In my memories I only knew Mother.
I aspired to be a tactician. Night after night I would tirelessly study the books and tomes she left behind, an ink-dipped quill in hand. I hadn't seen my mother for years after she suddenly disappeared one day. That day, I remember well. The sky was dark. Stormy clouds were moving in, a swirling vortex gathering at one point. The Shepherds arrived, weak and worn, as they carried a casket with them. My mother was not among them.
I remember my younger self, searching the sea of weary faces, searching for the one that mattered most. I couldn't find her. My heart dropped and I felt panic surging through my chest from the pit of my stomach. She was gone.
The only things my mother left behind were her materials and her old cloak, the one she shed after having become a Grandmaster. Her old tactician's cloak was worn and the colors were faded, though the cloak itself was still in good condition. At the time, the cloak was still too large for my body. It's a little funny—the cloak fits me now just fine.
Then one day, I found her. Amidst the sadness and despair, her form stood out among the flames and smoke. Standing in the midst of the ruins of a city, she wore the same cloak she wore a year ago, albeit burnt at the ends. Her hair was still the same shade of black messily tied up into a ponytail, two long bangs shoved aside from her face. I couldn't hold myself back. I cried out, "Mother!" I ran to her, never once questioning why she was there, nor noticing the dark miasma oozing from the palms of her hands.
That was my mistake, but my child self didn't care.
She smiled at me, a crooked smile, and held out her arms. I tackled her, the front of her cloak billowing around me as I heard her grunt from the impact. She smelt like the debris around her. "Mother," I said, my voice muffled. "Why are you here?"
"I came to get you, of course," she replied, a chuckle. If I had noticed, I would've realized her voice sounded warped. I nodded, wanting to be with her. With her, I would finally be safe—away from all the sadness and death.
Everything after that, bits and pieces too, were a blur. I could remember my mother as clear as day, yet I couldn't remember my father or my friends, if I had any. Perhaps it was her power—making me forget everything other than her and my love for tactics. She could never erase the feelings behind my memories though.
Whenever I saw one of them, someone from the rebel army, I felt a shock. A thought would appear. I knew them—they were my friends. By then, I was older and knew how to wield tomes from fire to dark. I was a genius—a prodigy the Grimleal would call me. To have been able to learn everything, especially the dark arts, before the age of fifteen, my skill was superior.
Then I saw her, the leader of the rebels—Lucina. She was always the most familiar. What was even more shocking was seeing my mother standing behind her—except it was strange. The one standing behind her resembled my own mother, yet she was clearly younger and so much more alive. There was a fire in her eyes that I hadn't seen for years, a certain ferocity and certainty as well as trust in her comrades.
I didn't dare raise my hand against her.
My faith was shaken. "Mother?" I whispered. No, I shook my head. Master Grima has long since stopped appearing in human form. That vessel had cracked long ago. Yet, I hesitated. The person in front of me was so real. I couldn't believe my eyes. Her skin was no longer cracked and dry, flaking in patches as dark power flowed through her being.
Yet I still wanted to believe.
"Master Grima?" I called out, almost fearful.
She stopped her approach, looking at me curiously. She didn't recognize me. In a way, I was glad.
"You, you seem familiar," she said, almost smiling. My heart leapt.
"You're not… Master Grima?"
"You must have me confused. I'm with the Ylissean league."
I frowned. "Wha—what kind of tactician tells her enemy she's a part of the Ylissean league? I could be an enemy you know. I could summon reinforcements."
She chuckled. "I suppose, but I have a gut feeling that you're no enemy of mine."
"A tactician ought to base her judgments on more than a gut feeling," I huffed. She smiled. "Perhaps so, but I hadn't mention I was a tactician." I flinched inwardly. She got me.
"I haven't a clue of your connections to the me in this world, nor do I know what she's doing, but you seem fond of her."
"That's none of your concern." I narrowed my eyes.
"Right, I apologize if I offended you. As an apology, let me give you this." She reached inside her cloak.
"W-what is it?" Curious, I stepped closer.
"One of my favorite books. It details my basic battle strategies. Perhaps it might benefit one so obviously fond of tacticians."
"I—" With trembling hands, I took it from her. Steadying my voice, I said, "This—isn't this special to you? Why are you giving it to me?" My voice rose. "What makes you so sure that I wouldn't use it against you? I could end your little crusade right here and now!"
She smiled knowingly. "You could, but you won't."
"Wha—what makes you so sure?"
"You remind me of someone; someone very special to me. Again, it's a gut feeling, but I do not believe you wish me harm."
I was speechless.
"Ah." Someone called her name. "Time is short and I must go. I'm glad though, we were able to talk." She left, her cloak billowing behind her as she abruptly turned. Then I glanced at the tome at my side. One hit, and I could end it all. Kill her and disrupt the entire battle. It was a futile thought. As she made to turn the corridor, I saw a man run up and hug her in enthusiasm. He looked strangely like me. Then another man and, surprisingly, Lucina joined them. They seemed to be full of joy and triumph.
Filled with longing, I watched them turn the corner and leave.
I glanced at the book in my hand, flipping the pages. "This… I already have this book. You gave it to me long ago. The notes and dog-ears are all exactly the same… I can't do it. I can't keep fighting. Up until now, my faith was unshakable. I was ready to kill my own friends… But I cannot strike down the kind and gentle mother I once knew… Forgive me, Master Grima, but I must withdraw… I remain your servant and am ready to accept any punishment you see fit." Raising my hand, I drew a portal. Entering it, I let the dark wisps wrap around my form, whisking me away.
