Hello. You may not know this, but I love Fire Emblem. So I decided to try and make one. This was an idea I had playing FE Heroes, so do enjoy. It will have an actual, STRUCTURED plot, unlike The Seventeeners.

Disclaimer: If I owned Fire Emblem, I'd make Batta the final boss.


Valor, also known as the Dread Isle, is not a fun island to be in. Like its name suggests, it truly is a deathtrap for the reckless and inexperienced, with choppy, unpredictable waves followed by jagged rocks that can breach the hull of any ship. The landscape was littered with emerald trees, the greenest in all of Elibe, yet they house some of the most dangerous animals.

But Fargus has been to Valor once. The middle-aged pirate easily navigated through maelstrom and whirlpool alike, his expertise showing with every obstacle he overcame. Even the furious storm that battered the ship repeatedly with unruly waves couldn't conquer his ship.

The tide started to ebb once Valor came to view. "Land, ho! Captain, Valor is in sight!"

Fargus, his white beard bristling in the winds, stood at the helm, eyeing the island like a hawk. It's been a year since the death of Nergal and the Dragon, and peace settled in Elibe relatively fast. Eliwood had taken over his father's earlier position as Marquess of Lycia, similar to Hector and Ostia. Although they're still coping, Fargus heard that they were already earning the support of the people. But no matter what, the sight of Valor always reminded him of an ear-piercing roar.

A roar befitting of a dragon.

"Right, welcome to Valor! You really owe me for this, Mark."

A man clad in green robes materialized from the door leading below decks. Under his hand was a book entitled: History of Elibe, the author being The Enigma, heartily slapped his back, causing him to lurch forward slightly and the book to nearly slip out.

"Don't hit me so hard, Fargus. You know well enough that I'm not Hector, nor am I Eliwood."

The book was a precious object he came across in the library of Etruria, during his studies after Lundgren fell. He bought the book with the money he earned from Lyn (she told him that he might need it should he find something useful,) although that had him starving for two days straight.

"Can't help it! You really do owe me for this; I've risked life and limb for you only this time!"

Mark chuckled, hand reaching for his robe. "I suppose so, Fargus." From it, a linen bag was produced. He jiggled it one last time to assure its content, before handing it to Fargus.

"The money the Lycian League presented as a reward should be enough, right?"

Fargus' eyes widened, a blank look present on his face. Mark dropped the (actually heavy) bag into his open palm. Fargus pulled the string that sealed the bag just to check that it was actually money and not a pile of rocks.

"I can't possibly hope of making this much in any of my raids!"

"Well, guess you won't need to raid of a while huh?"

The two laughed off their words, stepping down from the wooden plank and onto the docks; although, it can't really be called a dock since there wasn't any other ship. The age-old timber creaked under their weight, threatening to drop the two.

"Fargus," Mark's expression turned serious, his eyes meeting Fargus' ,"if I don't come back out in the next twelve hours, just leave."

To this, Fargus furiously shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Mark. If everyone found out I left you in this island, everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, will either be hunting me down or trying to capture you."

"That's why we left port in the middle of the night," Mark slowly reminded the baffled Fargus, "so that nobody will notice my disappearance."

It was a sound argument; after all, Mark had been travelling all over Elibe, avoiding friends and foe alike to make sure that nobody, and he meant NOBODY, would find him. Bern and Etruria's war was already slowing to a halt, and if anyone should discover his location, then he'd jeopardize the civilians, not to mention his friends.

The friends who would lay down their lives for his sake.

He thrashed the thought. Don't worry about it. My main goal here is to discover more about Athos' prophecy, not disappear.

"But still-"

"Say no more, Fargus. Just listen; besides, you don't want to keep your crewmen in dangerous waters any longer than needed, would you?"

Fargus grumbled in disapproval, but consented nonetheless. "You better show up, Mark. If you don't, I'll drag you back to my ship if I have to."

"I'll count on you if the need ever arises."

With those words, Fargus returned to the ship, barking out more orders for his crew to follow. Meanwhile, Mark's sights were on the never-ending forests that appear before him.

Oh dear, this is going to truly be a chore.


Mark cursed under his breath, as yet another sharp branch poked his side. He had to admit, the robe presented by Eliwood as a gift was not exactly protective. He wasn't even halfway through before most of his robes were either holed by briars, torn by sharp branches or literally bitten off by the carnivorous squirrels that inhabit Valor.

Yes, carnivorous squirrels. He's sure that it was them who bit off part of his robe. After all, there was no way it could've been him blundering clumsily, stepping and tearing bits of the robe himself.

Mark felt like he was reenacting the scene where the whole company traversed the forests. He chuckled, remembering Serra's humming, which distracted her so much that she got lost by accident. It was Lyn who found her in the end, bringing back the crying bishop into the camp. Even though she was to blame, Erk was the victim of her anger, as usual. His mind immediately wandered off to Lyn.

