The Gods' Blessings in Pairs-- Jewels of Fire

by 111 Oats

A FE8 Novelization. Be it by the efforts of the Gods or by man's own hands, humankind was given the weapons they needed to drive the Demon King into slumber. But his dreaming malice forces them to take up those same arms against one another and brings chaos down over Magvel like a shadow. The Blessed Twins are drawn, and those swept up in their midst are brought into the fight.

Fire Emblem is owned by Nintendo and Intelligent Systems.

Chapter One, Maram: The Darkling Woods

I was so proud the first time I pulled off a fire spell. Saleh was a great teacher, and it wasn't long after he started tutoring me that I succeeded. It was weak—Saleh said I would create better and stronger flames as I practiced—and I was too excited to hold it for long, so it flickered out in seconds. Still, I listened to his advice. I practiced my magic every day when I had free time. That winter, Myrrh and I returned the Darkling woods. Saleh escorted us back and promised to teach me more when I came to Caer Pelyn next. Before we parted, he lent me a fresh Fire tome.

It went without saying that he wanted me to continue practicing. I wanted to impress him, anyway.

Without a teacher to instruct me, I was left to my own devices. My improvement was slow as a result. At times, I thought I'd hit a rut. Myrrh assured me that I was improving. I could not tell the difference, but she told me that it was much brighter and warmer than when I'd first started. It would cast orange light over her violet hair, illuminating more and more of her face over time, but that wasn't enough to make me realize. I was only able to see this for myself when I began to practice on monsters.

The revenants were weak and slow. They were of little concern to the rest of the village, and came back indefinitely, which I used to justify my bouts with them. When I told Father of this, he was both times proud and upset. Proud that I was growing stronger, but upset and worried that I was fighting something so dangerous. I assured him it was fine, I was being careful, and if anything went wrong, I had Myrrh with me. Even if I couldn't transform, Myrrh always had her dragonstone on hand.

I never had to rely on her, though. In none of the years since then did Myrrh have to help me. The revenants seldom came close enough for any risk, and by that time, I was strong enough to dispatch them with two or three quick fireballs. Myrrh praised me in her quiet, meek way, and Father praised me over time. I grew confident in my abilities. Perhaps too confident.

"Maram!" Myrrh pushes me back in time to avoid a spearpoint stabbing the space where my heart occupied, causing me to stumble and fall mid-cast. The fireball flies into the air, failing against the dense leaves of the forest canopy. Not that it would have done much good against the walking skeleton stalking toward us. It brandishes a spear, and draws it back to stab at Myrrh. I notice, and make to pull my sister out of harm's way when I notice the light glint off the palm-sized blue stone hanging around her neck.

I roll out of the way just in time, as a violent yellow light shines over Myrrh, forcing the monster back. I pick up my fire tome, flip it open, and ready to let loose a spell, but lower it a moment later. There isn't much left for me to do now, because standing where Myrrh was five seconds ago is a massive yellow dragon with crimson eyes and a snarling, razor-toothed maw.

Am I jealous? Very, because when the dragon draws its head back in a growl, its eyes glow, and greenish-gold flames spill from its jaws before exploding outward, engulfing the skeleton. The warmth is familiar, and hits me like a boulder. After all this time, all this practice, all my sister has to do to trump me is pull out her shiny stone and let nature take its course.

My envy is overwhelmed by the sense of gratitude and relief. Had Myrrh not been with me… I shuddered at the thought. I was able to take care of revenants without trouble if the three burning corpses around us were any indication. These skeletons, on the other hand, are immune to my magic. My flames glance off their bones, leaving scorch marks but no damage besides.

When the flames and light subsides, and Myrrh stands before me once more, I throw my arms around her and pull her in a hug (mindful of her wings, all the while). "Thank you," I say, squeeze her tight once, then let her go and take her hand. "Now let's go. We need to tell Father." She gives a meek nod in response.

Nothing remained of the skeleton, but it still shook me. I have never seen any monsters aside from revenants and the occasional mogall. The boneman was new. I tug and urge her forward. As much as I need her to protect me in the event that more of this new show up, I also want to keep her near so she won't get lost.

"Maram, wai—" Myrrh stumbles, and I whirl around to catch her by the shoulders. Her eyes were downcast, and she bit on her bottom lip.

