House on the Hill
Crisp autumn wind whispered through thick trees along a crooked dirt road. Late afternoon sun hid behind dark clouds, casting the forest in shadow well before nightfall. Wagon wheels creaked softly, breaking the silence between conversation, boots and horse hooves. Then, sighs of relief as the forefront of the column rounded the bend to spot the town down the hill.
Priton Klishe. Along the Feroxi coastline, their journey had taken them up and down the coast to secure ships for the upcoming invasion. Still months away, but they'd been scouting for towns that could expedite the fleet's growth. Chrom pulled his horse beside Robin, who grinned at the docked ships in the town's port. They were small, nothing fancy, but seaworthy. Capable of running supplies or troops.
"Finally," Chrom breathed, rolling his shoulders, "A solid roof over our heads."
"Hot food." Stahl added, pulling up to Frederick.
"A bed. With thick blankets." Cordelia smiled longingly from behind them, dreamy eyes lost in thought.
"Skirts." Inigo chimed, matching her expression. "It's been so long since I had a nice…"
His hands came up to caress air until he caught the others' stares and cleared his throat.
"Skirt. To wear."
Frederick said nothing, eyes jumping between shadows of trees as he sat rigid on his warhorse. Chrom nudged Robin and he tore his gaze away from the ships.
"It's alright to relax for a day or two. We've been on the move since this second war started and we've still time to prepare. No sense pulling our hair out while we wait to muster the ships."
"I wasn't appointed to relax, Chrom, I'm here because I worry about the numbers. And here I see at least two more ships to conscript. We see the mayor, get the requisition forms in order, and continue on tomorrow morning."
"You leave me no choice." Chrom stated somberly. "I hereby reappoint you to Company Relaxer. Your duties shall include taking loads off, putting feet up, and being a general laze."
"I don't–!" Robin began to object when Chrom clasped his shoulder.
"We're staying for a few days and you're going to enjoy yourself."
It came with a smile but the statement wasn't a suggestion nor open to debate. Robin closed his mouth.
"Glad we understand each other, let me know if you have any questions regarding your new position!" Chrom grinned and gave Robin's shoulder a light shake before guiding his horse forward, Frederick following.
Robin failed to maintain a scowl, knowing his friend was right. He'd spent the better part of the last few weeks up to his neck in books, logs and reports. He could use a break. The scent of flowers preceded the voice from his right.
"You were given a new position?" Lucina frowned after Chrom, "I thought you were a capable tactician."
"Your father considers himself a very funny man." Robin answered, watching their exalt reach the bottom of the hill and enter the final stretch towards town.
"He is very quick witted." Lucina nodded solemnly, as a gladiator might size up an opponent. "I must strive to be as adept one day."
"You really don't."
Her reproachful gaze softened when she realized he was joking. It took her almost a minute. A much improved time after the day of silence he endured when she overheard his asking Chrom which wife he preferred – Sumia or Frederick. Chrom knew of Lucina's silent treatment but didn't say anything, "because it was funny."
"Wonder who that house up there belongs to." Robin thought aloud, pointing with his chin towards a lone mansion overlooking the town from a hill leading back into the forest.
"Perhaps the local baron, or..." Lucina trailed away, squinting to make out the unkempt shrubbery and broken path leading up the hill to the ominous house. No lights or people could be seen around it, trees rustling with a sudden breeze as if on cue.
"Well, your father's informed me we'll be staying for a few days. I'm sure a local could tell us all about it. So," he turned to her, losing interest in the house, "Plans?"
"I will train, to be ready for our next engagement when the time comes."
"That sounds... Relaxing." He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath and steeling himself, "Because if you weren't doing anything tomorrow–?"
"Sis!"
Cynthia's tone of distress from behind made Lucina's head jerk, pulling the horse around quickly to find her sister. She threw him an apologetic look and was gone before he could finish.
"I was just gonna... Talk to myself. Maybe cook some dinner. Forever alone."
Robin sighed. He imagined watching himself attempting to court Lucina would be akin to a cat swimming. Unpleasant to watch and leaving him soaking in self pity. Whenever he did manage to work up the nerve to suggest spending more time together something always got in the way. Like Cynthia, who he was beginning to suspect was on a mission to deliberately sabotage any hope he had with her sister. He felt eyes drilling into the side of his head, waiting for him to turn. He rolled his eyes as he faced Inigo, feeling he'd earned this one.