Wonder how Lyn's doing?

It wasn't surprising to find him often daydreaming about Lyn, as she was the first person he befriended after he woke up in the Sacaean fields. Soon, his mind wandered off to nostalgic territory, about when he first met both Sain and Kent, along with Florina, Wil, and others that became part of his life. A smile curved from the edge of his lips, remembering what Lyn said before the quartet parted ways.

"We'll see each other again. I believe that our bonds are strong enough to allow us to seek each other without fail."

A spiraling root caught the tactician off-guard, as his outstretched hand tried to break his fall. Although he avoided his face slamming onto a random rock, his hand was pricked by the oddly sharp underbrush of the forest. He sucked in sharply, groaning in pain rather than screaming. Now, he was really regretting not exercising when Hector told him to.

He flapped his hands, allowing air to cool the reddening blot on them. Despite the pain, he continued his march across the forest.

It wasn't long before he came across a certain tombstone. He was quite familiar with it, as he took a knee to view the tombstone. Although it was painted with some moss and a few cracks, the words were still intact:

Here lies Uhai, proud warrior of the Djute Tribe.

"This should be the place, then," Mark muttered. He stood back up, gazing at the sun's direction. He nodded to himself, trudging southward till another familiar smudge turned into a tree.

"Turn at the rotted tree… head west. There lies the path of the Dragon's Gate," Mark reiterated Uhai's words from a year ago. True to what Uhai told the whole group, they did find the Dragon's Gate a year ago. It won't be any different now.

As the afternoon sun relentlessly beats on Mark like fish over a fire, he noticed that the familiar view of a stone gate, filled with intricate carvings of the ancient tongue and events that told of The Scouring, was not appearing. He wasn't sure whether he mixed directions by accident or that he was getting delirious.

But in the end, he did breathe out a sigh of relief once the ageing stone came into view.


What Mark never truly understood was why the interior radiated a green hue. Doesn't fit the 'Final Challenge' location I've read from books, he thought amused, slowly making his way deeper into the room.

Well, it did take some time to climb the flight of stairs, and push the enormous entrance to the gate. Remember, he's just Mark; he's not a Hector.

Cue dramatic sigh, as the actual gate came into view, with no more orange, swirling portal behind it, or any random fire-breathing dragons.

"Now," Mark muttered to himself, removing the book from his robes, "let's see what this book can tell me." He flipped open to the first page, reading the prologue.

Once, dragon and men coexisted.

They shared a peace forged in wisdom, a peace that lasted many generations.

"You could've fooled me."

All that was lost when mankind disrupted this balance in a sudden onslaught.

Man fought dragon in a savage war that shook the foundations of their world.

This war was called The Scouring.

"I wouldn't have needed to bring this book if not for my inability to read the ancient tongue," he whined silently. His voiced echoed through the empty halls, causing him to shudder in slight fear.

Maybe his fear of dragons hasn't been cured. But once you've come across the legendary power of a dragon, that should be understandable.

Defeated and humbled, dragons vanished from the realm.

In time, Man rebuilt and spread his dominion across the land and on to the islands beyond.

Right, let's see what info I can dig up about prophecies here, Mark thought, skimming through the pages with a careful eye.

He halted on a certain page, one that was under the chapter called 'The Founding of Bern.'

The wise St. Elimine foresaw slumbering darkness within Hartmut, as he left the Demon Dragon unconscious. Whether it'd be darkness that spread from the Demon Dragon or some human impulse, she was not able to dispel said darkness. Archsage Athos foresaw that the darkness was to be passed to all of Hartmut's descendants, till one would be fully consumed by it.

Despite this, Hartmut insisted that it would not be, and thus, we celebrated on the birth of his first child, inside Bern, after The Scouring.

The word darkness struck him like an arrow. The hero, and most prominent member, infested with darkness?

He flipped through the pages, yet they yielded no more valuable information. He groans in irritation, deciding that maybe the carvings of the gate would supply him with the answer he needs.

In frustration, the book flew into the opposite direction of the gate. He ran a hand through the carvings, feeling the cold stone permeate his warm skin. They were intricate carvings, those that retell a tale that the book's introduction told. Once again, no valuable information.

But the gate started to glow.

Wait, it's not supposed to glow like that, right…?

The light only grew in size. Mark slowly stepped back, before the doors were thrown open, and a sky-blue vortex started to pull the tactician. Mark turned tail, struggling to get a foothold, leaning his whole body away from the vortex.

Goddamn it! I don't want to be stuck with dragons!

But of course, God seemed to have decided to forsake him. The book whizzed into his direction, smacking his face, causing him to lose valuable footing. He flew into the portal, cursing his horrible luck along the way.

The blue color receded, the only thing left a torn page from the ancient book, and the green light radiating off the walls.


That's it for now. More to come. When I feel like writing.