"What's wrong?" I ask, inspecting her. "Are you hurt?" Her wings? No. Arms? No. Waist? Oh. Oh no. Blood blossoms out along her side, staining her the white on her dress to match the red jacket she wears over it.

"I…" I huff, and run a hand through my hair. "Can… can you walk?" She is tentative, but nods. "Can you run?" I want to hurry, to get to Father as fast as possible, but if she can't run… "Or fly?"

Her wings stretch and ready to take off, but twinge and she winces with a cry when they flap down. Her hand flies to her side and clutches her wound. She shakes her head, and I frown. "Damn, alright." I stroke my chin in thought. What can we do? We've wasted too much time here already, and running is the safest bet against facing more of those skeletons, a daunting thought made worse by the knowledge of Myrrh's wound. I can't exactly drag her behind me when she cannot run, though. An idea shines in my mind. While it isn't great, it is all I have when I say, "Come here."

"What?"

"Come here," I repeat, kneeling down with my back to her. I make sure to lash my tome to my belt. Don't want to lose that. "Get on my back." She hesitates, and I lose my temper. "Hurry up, sister, we're wasting time." I wince at my tone, not meaning to be harsh, but it gets her moving.

I feel her hands on my shoulders, then her legs over my back. "Good, now tuck yourself tight to me and keep your wings lowered. I don't want them to get caught on any branches." I reach back, lift her up by her thighs, and stand. "Are you ready?"

She murmurs a "yes."

"Then hang on." I take a preparatory breath, long and deep, before taking off through the woods. I cover great distance considering our lost time. My feet move without my thinking, leaping over fallen logs and weaving around brambles and branches. I duck under branches, lower than normal to accommodate Myrrh on my back.

I may not be able to transform like my sister, but manakete blood still flows in my veins. She hates it, calls it monster-blood and hates that we have anything in common with them, like it ostracizes us from humans, but I don't care. If being part monster is what lets me run faster and farther, lift heavier and higher, then I do not care. I welcome that part of me, because without it, I would not have been able to get Myrrh back to the Village as soon as I did.

Well, village is a rough term. A bit of an exaggeration, at that. Really just a cluster of the small, log-hewn structures that us manaketes call homes. Even Caer Pelyn, which Saleh has told me is humble by human standards, is impressive compared to our shacks. It is unnamed, as well, as it's the only of its kind in these woods and no one outside knows of it, aside from Saleh and his grandmother. The biggest building here is Father's house, and that is only because it houses him, Myrrh, myself and mother when she was alive, while all of the others belong to no more than two people.

"You can set me down now," my sister says. She's embarrassed, so I lower her to the ground when we enter the slight clearing.

"Can you make it to Mila's from here?"

She gives me an unsure look. A short, stumbling step hand-delivers both of us the answer. She says she's fine, regardless, but I will have none of it. "Hang on to my arm." She insists that no, it isn't necessary, she is fine. "Hang on to my arm," I say again, offering it to her, "or I will carry you there."

I'm worried her pride is going to get her killed. It is a part of me I see in her—a part of her that is in me, I suppose would be more accurate—and I will not let it be her downfall. She takes my arm and uses it as a sort of crutch. Her limp is alleviated for the remainder of our short trek, around the corner and into Mila's hut on the northern edge of the Village.

I call the healer's name, express the urgency of the situation. "Please hurry." I set Myrrh down on the cot set up in the front. I try to do so gently, but she winces. I feel my brow furrow. Before I can ask if she's alright, she rolls her eyes and sighs.

"Do not worry, brother. I will be fine." I want to believe her. I really do, but the best I can do is cross my arms and look away. I don't wish to see her on this cot.

Mila comes out, asks what is wrong. I give her an abbreviated retelling to take as little time as possible. My foot is tapping the entire time. Perhaps that is the part that hints at how much I want her to cut the pleasantries and get to work on saving my sister. No disrespect to Mila, but I want to see her healing more than I want to hear her voice. Of course, I say nothing of the sort.

"Remove your coat, please, Myrrh." I need to look away again. I avert my eyes after the healer takes the red garment and sets it to the side. I resist the urge to look back when Mila makes a disapproving, "Ooh." My foot is tapping again, completely out of my control. Even if it is something I can stop, I won't, because the slight sound is my only distraction as Mila does her work.

