin rose to his face as he slowly climbed to his feet from where he had been sitting, deciding to dust the relics one final time.
Sitting with her arms crossed, Idallia impatiently tapped one foot against the dirty floor of the mostly-whole building she and the Shepherds had been led to. Galle watched her with a morbid fascination, playing their arrival over and over in his head and being silently grateful it had been her, not him, that had attacked the local envoy. However, not all of them were extending the Ylissean-born Khan that same courtesy.
"I cannot believe you just out and decked him," Basilio snickered for the umpteenth time.
Idallia sighed, slumping a little in her chair.
They were arranged sitting and standing around a small table, Cherche, Vaike and Basilio sitting while Cordelia and Galle stood to one side. Ita was sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall next to where Galle leaned behind them, but Cordelia stood at a perfect parade rest, eying the Khans seriously.
"This could very well jeopardize our task here," the Wing Commander said. "We are lucky that the local forces accepted that we are separate to the refugees, but-"
"It was a normal reaction," Ita cut in brusquely. "He deserved it."
"That man is not the Maris you know," Cordelia bristled. "He is a different, parallel version, much like how the Severa you know is different to my own daughter."
"Well, perhaps different in age," Cherche chuckled softly, earning a smirk from Vaike.
"I still think he deserved it," Ita huffed.
"It was somewhat satisfying to watch," Galle admitted.
"Yeah, but you're biased," Vaike pointed out.
Galle scoffed and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning defiantly back in his chair. He was wary of putting too much weight on the back, though, as the chair creaked dangerously every time he moved.
The small shack they had been led to in the village was clearly the Ylissean forces' command center. Maps and missives had been left lying out all over the table, and if Galle hadn't known for a fact that the Risen weren't smart enough to make use of such information he would have already launched into a tirade about how stupid they were being. The rest of the building was unremarkable; a single room, occupied by a table, numerous chairs and an empty and cold hearth against one wall. Dust coated everything, even the maps, making Galle wonder how out of date they were. The Ylisseans hadn't even bothered posting a single guard out front, though, making Galle reassess their strength and unit dispositions.
As the older Shepherds squabbled among themselves over what to do now, Galle simply sat back next to Femi and watched the proceedings. The problem here was that Cordelia was Wing Commander of the Pegasus Knights, Vaike was Captain of the Shepherds, Cherche was a Duchess, and Basilio and Idallia were Khans. Each of them was used to giving orders and not being questioned. It was a melting pot, having all these personalities in a room together and trying to decide on a course of action. Ita remained silent, too, though, grinning and clearly enjoying watching the manspawn fight amongst themselves.
Galle was saved from interjecting his own voice of reason into the mix when Helia strode through the doorway with the parallel Maris at her shoulder, the tall Ylissean casting his 'sister' an odd look before addressing the assembled Shepherds.
"I'm not going to lie, all this time travel and magic stuff is way above my pay grade," the soldier said. "Lady Helia has asked to be escorted to the Exalt to plead her people's case. I'm taking you lot, too."
There was a moment of silence when everyone looked at Helia. The girl imperceptibly blushed, clasping her hands behind her back.
"Well, that solves that," Vaike shrugged.
Cordelia let out a sigh, holding her slim fingers to her temple as she nodded. Basilio just guffawed, slapping Idallia on the back. For her part, the Ylissean Khan alternated between glaring at the Feroxi man and the reflection of her brother.
"That is very fortuitous, and generous on your part, Sir Maris," Cherche said diplomatically.
Ita growled under her breath, but didn't say anything.
"Well. Mount up, we're leaving immediately," Maris declared.
The soldier surveyed the assembled Shepherds one last time, his gaze lingering on a disgruntled Idallia again, before striding away and leaving them alone with Helia.
"This is going to get so weird," Galle sighed.
"This has been weird since I joined up with you," Femi muttered darkly in response.
"You get used to the weirdness," Vaike chuckled. "Tends to follow Robin around like a bad stink."