"Look I don't wanna tell you how it's never gonna happen," Inigo bit his lip and winced, pain evidently extending into the deepest depths of his heart, "But you've got better luck wooing me."
"Thanks."
"And I mean, I really like the ladies."
"Yep."
"This one broad, back in Ylisstol, real panther, right–?"
"Inigo I... Don't care."
"No this is a good one – so we get back to my room, things are comin' off–!"
"This is what our men talk about the second they think a woman's out of earshot."
Severa cut into the conversation, accusing gaze resting on Robin. She didn't bother looking at Inigo, he'd fallen from the stage of expectations long ago. But Robin. She shook her head in disgust, moving past them to find respectable company. They watched her go. Severa's bark was worse than her bite, but she was also one of Lucina's most loyal friends and would undoubtedly report his disreputable behavior to her later. Robin sighed again, shoulders sinking further. Inigo cleared his throat.
"Y'know Lucina might give you the time of day if you got your mind out of the gutter once and a – hey I'm giving advice here!"
But Robin had already trotted ahead towards the front of the column, putting as much space between him and the disaster-children as possible.
At the back of the column Lucina found Cynthia beside the caravan frantically fanning her face with one hand and holding the other out towards her.
"What is it, what's wrong Cynthia?" Lucina asked, dismounting her horse and looking around. None of the other Shepherds seemed to be paying the girl any mind despite her obvious distress.
The girl looked at her incredulously and displayed her hand more prominently. Lucina took it in confusion, searching Cynthia's eyes for answers but her sister yanked her hand free, holding out one finger.
"Splinter!"
The tone implied Grima had risen. Lucina's wide eyes narrowed with exasperation. She dropped the hand.
"I didn't think heroes got splinters."
"We can. And do!" Cynthia held up her finger again, trying to get Lucina to see the microscopic shard of wood. "We just don't say anything."
"So why am I hearing about it."
"Because not every hero is eight feet tall and carved from stone! Remember that story about the mouse and the lion – and the heroic lion gets a bramble in its paw and can't get out of bed to slay evil because it hurts too much, and then the mouse – the real hero, takes the bramble out and saves the day?"
Lucina blinked.
"So I'm the mouse?"
"Well I'm obviously the lion."
"I thought you were the hero–"
"Would you take out the splinter?!"
Lucina reached forward with a huff and pinched around the red mark at the tip of Cynthia's finger. Cynthia's face scrunched like she was removing an arrowhead.
"I'll have you know I was speaking with Robin." Lucina muttered, holding the finger at a different angle and squinting.
"Oooo, did you make plans to finally spend some alone time together?" Cynthia asked coyly, pain forgotten in an instant.
Lucina made another extraction attempt and frowned in silence.
"You missed another joke, didn't you?"
"I invited him to train with me." Lucina explained hurriedly, a merchant offering a better deal.
Cynthia winced. "Did you really?"
"I... Thought I made myself clear." Lucina muttered, thinking back.
"No, wait. I saw the whole thing, let me tell you how it happened…" Cynthia took a deep breath and deepened her voice to narrate.
"Of course you can see my daughter. In fact, I'm appointing you a new position: Son-in-law!" Chrom bellowed to cheers and a parade.
"Thanks, Dad!"
"What are you talking–"
"It's rude to interrupt shut up." Cynthia waved a hand irritably in Lucina's face to quiet her before clearing her throat.
"Bring it in, Son!"
Chrom and Robin drew close before Frederick pointed his sword towards the horizon.
"Evil is this way!"
Chrom drew his own weapon and charged after him while everyone else fell into formation and continued marching.
Lucina drew alongside Robin who smiled dazzlingly at her, sun glinting off his perfect white teeth.
"Your father is so smart and brave."
"Yes."
"But only half as much of those things as you."
"Oh Robin…"
"That house there?" He pointed abruptly, robe opening to reveal bare chest bulging with muscles. "Our future house will be twice as epic as that one."
"What are you saying, Robin?" Lucina asked, blushing with gusto.
"I'm saying gimme that tongue of yours." And they made out. And trained.
Lucina stared as Cynthia's lips parted with her inner elbow breathlessly.