"Oh my." I cannot stop myself this time. My eyes shoot over to Myrrh to see the damage. Her dress is drawn up to above her stomach, and resting between her hip and ribs is a long, nasty cut. The blood mars her skin, painting it a color similar to her dress. I pray the cut isn't deep. It is hard to swallow past the knot in my throat.

"Brother?" I am relieved at her voice. My eyes snap up to meet hers.

"Yes?"

"Go see Father. Tell him about the bonewalkers. I'll be alright."

"Right." It is easier to leave than I like. I don't want to abandon her when I almost got her killed, but at the same time… I sigh. We're lucky it isn't worse. That's what I tell myself as I work my walk into a jog, then into a run. Mila's staff can stitch her together in no time.

I draw eyes as I rush through the village. The Black Temple is a fair distance from any of the huts, greater than that between the village and the "bonewalker", as Myrrh called it. Without her on my back, I am able to move faster and more nimbly. Still, I cannot help but think back to a minute ago, though not because I'm worried. If Myrrh says she's fine, I trust her. Running like this clears my mind, and the air helps to cool my nerves. Instead of worrying, I look back with distaste.

I acted was a fool to be so short with Mila. She is doing us a service, and I let my impatient shine through. I was rude, and Father will be cross with me when he finds out.

I do my best to push this thought from my mind, as well. I need my utmost focus as I approach the Black Temple.

The massive, gold-bricked structure sits in the middle of a large clearing. It stands taller than the trees, an opening large enough for a dragon to fit through at the top of the lofty stairs, but the mountains around here reach higher still. It is surrounded by a multitude of monsters, mostly revenants with a few Mogall floating about, who meander about the open area, through and around the pools of purple water. Father tells us to never go into the pools, as the water is tainted by the blood of the Demon King, but these monsters wade through its waist-high water.

The water is not the only object of nature afflicted by the Demon King. The trees here are gnarled and blackened, growing worse the closer they are to the Temple. The grass is dead, as well, drained of its color and left to lie limp on the darkened dirt.

I cannot see him, but I know Father sits in wait at the top of the stairs. I make my way there, taking care not to aggravate the walking corpses and floating eyes. Meanwhile, I keep a careful watch for any "bonewalkers". None are in sight, to my thanks, and none of the monsters pay much mind to my trespass despite the countless times I've burned their brood to the ground.

"Father!" I call for him when I'm halfway up the stairs. I can see him now, sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed in the center of the platform. He opens his eyes and stands to meet me.

"Maram? What are you doing here?"

I am breathless when I reach the top. I ask for a moment to catch it, then stand straight. He is still at least a head taller than me, but I can chalk that up to the several thousand years he has had to grow. "I was out training with Myrrh and—" he scowls "—we were attacked by something. It wasn't a revenant. It was a walking skeleton—I think Myrrh called it a… a bonewalker? My magic had no effect, and Myrrh had to destroy it. I've never seen one before."

"Are you hurt?" he asks.

"No, I'm fine, but…" I gulp. "Myrrh has a cut on her side." His expression changes in an instant, from one of concern to one of anger. "I—I took her to Mila right away, but she insisted I come to you immediately to tell you about the skeleton."

My explanation seems to placate him, but I know I'll get an earful soon enough. For now, he crosses his arms, furrows his brow, and turns around. "Stay here." I don't argue, and he heads into the darkness of the Temple.

I wait for several minutes. My attention is drawn to the innumerable caves carved into the mountains around here. The mountains themselves are a never ending source of jealousy for me. As far as I know, Myrrh has never flown, and Father has not taken to the skies in a millennium, but I see the others. They spread their wings, lift away from the ground in great gusts, and they soar through the endless blue, high above the weight of the ground and the snow-capped peaks.

I yearn to be among them. What I wouldn't give to be up there, piercing the wind and joining the clouds in their infinite loft. Seeing the world beyond these woods and mountains for the first time, from a sky-high view no less, would be a blessing unmatched. Dragonfire is amazing and unparalleled, but the skies… I wish for nothing more.

"Hurry back to the Village, Maram." Father's voice startles me from my thoughts. I face him just as he is coming into the daylight. His expression is grave, more so than usual. His dark eyebrows are furrowed, his golden eyes narrowed, and his mouth pressed in a firm line. "I'll be along in a moment."