From that point on, I began questioning Master Grima's intentions. A year had passed since then. In battle, I hesitated whenever I saw a familiar face among the rebel army. Of course, my actions didn't go unnoticed.
"You fool! How could you let them escape!" he hissed at me, his arm slapping the arm of his broken throne. He had recently attained another vessel. This vessel was rather new, and male. I flinched, as I kept my head bowed.
"I apologize, I will not let it happen again."
"Lies! Enough of this nonsense!" he yelled. "Bring forth the girl!"
From the shadows of the ruins, a young woman stepped out. Removing her hood, I nearly gasped. She looked similar to me.
"This—she will take your place from now on."
"But—" I began to protest, but he silenced me with a sharp glare, promising harm if I were to say any more.
The young woman stepped forward, as if hesitant, in front of me. Turning her head, she looked at Master Grima. "Father, shall I follow him?"
I blinked, confused. Father? Did that body once belonged to her father? I felt sick at the thought.
Master Grima waved his hand, grunting. "Get out of my sight," he spat.
Gesturing towards her, I led her away and into another hall. "You," I said, once we're well away from prying ears. "What's your name?"
"Morgan." I stopped abruptly. She bumped into me.
"Morgan," I muttered. "That's my name."
She blinked in surprise. "When did you find Master Grima?" I asked, urgency growing.
"I-I just woke up in a bunch of ruins. Then father found me…" she trailed off, confused. Then, in a smaller voice, she said quietly, "He seemed different though. As if the father I once knew was gone, and some sort of malevolent being took place."
I was silent. I played with her words in my mind, shaping them and rearranging them. I then think back to the other Robin, that look-alike mother. It was possible Morgan didn't belong in this time, possible that she was from another place. She seemed to have arrived here as she was.
"Do you remember anything else—before you woke up, I mean."
She shook her hand, her dark curls waving side to side. "No, I don't. I can't seem to, no matter how much I try."
"It's funny though," she continued. "I feel as if a part of me does remember. I-I can feel it. Something's wrong and whenever I see them—those Grimleal or whatever—a part of me wants to shrink away in just—just fear."
In a hushed voice, I said, "Morgan, you mustn't tell anyone—especially Master Grima and those of his followings—but I believe you do not belong here. And that man, he is not your father. He's merely a puppet—no, a vessel used by Master Grima."
Morgan stepped, her eyes widening. "No—that can't be—after I've searched this long."
"I understand, but I need you to work with me, please. How good are you at magic?"
"P-pretty well, I think? I don't exactly remember ever using it, but I've been called a genius by those Grimleal who found me…" I smiled wryly. Aside from gender, it seemed we really were similar.
"Why are you smiling?"
"Er, nothing. Just thinking that you and I are really similar. It's a bit off-putting, really."
She smiled. "I agree."
"Then, Morgan, do you trust me?" She looked at me warily, before nodding. "Then you mustn't speak of this plan to anyone, not even to your father—or whatever that shell is."
It was the final battle. I watched the sky as if darkened, a vortex of wind and thunder gathering. In a distance I could see Lucina standing with three others. In her hand was the Fire Emblem. I felt my throat tighten. Besides me, Morgan grasp on her tome tightened. Grima stepped forward, his lips curling into a smile. His hand rose. Mouthing a soft incantation, a spark gathered at his palm. The ground broke, as a devastating spell burst over seizing the bodies of the four. I gasped.
"No!" I shouted. I ran forward as his hand raised once again, my own tome open as I prepared to cast a spell.
"Fool!" I heard his voice hiss, and he turned on me. He released a burst of light, hitting the ground before me. I fell back, dazed, painfully grasping my side. "So you've finally betrayed me."
I gasped for air, my vision fading in and out as I watched his boots come closer. I could see Morgan from behind, opening her own tome, hand rose over a yellowed page. Then, I saw her hesitate. I knew then, that the plan was lost. She held too much love for her father to strike him down, even if logic stated otherwise. Closing my eyes, I silently apologized.
The blow never came. I heard Grima scream, as multiple footsteps echoed through the hall. They're here! Squinting, I turned my head and towards them—the Shepherds. I smiled.
"You'll never win though," I rasped quietly. My head hit the ground, my mind blackening. I fainted.
When I woke, I waken to soft lights and glowing fireflies. I heard a voice within my head.
"N…aga?" I asked. I heard the voice chuckle.
"No, my name is Tiki. I am the divine dragon now. Naga is completely sealed off from this world."
I struggled to stand; yet it felt as if I were floating.
"You are no longer a part of this world."
"Am I… dead?" I cautiously ask. I heard her laugh a little.
"No, not dead. You are very much alive, like that other girl."
"Morgan? What happened to her?"
"I've sent her to another timeline. The world, which she came from, is fraught with despair and cannot be saved. She will be given another chance, as will you."
"Me…? But I don't understand. I've done nothing to earn such a thing."
"Neither did Morgan. Yet the two of you fought for Ylisse in the end. And it is your parents' final wish. They regretted deeply for the pain they have caused you two, their children."
I felt tears gather, threatening to spill at any moment.
"Now go," she said. "Your new life begins here."