"That's… Not what happened." Was all Lucina could muster, "...At all."
"Was it close–?"
"No."
"Well my version's probably better." Cynthia dismissed with a shrug as Lucina pretended to flick away the splinter. She winced again, "Training? Really?"
"I get nervous!" Lucina defended, "I don't want to say anything foolish so I end up saying nothing… Or that I'm going to train." She finished with a groan.
"Well that sounds... Relaxing?" Cynthia offered sympathetically.
"That's what he said." Lucina sighed, pinching the corners of her eyes.
"I have an idea," Cynthia spoke suddenly, eyes alight with that courageous glint that preceded all bad ideas, "I'll get him to fall in love with me, then spurn him – and while he's reeling from a broken heart you dive in and sweep him off his feet!"
Lucina stared nonplussed for a moment until Cynthia frowned, looking at her balled fist.
"You sure you got it?"
"Positive." Lucina answered as she mounted her horse again, making for the front of the column which had reached the city.
Thunder boomed in the distance, trees rustling faintly with cold ocean wind as the Shepherds took their first steps into town. The road was damp with recent rain and by the looks of the horizon would be mud again soon enough. It was quiet, sounds of life coming from the inn but the streets otherwise deserted. Two girls ran through their ranks. Tharja scowled at them, lip curling in distaste.
"C'mon, let's play at my house!"
The town wasn't big, just a few houses and buildings before the small harbor, but Robin expected to see more people than two children playing.
"Form up!" Frederick's sudden bark surprised Robin, turning to see the knights snap to attention and fall into formation in the middle of the street. Mercenaries didn't bear rank but stood to the side, listening for further orders. As per their contract, they were bound to the same chain of command.
"Grab your overnight gear from the caravan and meet up outside the city gates in fifteen, anyone who's late packs an extra cast-iron skillet."
If statues could groan or weep in despair Robin expected to witness it now. Some of the newer recruit's faces betrayed true feelings but the veterans simply stood at attention until Frederick dismissed them and turned to him and Chrom.
"I must have missed the memo." Robin commented quietly, seeing knights trudge wearily back the way they'd come, "Wish I'd known you were taking the detachment."
It was unprofessional to second-guess the captain before the soldiers, but when they were out of earshot Robin did like to hear the reasoning behind the rigorous training Frederick put them through.
"War doesn't rest, neither do soldiers." Frederick recited as he helped Chrom unload saddlebags. "Fourteen minutes!"
"People rest." Robin suggested, sympathy welling watching Stahl grumble to Sully as she helped him into the oilskin robes knights wore over their armor during rainfall. "C'mon, they could use a break."
Frederick looked at him, then to the knights.
"Who wants to call off training?"
The knights stopped what they were doing, looking around. The question was an alien language.
"That's right. Robin thinks you need a break. Who agrees?"
Ignorant hands rose, not passing the shoulder, but most guessed how this exchange ended.
"Pack up then, let's rest for an evening." Frederick waved them back towards the inn.
Stahl looked at Sully who didn't move.
"Let's move, pack it up again."
They spent another three minutes clumsily removing robes and repacking tents. When they were nearly finished Frederick's faux-jovial voice boomed up the street again.
"When Walhart comes we'll just tell him we need a break, right?"
"Here we go..." Cordelia muttered resignedly, pulling the robes back out as he continued.
"When they land on our shores and we get tired, we'll just tell them to take a break. We need a rest. When they march on our capital – relax. We'll get a day or two to prepare."
The knights silently resumed donning their waterproof robes and unpacking gear, moving much faster now. Frederick didn't need to continue as he scowled over them.
"Eight minutes."
Robin stared at Chrom, who nodded in concession as the tall knight moved to don his own robe. The storm brewed on the horizon.
"I'll bet you're wondering why anyone even joins the Knighthood." Chrom grinned, moving up the stairs.
"I think I know."
"It's not 'Because they didn't know Frederick was in command.'"
"Then I don't think I know."
"It's because they wanted to serve something greater than themselves: Ylisse. And Ylisse doesn't have limits." Chrom stopped at the door and turned to him, "They can take it. If they couldn't he wouldn't push them so hard."