"Father, what's going on?"

"I'll explain in time, just hurry along and check on Myrrh. Trust me, son. And tell Mila that I'll be calling a meeting tonight." He's looking off to the south with a more grim scowl than I've seen in decades.

I go down the stairs two at a time. The trip back leaves my mind addled further. Perhaps it makes me faster, as I feel like the distance is crossed in half the time. I find myself back at Mila's doorstep in what feels like minutes, but I calm myself before I enter.

The healer is nowhere to be seen, but Myrrh is still sitting on the cot. A long strip of cloth is wrapped several times around her belly, covering where the cut was. Her hands are clasped together in her lap, and she looks dejected. Her expression doesn't improve when she sees me. "Maram? Did you talk to Father?"

I nod. "He sent me back, told me to check on you."

"Did he say anything about the bonewalker?" she asks, and once again, I'm curious where she got the term.

"No," I say. "But it can't be good. He said he's going to call a meeting tonight." She bites her lower lip and looks away. I take a seat next to her and sigh. "When was the last time he called a meeting?"

She shakes her head. She doesn't remember. Neither do I. As far as I know, it was when Mother died two and a half centuries ago. I was barely old enough to remember her, but I do remember that everyone was solemn for months. Nothing since then has been nearly as urgent, nor as heartbreaking. Which makes me worry all the more.

We sit there in silence for a while. On multiple occasions, I think I hear footsteps outside, and think either Father or Mila is here. Every time, I look up but no one comes in. Once, when I lower my eyes in disappointment, I catch Myrrh also gazing at the door, albeit with a furrowed brow and sullen frown.

"Where did Mila go?" I ask.

"The market."

"Did she say when she would be back?" I don't want to forget Father's message.

"Shortly." I scowl. Shortly. Right. I've been waiting here for ages with no trace of the healer, but she'll be back shortly. What did she even need to go to the market for anyway? Something important enough to leave my hurt sister here by herself? Shortly. Sure. I start tapping my foot.

"Did she say how long you'll be in here?"

"Until she gets back."

I sigh, crossing my arms. She'd better hurry, I think. I'm not sitting in this chair all night while Myrrh sleeps.

Mila is back soon after that. I've given up paying attention to the footsteps by now, and am surprised when she opens the door with a woven basket tucked under her arm. "Sorry I took so long," she says, "but Khozen had trouble finding the right—Oh, hello, Maram. Did you speak with your father?"

"He says he's going to call a meeting tonight." Mila freezes, almost dropping her basket in the process. She is quick to recover, and wipes the look of surprise off her face before heading past us and unloading her spoils on a table. The drastic change in demeanor does not escape either Myrrh or myself, though I combat the urge to share a look with my sister. "Mila, what is going on? Father seemed concerned, and now he's calling a meeting? Is something wrong?"

She is silent for a time. Myrrh and I watch as she puts each recently purchased item away with careful deliberation. Finally, she says, "You said it was a bonewalker that attacked you?"

"That…" Sister and I meet each other's eyes for a quick moment. "That's what Myrrh called it, yes."

"It's been quite some time since they've crawled from their graves," Mila says. "Perhaps it's a warning to tread more carefully. Still, I doubt it is anything to be too concerned about, children. Do not lose sleep over it. Though while we're on the subject," she pulls a small root from the bottom of her basket. She places it in Myrrh's hand, whose nose crinkles up at the smell. When I catch a whiff of its sour scent, I am tempted to do the same.

"Eat this," the healer says, a bemused smile playing on her face. "It will make you drowsy, and your body will heal swifter."

"Didn't you heal her already?" I ask. I try to mellow my tone as best I can, but a hint of an edge creeps into it. Myrrh picks up the short, yellowish root between two fingers and brings it to her eye. It does not look worth eating. "I thought staves are supposed to heal wounds completely?"

"I did as much as I could, boy." Thankfully, Mila's patience knows no bounds. Once again, she ignores my "blunt mannerisms", as Father sometimes calls them. "But we do not know where the bonewalker found its weapon, or what foul poisons could have clung to its blade. This root will make sure none take hold and do damage on the inside."