Galle and Femi just sighed and deflated, prompting a smattering of grins and chuckles from around the room.
As it turned out, all of the Valmese soldiers were marching to Ylisse to join the resistance groups, too. Helia had offered her men freely, and now the Shepherds marched at the head of a column of some two hundred men at arms, heading for Ylisstol.
From Southtown it was usually only a trip of about two or three days on foot to Ylisstol along the Southern Highway, through the forests and fields that typified Ylissean wilderness. However, this time the march took nearly a week, as far as Galle could tell with the weak and sporadic light-cycles. A week spent marching through a blasted and dead landscape that honestly made the young tactician pine for his own desolate homeland. At least in Plegia the dessert still felt alive, to a degree. Here it was just ashen emptiness as far as the eye could see, almost as bad as Valm had been.
Charred, dead trees stuck up from blackened soil in random clusters along the sides of the road. The ashen dust wasn't as bad as it had been in Valm, but the Ylissean topsoil was little better than sand to Galle's eye. Not once did he see any sign of animals other than the Ylisseans. Morale among the Valmese men plummeted after the first day, their progress slowing to almost a crawl.
"The highways were hit almost as bad as the cities," Maris had explained after two days of awkward silence. "Don't worry, we still have some farmland in the east and the northeast corner, but even that's beginning to get harder to grow things in."
Galle and Helia had endeavored to spread this information to the tired soldiers, and it did help a little.
Maris had been something of an oddity during their journey. The former cavalryman had been nothing but polite and courteous to the Shepherds and Valmese, while simultaneously avoiding Idallia like the plague. It had concerned him at first, but after a few days Galle had decided that this version of Maris was stable enough, and he would leave the siblings work their own issues out.
Galle wasn't afraid to admit that when the walls of Ylisstol began to coalesce in the distant gloom towards the end of the week that he felt a sense of relief.
Ylisstol was a city that had outgrown its own walls twice in its lifespan. The inner tier, where the Palace and important cathedrals for the Naganite worshippers were, was colloquially known as the 'Old City'. The middle tier, safely ensconced behind the large white stone walls, was uninventively known as the 'Middle City'. The outer bergs were the newest additions to the city, and were where the lower-class residents of Ylisstol's capital made their homes. No slums, not in the shadow of the Exalt's seat of power, but still not as sturdily built as the other city tiers; buildings of wood and straw occasionally over stone foundations, more often than not simply hard-packed dirt. It was the one part of Ylisstol that Galle had actually felt even a remote level of comfort in.
It admittedly hurt him, somewhat, to see it burned to the ground like this as the Shepherds and the Valmese soldiers passed through it.
The once orderly streets had been reduced to rutted, winding, cratered wrecks surrounded on all sides by shanty dwellings. The dwellings were, in some places, little more than old canvas strung up between ruins. There were people everywhere, too, simply sitting and watching their progress with haunted eyes, as if they had given up hope a long time ago. He saw people from both Ylisse and Regna Ferox, but there was no Plegian representation among the refugees. Beside him Helia looked stricken, watching the Ylisseans with wet eyes.
"This is… Ylisstol?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper. "This is no different than Valm. We came all this way just to continue to suffer and waste away?"
Galle rolled his eyes, sighing.
"Maybe," he agreed. "But you should know by now that Ylisseans and Grima are like oil and water. If anyone's gonna beat him, they'll be here. So… I don't know, buck up! Or something."
Femi snorted from his other side, shaking her head. Galle turned to glare, noticing that Vaike and Basilio were both grinning down at him as well.
"You are so bad at that," the young Dark Mage chuckled.
"Hey, punching things and tactics, that's what I do," Galle defended, blushing a little. "You'll have to forgive me for not being the inspiring speaker that Robin is."
"You sure you're one of his students?" Vaike asked.
There was another round of weak laughter as Galle sighed and blushed a little deeper. Helia, though, smiled and nodded gratefully, which only served to further embarrass Galle.