"That's nice and poetic, but I'm with Robin on this one." Inigo stepped up behind them, "I'd a mind to join until I saw Captain-Neckvein kill a passing bird while he was screaming at a recruit. True story, poor thing flew between them and the sound just obliterated it. Feathers everywhere."
Robin pointed at Inigo and raised an eyebrow at Chrom who rolled his eyes and moved to the door.
Chrom knocked once and stepped into the lively inn that fell silent the instant he stood over the threshold. Sea-weathered faces cast wary eyes over the remaining Shepherds as they piled behind him. Robin pushed forward.
"Looking for lodging for the night?" Chrom asked, meeting cold stares with warm smile.
No one moved.
"Or some food?"
No one spoke.
"...Water?"
"You shouldn't have come here."
Patrons parted to reveal who had spoken. A burly middle-aged woman behind the bar, watching them with something like sadness.
"Yes well, duty calls." Robin moved towards the bar, patrons shuffling away like he bore the plague. He frowned at them and nodded towards the window that framed the harbor. "We need those ships."
No one looked to the window, they only watched him warily. Chrom cleared his throat.
"I'm sorry if we've interrupted something, but we've been on the road for many days and need a place to rest our feet, if you would be so kind. We have gold."
"Gold won't help you here, strangers." A bearded man at the bar spoke without looking up from his glass.
"Night's about to fall, we can't send them away!"
"They're not our responsibility!"
"They're in our town, our responsibility!"
"Heaven's sake, let 'em sleep on the tables if ya hafta."
"What are you people talking about?" Robin asked but they ignored him, continuing to bicker until the matron silenced them. She nodded slowly, beckoning Owain through the door and motioning him to shut it quickly.
"Things will be cramped but I recommend staying here tonight. And not faring out until sunrise. If you have anything you need from outside go bring it in now."
"Sorry, but we have friends out there." Chrom asked, cocking his head towards the door. "Do we need to be worried about something?"
Knowing eyes exchanged rueful glances. Finally the matron answered.
"No."
Hushed conversations resumed as the Shepherds gathered around Robin who stood near the bar.
"Should I call them back?" Chrom asked, looking around for a group opinion.
"These people are creepy, what's their problem?" Lissa hissed quietly, matching a stare from a leering patron until he looked down. She sniffed at him.
"Frederick has our main fighting force. I think they can handle whatever these bumpkins are blubbering about." Inigo chipped in, casting an eye over the other patrons, "Though I am interested in what's got them so spooked. Might be some young worries I can soothe..."
"Some small town folklore I'm sure." Robin shrugged as Inigo disappeared to mingle.
Chrom reminded the others to stay close and not venture from the inn until they figured out what was going on, and followed Robin to the bar.
Robin sat beside the bearded man who'd spoken earlier, alone by the window. When the man didn't look up he cleared his throat.
"Bad storm moving in."
"Mm."
"You look like someone who knows who's who."
"I don't know nothing."
"Well good, because I'm looking for something. Who owns those ships out there?" Robin pointed past the man's face to the window. He didn't look.
"Those ones... Over there..."
The man faced him, leaning on one elbow. Deliberately not-looking.
"See, the normal reaction to pointing something out is people looking. Even if they already know what's been pointed at. Ask a mother if the child in her arms is hers, she'll look at it, 'Oh, why yes. It is still my child.'"
The man didn't say anything. Robin leaned forward.
"Why don't people want to see them?"
The man looked over Robin's shoulder, Chrom's frame blocking most of the patrons from view. He could talk to them, he wouldn't get in trouble. They were just curious outsiders. He licked his lips.
"Mort!"
The matron appeared, refilling his quarter-empty mug with a smile.
"These strangers ain't givin' you no trouble, are they?"
"No, ma'am," Robin turned his disarming smile on her, producing a gold coin and nodding towards the bottle she carried, "Just asking Mort about the local landowners."
Her eyes narrowed as she retrieved a bottle without looking at it and poured two glasses. Mort rested his forehead on the bar.
"What'd you wanna know?" She asked finally, looking him over like a poker opponent.
"Oh we were just making smalltalk. Who they are, what they do."
"Hm." She poured herself a glass and raised it to them before throwing it back.
Chrom downed his drink and hissed. Robin dumped his into Chrom's glass and wiped his mouth as the matron looked them over again. She sniffed at Chrom's full cup.