"I see." I am humbled, and look down in shame. "I apologize for my tone."

She waves her hand and smiles again. "No need. It's refreshing to see you care so deeply for you sister." A faint blush colors my cheeks. I hope she can't see. "Normally you're so crass to her."

"It's my fault she's hurt," I mutter. The memory of her pushing me out of the spear's way flashes behind my eyes. "The least I can do is be nice for a while. Besides, she is my older sister, even if we don't have the same blood." A hand touches my shoulder. I glance over to see Myrrh smiling at me, and have to look away again, my face going redder by the second.

"That's a wonderful sentiment," Mila says. "Your father will be glad to know you think that way. Oh, but I've kept you for long enough. The day is getting late, and Myrrh, you need your rest. Head on home, now, and eat that root. Maram, look over her and make sure she makes it to bed before its effect hits."

How strong is this root? I wonder. "Of course."

Myrrh pushes off the bed and fastens a grabs her dragonstone. Tied to a thread, she laces it around her neck so the powerful gem rests just below her throat. "Can you walk?" I ask, and she nods. Even so, I watch her first steps to be sure it isn't her pride talking. I deem her ready, and we head out with an obligatory farewell. She says to check back in tomorrow, especially if Myrrh experiences any unusual stomach pains. Yes, we say, of course, and make our way across the Village.

I keep by her side for the entirety of the walk. If at any point she falls, I'll be there to catch her. Meanwhile, I think back Father's face, the concern painted on it, and the way Mila reacted when I told her of Father's plan for a meeting.

Myrrh is once again inspecting the root when I say, "Do you think Father'll let us come to the meeting?" She ignores me, sniffs the root, then gives it a testing lick. She recoils in an instant, and my curiosity gets the better of me. "Is it really that bad?"

She nods. "It tastes like dirt."

"It smells like dirt," I remark.

"Rotten dirt," she agrees.

"Then why'd you try it?"

"I wanted to check! Some foods taste better than they smell!"

"Not when they smell like dirt." She looks to the ground, watching her feet as the step over the darkening soil. The closer we get to the Temple, the closer to black it becomes. It gets much darker by the time we're home, as our hut is the closest to the pyramid-shaped temple. After a minute or so, I perk up. "Let me try it."

"What?"

"The root. I want to try it. Give it here." She hesitates, but I egg her on. "Come on, you get to try it, so I should, too."

"It's gross!"

"Yeah, so let me try it!"

I wave my hand for her to hand it over. I'm bigger than her, so if I really need to, I can wrestle it from her.

It doesn't come to that, however, and she relents. I do the same as she did, taking an experimental sniff—it does indeed smell like dirt—before running it along my tongue. The pungent taste assails me before I can process it; rotten dirt is an understatement. It tastes like a mix of dirt, fermented apples, and revenant flesh. I wrench the nasty root away so fast, I almost drop it. The taste doesn't leave, remaining in my mouth even as I hand it back to Myrrh. Something about this strikes her as funny. "Don't laugh." She does anyway, and I have to join in with a short chuckle. At least she's feeling alright.

I open the door for her when we get there. Even through the trees, I can tell the sun is beginning to set. Reddish-orange light filters through the canopy, and insects begin the first round of their nightly choir. Myrrh sits down on her bed and I place my tome on the table beside it. "Do we need to string you up any special way for the night?" I ask, grabbing the bucket from the corner.

"I don't think so."

"Then I'll be right back. I'm going to get you some water."

I am careful as I close the door behind me. As night descends, I have to be wary of monsters. They like the dark, and wander closer to the Village. They're more aggressive, too. If revenants were my only concern, I wouldn't be too worried, but with these bonewalkers around… I have to pay more attention.

I have to travel almost to the middle of the Village to get to a clean lake. Once I'm there, I have little to worry about, and walk brazenly, swinging the bucket as I go. As I'm filling it, I see Jahn. I ask him about Father's meeting—Mila's word spread quickly, it seems—and he says he plans on attending. We say our farewells, but as I'm walking away, I notice him run a hand through his flame-red hair.

I meet several others during my return and, at my questioning, they all have the same answer. Of course, none are going to miss the first meeting called in centuries.