Maris led them to what he assured the group was a muster point, leaving directions with the local men to get the Valmese fed and supplied however they could, before continuing to lead the Shepherds into the ruined city. Helia joined them, intent on presenting herself to the Ylissean leaders, and Victor followed as a sort of honor guard. It was a pathetic attempt, but really that was the Valmese survivors to the letter; fortunately, they rather fit in with the Ylisseans in their current state.
Inside Ylisstol's walls wasn't much better than outside to Galle's eye. He had only been to Ylisstol a handful of times, but it was as if the air itself was different here. Everywhere he looked the young tactician could see evidence of prolonged fighting. Windows and doors were hastily boarded up, damaged and crumbling buildings abandoned as those that still stood whole were crowded by desperate Ylisseans. The stones that had once proudly paved the city's streets were cracked and broken, large sections of Ylisstol's streets reduced to foul-smelling mud. At least there still appeared to be water here, although Galle wasn't sure he trusted it any more than he had what they had found in Valm. Greasy black smoke hung heavy in the air, a layer of grime covering the bright white stone and plaster that the city had been known for.
Everything had the stink of decay and rot hanging over it. The once great city had long ago breathed its last, and the human parasites that made it their home just refused to admit it.
"It pains me to see our home like this," Cordelia commented sadly as they walked.
"You should have seen it right after we retook it," Maris said over one armored shoulder at the head of the group. "It took us weeks just to clear the bodies. I think there's still some places in the outer city that they haven't gotten to."
"You mean Ylisstol actually fell?" Vaike asked in shock.
"Yeah," Maris sighed, going back to staring straight ahead. "Those were dark times. Exalt Lissa did what she could, but… she was a Cleric, a Priestess, not a warrior. It wasn't until Exalt Lucina took the crown that we managed to retake the city."
The Shepherds exchanged glances, most of them looking exceptionally uncomfortable.
"How long ago did… Exalt Lissa die?" Cherche asked hesitantly.
"A year, maybe more," Maris shrugged. "It gets hard to tell time. All the days blend together."
"How'd she bite it?" Vaike asked gruffly.
Maris snorted. "One of the Deadlords, powerful Risen. Heard of them?"
"Killed them all in our own world," Vaike scoffed.
"I killed two," Basilio piped up.
"Really?" Idallia asked with an exasperated sigh.
"Just saying," Basilio huffed.
Maris chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, these ones are brutal. Just one tore our camp up all on its own. And, like I said, Exalt Lissa was a healer, not a fighter. She didn't stand a chance. In all the time she was in charge I don't even think she even tried to wield Falchion."
"Should you be speaking so disrespectfully of your fallen Exalt?" Cordelia asked, somewhat indignantly.
"Excuse me, Lady Knight, but I was in that camp when it was attacked," Maris said tiredly. "We lost a lot of good men trying to defend Lady Lissa. At least Exalt Lucina can fight with us."
"Exalt Lucina rules now, then?" Helia asked curiously.
"Yeah, she's the one I'm taking you to meet," Maris nodded.
The Palace itself was one of the buildings that seemed to have had the most effort put into restoring it. New stones had been stacked up to fill large holes in the walls, piles of neatly cut stones awaiting placement still sitting off to one side. Those holes yet to be patched still had signs of hasty coverings, tarps and boards of salvaged timber dotting the outer walls and the walls of the palace itself. A few workers were milling about, all of whom stopped to watch the Shepherds with quiet, blank stares that Galle found incredibly unnerving.
They found the interior of the palace a darkened hive of activity, precious torches spread few and far between as the remaining Ylissean and Feroxi commanders desperately tried to organize the last of their armies. Even from a glance Galle could tell it wasn't going well.
Inside the palace seemed bare, to Galle. Sterile, as if people hadn't lived in it in years. Like an old tomb. There was little of the excess finery that he had become accustomed to associating with royalty; no lush carpets, no portraits or statues, only bare stone and basic furniture. Weapons in racks were spaced evenly throughout the halls, though, and in many open rooms Galle spotted armor stands and shields, as well as more spare weapons. Soldiers milled about everywhere, here, and though muted there was still energy, still life within these halls. It was less a palace and more another fortress.