My steps are slow once I'm on the darkened dirt again. The sloshing of water makes it difficult, yet I do my best to keep an ear out for footsteps that aren't my own. Will water even help wash the taste out of Myrrh's mouth? Something that horrid won't just come out. Still, I suppose it is worth a try. I hope she hasn't eaten it already. Mila said to be at her side when she did because it will make her drowsy. Though, she was already in bed, so I won't be needed if that's the ca—

A branch snaps on the path ahead of me. I freeze. My free hand flies to my belt, but my Fire tome isn't there. It's by the bed, I realized with a pang, and my eyes go wide. My heart begins to race, and I hold my breath. I can't see anything in the dark, but now that I'm still, I can hear the slow, measured footstep crunching on the fallen leaves and branches.

I clamp my hand over my mouth, set the bucket on the ground as slowly as I can, and creep off the path. I'm defenseless and alone. The best option I have is to hide away and pray to whatever god that will listen this monster isn't the slightest bit observant. I sequester myself as close to the low-hanging branches as possible without rustling them and hold my breath. The monster's steps meander forward, directly in front of me when they stop. I close my eyes, hoping it won't see the gold in them, and wait.

The seconds trickle by as if they are millennia. In my head, I imagine the monster creeping closer and closer, its fetid claws drawing back as it closes in on my huddled form before it lashes out and—

"A bucket?" My eyes snap open at Father's voice. "Who left a bucket in the middle of the path?" I bolt upright and rush out to pick the pail up.

"Oh hello, Father," I say, forcing a steadiness into my voice while I want to squeal in relief. "I just set it here while I was, uh, I-I thought I saw some berries and was going to grab them for Myrrh on my way back." Mentally, I beat my head against the tree behind me. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Your stuttering gave it away!.

"And what are you doing out in the first place? You know you shouldn't be away from the house this late."

"Uh, well, I was getting water for Myrrh." At least this part won't be a lie. "Mila gave her a nasty root to eat, so I figured she'd want something to wash the taste out."

He regards me in silence. I can't see him too well, but based on his low humming and the way his glowing eyes are narrowed, I know his arms are crossed. They always are when he looks at me this way. "Good idea," he says after some deliberation. "But hurry back, now. I don't want you getting caught unawares by a revenant."

"Right." I scoop the bucket into my arms and rush past him. I stop short, however, and spin around. "A-actually, Father," I say. He pauses, but doesn't face me. "I was wondering if I could come to this meeting."

He is silent. I can't tell what he's thinking. I never can. I'm beginning to think I would have rather been found by a monster when he finally says, "No. Not this time. You need to look after your sister. Go home, Maram. Tell Myrrh I'll be back late."

I want to protest. My mouth is working to form the words—"I'm old enough", "I was there with the bonewalker", or "If not this time, then when? In another 250 years?"—while he strides off. The distance between us grows, and I am left quashed. I sigh, and trudge the rest of the way home. I should be thankful he at least bought my excuse.

"I'm back," I say, pushing the door open.

"You took quite some time," Myrrh observes. Her hair is untied, loose over her shoulders. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. I just got a little sidetracked. Here's your water." I set the wooden pail beside where her bare feet hang over the bed. I sit down next to her. "Did you eat the root yet?"

"No." She pulls the horrid substance from her sleeve. "I couldn't work myself up to it."

"Don't eat it," I suggest with a shrug. "It can't be that big of a deal." I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall.

"I don't know." I hear the pout on her voice. "Mila said to, and that bonewalker's lance was covered in sludge. It's better to be safe than sorry, right?"

"Pretty sure I'm supposed to be the one telling you that." I sit up to get one more look at the thing. "But you're right. A moment of terrible, gut-wrenching suffering in oppose to death from some skeleton's poisoned stick." She scowls at me, but opens her mouth wide. Her fangs gleam, and as she's about to take a bite, I say, "Down the hatch with it."

She shoots a glare my way. Her incisors dig into the dry plant with a crunch. I cringe away, while giggling at the clear discomfort warping her face as the blunt, overwhelming taste assaulted her mouth. "Don't spit it out," I say with a chuckle. "You have to eat the whole thing, remember?"

Tears are welling in her eyes by the time she gets the whole thing down. I'm patting her on the back as she hacks and coughs. "Wash it down," I remind her. She grabs the bucket and takes a gratuitous series of long gulps before throwing it to the floor, empty. I laugh, pat her on the back once more.

"That was awful. I still taste it." She pulls her feet up and tucks them under her blanket-sized coat. She is wrapped up in seconds, cozy and small.

"I don't think it'll go away till morning." I hesitate, then force myself to get up. "Until then—"

"Wait!" I pause, mid-motion into standing. Her eyes are wide despite her head resting on her pillow. "Where are you going?"

"My bed?"

"You aren't going to stay with me?"

"Why would I?" Hurt plays over her eyes. I need to make a swift recovery. "That root is supposed to knock you out. You don't need me to be here tonight."

"But what if I get bad dreams?" I open my mouth to reply, but all that comes out is a defeated sigh. I sometimes forget that, even though she is more than 900 years older than I am, she is still younger. It shows in the watery, begging eyes she uses to degrade my resistance. "Please?" she pleads, and I don't have it in me to deny her.

I settle onto the bed beside her. She curls herself into the crook of my arm, her head resting on my shoulder. Over time, her weight falls against me more, and her breathing slows. I suspect it is because of the root. Despite its sleep-inducing effect, however, her eyes are wide open and staring straight at the southern wall of our hut. "What are you looking at?" I ask.

"Nothing. I'm just wondering how Father's meeting is going. Did he say when he'd be back?"

"Late," I say. "Probably long after we're asleep." Mention of the meeting prods a question that's been eating away at me all day. "Hey. Why did you call those skeletons 'bonewalkers'? Where did you get that name?"

"I've seen them before. A long time ago. Back when…" she goes quiet, but I get her point. She couldn't have been much older than me, back then. "But now they're coming back."

"And that means…" I blanched. That far back… if they're only coming back now. "Myrrh…"

"Don't jump to conclusions, brother." She looks up at me. "Bonewalkers aren't strong. If it was a Tarvos or Mauth doog, we would need to be worried, but a single bonewalker doesn't mean anythi—" A yawn overtakes her. "We don't need to worry yet."

"I hope you're right."

She pats my chest. "Trust me, brother. We have nothing to worry about."

"Okay." I fake a smile in case she can see it, and try to believe her. She sounds certain, and she is more familiar with these things than I am. A small part of me wants to ask what "Tarvos" and "mauthe doog" are. Still, the looks on Mila's and Father's faces return to me. Both were grim, and Jahn was less talkative than usual tonight. I cannot help but frown as I dwell on these thoughts.

I wish that Father would have let me come to the meeting. Leaving me in the dark like this is not helping matters. He can't possibly believe that I think nothing's wrong, either. "I need to look after my sister," he'd said.

My eyes fall to her. Her breathing is growing steadier and softer, but her eyes are not yet closed. I follow her gaze, sweeping over my empty bed, the leaf-covered floor, and the dark-wooden logs that, when stacked on their side, make up our short, square walls. Her stare is interrupted by intervals of her eyelids betraying her, easing shut to end this eventful day. She fights back, however, and keeps a lock on that southern wall.

I wonder if she is plagued by the same worries as I, and it occurs to me that she's experienced this before. Any fear I have is surmounted by what lies in the back of her mind, dredged up after ages three times my entire lifespan. I remind myself of the potential trauma she'd suffered, and think of how panicked this resurgence makes her. I can't tell by her breath, but I blame that on the root. I almost scoff at the irony. I'm supposed to be here chasing her bad dreams off, but my heart is the one racing and my thoughts are the bad ones. I stow my negativity and lean my head on hers. "Brother?"

"Go to sleep." I reach up and stroke her hair, specifically the strands that hang past her pointed ears. "Mila said you need your rest." She hums, closing her eyes. My hand continues the motion until her breathing is slow, easy, automatic. Her chest rises and falls in rhythmic patterns. I slow until my hand is merely resting on her still head, fingers laced through her hair.

One thing about dragons—I am always reminded at night—is that they are warm to the touch. It's like that brilliant flame they have in them heats their skin. I sometimes joke that Myrrh has a piece of burning coal where her heart should be, and she avoids me for the rest of the day. It's on cold winter nights or our trips into the mountains on our way to Caer Pelyn that I am more than happy to have Myrrh curl up beside me, though she will regardless of my willingness. This is evident in the summer, when I wake up drenched in sweat because she comes to my bed in the middle of the night and turns my bed to a kiln.