Walls inside the palace, too, showed more signs of hastily repaired damage. Although the locals had tried, it was easy to spot the rushed and sub-par work they had done repairing walls and doors inside the massive building. Many rooms sat unused, and many more still sported damaged walls and broken doors as the defenders focused on more important areas.
"Never thought I'd be unhappy to see the Ylisstol palace look so much like a fortress," Basilio grunted.
"Where is the exalt?" Cordelia asked, her voice tight.
"First thing they did was move the throne room," Maris explained. "It's in the back now, not much further."
"You are awfully free about the information you share," Galle pointed out, surprising himself by speaking directly to Maris for the first time.
This drew a tired chuckle from the Ylissean, who shook his head.
"I remember operational security before things went to hell," he said over one armored shoulder. "The only people that would use any of this information against us were the Grimleal, and trust me when I say that they do not exist anymore."
Maris paused a moment, continuing to walk as he glanced further over his shoulder at Galle. Their eyes met, and the Plegian frowned as the older man smirked at him.
"You're Plegian, right?" Maris asked. "You and your mage friend? First ones I've seen in nearly a decade. You might want to keep it quiet, though. People aren't very fond of your kind here."
"Like you?" Galle ground out dangerously.
Maris barked a laugh, looking forward again.
"Of course not!" the big Ylissean chuckled. "Any breathing body between us and the Risen is a good body! I don't care if you're from the moon! We're all in this together now. It's just that when someone mentions anything about Plegia these days it's usually accompanied with a curse."
"You have become awfully chatty," Idallia commented.
Maris glanced at her and shrugged, his grin diminishing somewhat as he remained silent. The mood became awkward after that, but fortunately they arrived at a set of double doors with the first guards that Galle had seen since arriving.
"Maris," one of the guards nodded. "Go ahead. The Exalt is waiting for you."
They were ushered into the room, the guards warily eying the newcomers as they passed and closing the heavy doors behind them. Victor bowed low to Helia, remaining with the guards outside. Maris stood aside as they entered, ushering the group inside. Helia strode forward first, Vaike and Cherche hanging back with Galle, Ita and Femi as they allowed Cordelia and the Khans to present themselves first.
The room itself was nothing special, simply a large stone room with a few window slits near the ceiling to cycle air. There were no actual windows, being in the interior of the palace, but light was cast by two large glowing braziers that also made the space comfortably warm. A single door, off to the side, led deeper into the palace. Opposite the door was a simple wooden throne, again betraying Galle's expectations of royal standards, beneath a tattered House Ylisse banner.
Sitting in the throne, dirty, disheveled but still regal and commanding, was the parallel Lucina.
"I bid you welcome, Helia of Valm, and…" Lucina said, standing and trailing off.
The group stopped awkwardly before the Exalt as the younger woman froze up, her eyes widening as she cast her gaze over the assembled Shepherds.
"Hello, Princess Lucina," Cordelia said with a kind smile. "Although I suppose it is Exalt Lucina here, yes? I was so sorry to hear of the loss of your parents."
"Heya, kid," Vaike greeted, stepping forward with his usual bluster. "Teach is glad to see ya grew up right."
Cherche remained silent, merely smiling and giving her a small nod.
Basilio's soft, rumbling chuckle surprised them all when the big Khan stepped forward, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly.
"You probably don't even recognize me as such an old fart," the big Khan said. "I'm Basilio. An old friend of your father's."
"This… I…" Lucina stammered for a moment before rallying. "How is this possible? You are all dead!"
"Parallel dimensions," Galle supplied, before adding "Apparently. It's confusing and we don't quite understand it, but here we are."
"I did try to warn you, Lady Exalt," Maris said from the back of the room.
"Yes, thank you Maris," Lucina nodded absently, still clearly shaken. "I had thought you spoke of my own comrades when your message said 'Shepherds', though."