I wonder if she and the others get too warm during the summer. They never complain, carrying about their day while I struggle through the sweltering heat. I also wonder if have that same heat. The only people to ever hold me are pure-blooded manaketes, and whatever warmth I may or may not have is overwhelmed by their inner suns. The only human I ever have contact with is Saleh, and he reveres all of us too greatly to even consider touching us.

I consider staying up until Father returns. He said he'd be back late, which could mean anything. If I have to guess, I've got another hour or so until then, at the minimum.

Myrrh murmurs something in her sleep. I glance down, and a glint of light catches my eye. I spot her dragonstone, its faint glow casting a subtle blue shine over her skin. With my free hand, I pick it up and inspect it. I'm told I never had one of my own. Where most manaketes are born and generate one the first time they shift, my extra dose of human blood from my mother stopped that short. I never shifted. Thus, I never sprouted a glowing stone to house my latent power. Father says it is a blessing. I don't need to carry a part of me around in a stone that could be lost. I just don't have enough dragon in me to need one. Still, something makes my hands tingle when I touch Myrrh's.

Its glow brightens a little, only enough to be noticed in the dark, and my heart picks up again. Every time, every night I hold it, I can hear my heart in my ears, and my blood feels like fire. A part of me, buried somewhere beneath my bones in the center of my soul, wakes up and I am taken by the temptation to rip the stone off the thread that keeps it around Myrrh's neck.

This is the key to my most wanted freedom.

As I rub my thumb over its flat surface, it whispers in my head, Take the key, twist the lock, break the thread. I want to listen. It is so tempting, so close. She sleeps deep. Probably wouldn't even notice if I pull it over her head and slip away for an hour or so. She's had the luxury of her blood for a thousand years. She can relinquish it for one night. Just one night.

Myrrh spites her dragon blood. She says it makes her think like an animal sometimes. Urges instead of thoughts. She hates it, even goes as far as calling it monster blood. Most times, I disagree, and think she is trying to make me feel better for not having a dragonstone. My jealousy tints my vision. But late at night, when I feel the temptation threatening to overthrow my rationality and steal away a part of my sister's heart, I have no choice but to admit how right she is.

I am gentle when I set it back against her chest. My last wonder for the night is if it feels cold against her skin.

As always, I whisper, "Sorry," in her ear and kiss the top of her head. "I'll won't do that again," I say. She never stirs, and it is never the truth.

I dream of a small blue flame. It bounces back and forth in a bottomless darkness. Every fifth bounce, it splits in two, and the halves copy this pattern. Before long, there are ten dancing sprites of flame. They divide into pairs according to their color, one set being a light blue, another being red like Myrrh's eyes, a third being a pale green, a fourth a bright white, and the last shining like lavender. They spin in a circle, but the lavender pair drifts away, falling to the center. The others continue their cycle, growing faster and faster, closing the distance between them and the lone lavender ember. However, more pairs fall away. First the yellow, then the red, and last the green, until only the pair of sky-blue sprites remain. They stand before the lavender, no longer bouncing, and slam into each other. They create a bright flash, and when it fades. I am standing before a massive beast. I recognize its hearty breathing, and the hot breath that wets my face. It draws back its decaying, toothed jaws and I see a flash of dark fire before I am burned away to nothing but bones.

Hello there! Welcome to the God's Blessings in Pairs—Jewels of Fire! This is a story that will be split between two protagonists: Maram and Circe. These two will accompany Eirika and Ephraim throughout the story of Sacred Stones. Keep in mind that despite the insertion of these two characters, I will be sticking strictly to the plot of the Game. This is essentially a retelling from a different point of view, so if that isn't your cup of tea, I don't suggest going forward.

The whole idea of a novelization came from reading Naryfiel Lilith's stories I credit them for inspiring me to write this so, if you enjoy this, I recommend checking out what they've written. Hell, even if you don't like this, Lilith's are still worth a shot.

Don't expect regular updates for this, either. I'm going to be rather busy between these chapters, rewriting the early chapter of FaB, and also continuing the latter's current chapters, so here's a fair warning.

Also, this is the first present-tense story I've ever written, so if there are slip-ups, that is the reason.

All of the Oats have left the building.