"Still no word, Lady Exalt," Maris said regretfully.
"I see," Lucina said, sinking back onto her throne. "This is… a very large shock. I suppose this must also come as a surprise to you as well?"
"I think we may have it easier," Cordelia said. "We have already met an adult version of you, and all the others, in our own world."
Lucina froze again at this, her eyes widening as she slowly looked up at the Wing Commander.
"Then… in another world… it worked?" she asked in a small voice. "Naga's spell sent us back?"
"Yes," Cordelia nodded. "And with your help we were able to defeat Grima."
"So, we figure we oughtta return the favor this time," Vaike said, flexing his bicep for good measure.
"I feel like they've forgotten you're here," Galle muttered to Helia.
"It is fine," the Valmese woman chuckled. "I can wait. This seems important."
Lucina straightened, rising again and facing Helia with an embarrassed expression.
"Please, forgive me, Lady Helia, I meant no disrespect," she said quickly.
"No, please ignore Galle," Helia laughed.
"Everybody else does," Femi added with a smirk.
"Really?" the tactician deadpanned.
"I understand this is much to take in," Helia continued, trying to ignore the two Plegians. "I have already had time to come to terms with this. If it helps, I believe their tale, Exalt Lucina."
Lucina merely nodded, reaching out to steady herself against the throne again. Galle had never seen his teacher look so shaken before. Of course, he reminded himself, this wasn't his teacher but rather a parallel version of her. This Lucina was far thinner, and while she still maintained her regal aura there was a feeling of power that she was missing, a lack of that hard-earned strength that their own world's Lucina had.
Still, though, the similarities were plain to see as this Lucina took a deep breath and composed herself.
"I would extend you all my hospitality, and the hospitality of my nation," she said. "I also ask, please lend me your strength."
"We already said we would, girl," Basilio rumbled with a small smile.
The others all stepped forward, adding their voices of assent, but Galle stopped paying attention. Instead he found himself distracted by an odd, itching in the back of his mind. Something was playing with his magical senses, which he had often found was never a good thing. Behind him Ita gave a small growl, her ears flattening atop her head.
"Do you feel it, too?" Femi asked in a small voice.
"Whatever it is, it's not a good thing," Galle nodded, stepping forward. "Not that this isn't heartwarming and uplifting and all that, but something's coming."
The Shepherds stopped to look at the Plegian tactician, confusion on every face except for Lucina's blank expression. The Exalt's eyes slowly widened, though, just as the side door opened with a clatter and a green-haired manakete burst in in a panic.
"Lucina! He's coming!" the manakete all but screamed.
"Lady Tiki?" Cordelia asked in confusion.
"Yes, I… Cordelia?" Tiki said, stopping in surprise.
"Later!" Galle snapped. "Who's coming? Please don't say Grima."
Tiki shook her head, giving the Plegian boy a sad look.
"I'm afraid so," she said softly. "He returns from Tellius. I'm sorry, Lucina. I thought we had more time."
"Damnation," Lucina sighed, sagging for a moment before rallying. "Maris! Call the soldiers to arms! We will not go quietly into the-"
Her orders were cut off as the palace shook, a massive crash throwing those assembled from their feet. Galle fell hard on his side, mashing his shoulder into the stone floor at an awkward angle as another body landed atop him and drove the air from his lungs. He managed not to strike his head, though, and was back up almost as fast as Lucina was, even pulling Femi up with him.
"To arms!" the Exalt shouted, throwing the doors to the chamber wide. "To arms, brave men and women of Ylisse! Grima comes! He will not find us easy prey! To your stations! You know your positions!"
The Shepherds slowly returned to their feet, Galle holding a disoriented Femi's shoulder as he tried to ignore the dust raining down on them.
"She wasn't kidding about being out of time," he coughed.
Galle squinted in the sudden gloom, the overturned braziers having gone out. None of the Shepherds looked particularly injured, which was good. Nearby a terrified Helia was shaking, and Galle released Femi to move to the Valmese girl.
"Helia! Get a grip!" he hissed, coughing again on the dust.
"Is anyone hurt!?" Maris called over the din. "Lady Tiki? Are you well?"
"I'm fine!" Tiki called from beside the throne.
"Lady Helia!" Victor called shakily. "Lady Helia, are you okay!?"
"She's fine!" Galle answered. "A little shaken, but fine!"
"What just hit us?" Basilio growled. "The whole palace-"
There was another horrible rumbling crash, the ground shaking less this time as the sound lingered. Galle realized, with a cold feeling of fear, that it was the sound of collapsing stone and masonry.
"What the hell is going on!?" he snapped to no one in particular.
"Lucina?" Tiki called. "Where is Lucina!?"
"Exalt Lucina!?" Maris called.
The room shook again, and this time with the doors open the occupants could hear the screaming from outside. Maris staggered his way across the room, reaching down to pull Idallia up without even looking as he continued to search for Lucina. The Ylissean Khan offered a surprised, muted thanks that Maris apparently didn't even hear.
"We have to find her!" Tiki cried, close to hysterics.
"If she's anything like her father, we all know exactly where she'll be," Basilio said.
"Yeah, right in the middle of things!" Vaike added with an excited grin.
Galle groaned, stepping back from Helia as Victor rushed into the room.
"It just never ends with you people," the Plegian tactician groaned, running a hand through his hair.
Tiki's voice cut through the clamor, the Divine Dragon standing tall in the doorway even as the last of the Shepherds struggled to right themselves.
"Those of you who would fight, follow me," she said, before disappearing into the hallway.
Basilio, Vaike and Ita didn't hesitate, following after her. Maris cast Idallia one last glance before doing the same, the Ylissean Khan's expression darkening as he did.
"Stay here!" Cordelia told Helia, the younger girl clearly terrified.
Then she and Cordelia followed the others into the hall. The building shook again, a piercing roar following the tremor this time that made Helia scream and drop to her knees.
"Galle-" Femi started.
"I know!" he snapped, before sighing. "Idallia, stay with the girl! Femi, let's go!"
Galle led the young mage into the hall and back around the corner, hesitating before plunging into the sudden explosion of activity in the adjoining hall. He could see that the Great Hall was open to the air now, massive gouges carved into the stone floor from claws twice as long as Galle was tall. Soldiers and important refugees were running around everywhere, panic and disorder evident in the air. Across the hall, near the great doors back outside, Galle caught a glimpse of the tip of Cordelia's lance above the crowd, and with another low groan he reached back and grabbed Femi's hand.
"Don't get separated, I'm not going back into this mess to find you," he warned.
Femi gave him a weak grin as she tightly gripped his hand.
"I'm telling Mari," she teased.
Galle snorted, shaking his head and plunging them into the panicked crowd. For all her talk, he could feel Femi trembling through his hold on her hand, could hear the tremor in her voice when she had tried to tease him. Not that Galle could really blame her when he felt exactly the same way, but he was focusing on his irritation at the whole situation to remain grounded and focused.
The pair were jostled badly by the panicked crowd, Femi crying out as she was trod of numerous times during their journey, but Galle pressed forward. He pushed through the bodies, occasionally shoving aside the simpering morons that were standing around and getting in the way of the people actually trying to help. Eventually, though, the crowd thinned, and the pair emerged onto the steps of the Ylisstol Palace where the others were waiting.
And there, standing before the palace with wings outstretched and six-eyed head held high, was the true form of Grima.
"We should have stayed inside," Femi moaned, gripping Galle's hand even tighter.
For once, the Plegian boy realized he had no sarcastic remark to make.
AN: Happy New Year, everyone! Here's to 2019 being even better than every year before it! Big stuff coming from me this year, so stay tuned!
Woo! Getting to the endgame now! This story is so close to finished I can taste it! So strap in, because the next few chapters are gonna be intense!
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