"Puss."
Chrom glared at him as he continued.
"We passed their place on the way into town. Looks a bit in disrepair." Robin spoke, watching her with matching suspicion.
"They haven't been around for a while."
"Vacation?" Chrom asked, looking between the staring match. They didn't break eye contact. It was on now.
"Something like that."
"Must be wealthy, to afford an extended leave of absence." Robin spoke slowly, choosing his words.
"Must be."
He blinked. "What?"
"They must be wealthy."
"Yeah but… You're supposed to know. You can't just passively agree with my ambiguous observations, you have to come back with something equally vague if not ominous." Robin explained patiently like a parent explaining math. Her mouth became a thin line.
"Their business… Took them away for an extended period of time." She tried again with a raised eyebrow for emphasis.
"How extended?"
"Indefinitely."
"See that's how it's done." Robin nodded approvingly, throwing up a hand to high five.
She glared at it. He turned it into a stretch as Chrom rolled his eyes.
"If you're done, can we talk about the ships out there?" Chrom asked loudly, pointing out the window.
If his entrance had silenced the room his question might have killed everyone in it. A few people glanced furtively around, most looked pointedly at their conversation partners though no one speaking just made it awkward for everyone.
"Okay I don't what everyone's problem is, but we're just here for those ships in the harbor, so if everyone could stop pretending they don't exist and direct us to the owners we'll be out of your hair." Robin's voice carried around the silent room, making everyone look.
The matron was the first to break the silence.
"If you're gonna stay here tonight, you're gonna keep quiet about... Anything you see outside."
"Is this town founded on agoraphobia or something?" Robin scoffed, staring around at the wide-eyed, down-turned gazes. He ignored Chrom's hand on his arm, "No really, I want to know what's wrong with all of you."
"Our town's curse."
The low growl came from behind him, and everyone looked to Mort.
"Every year, this night, the mansion appears with the master's two ships."
"Appears?" Lucina repeated, frowning, "From where?"
He looked her over.
"Hell, maybe. What I do know is what happens if you're caught outside after sundown."
Robin exhaled loudly as Chrom's grip told him to shut up.
"So the ships... Won't be here in the morning?" Lucina asked, looking out the window. They seemed tangible enough, sitting in the harbor a hundred meters away.
"And we will be, if we stay inside together."
"Is the inn sacred or something?" Robin asked with bemusement.
Mort looked at him like he was stupid.
"They can't take you if you're with people. Don't you know the first thing about ghosts?"
"Sure do. They're not real."
Mort shook his head at Lucina that said He'll be the first to go and continued.
"The family that owns the mansion comes back every year, and every year a few of us go missing."
"Try moving?" Robin suggested quietly before Chrom's foot found his.
"But if we stay together, stay in the light, we might make it to sunrise."
"Stay indoors, stay safe." Chrom summarized, looking around at the Shepherds. "What about our comrades?"
"I doubt they'll be noticed if they're not near town." Mort shrugged, facing his drink again.
Robin frowned. "And you just let two girl–!"
"She's missing!"
A voice from upstairs screamed before hurried footsteps came from the stairs in the back. A woman appeared, frantic, crying.
"My daughter's gone! They took her!"
"Of course they did." Robin finished with a sigh, knowing how this ended.
"Ma'am, are you certain she's gone?" Chrom nearly knocked people over in his rush to stand before her, hand on sword hilt looking appropriately heroic.
Robin turned to the matron, holding up another gold piece.
"This is why," he muttered under his breath as his glass refilled, "We can't go anywhere nice."
"Don't worry, we'll save your daughter and end this town's curse." Chrom announced to the stunned room. His cape even billowed a little.
A single clap, then another, then the whole room was applauding as Robin glared sourly ahead.
Lucina looked to her right where Cynthia cheered too, promising a small group to be the heroine the town deserved, but not the one they needed right now. Most had no idea what she was talking about but thanked her anyway.
"Shouldn't you be training with Frederick?" Lucina asked.
"What?" Cynthia spotted her sister's frown. She finally rolled her eyes, "Okay, what's more heroic, training with the slavemaster or saving people?"
"We didn't know anyone needed saving–"
"Whoohoo! Shepherds here to save the day!" Cynthia cheered loudly, purposefully not looking at her now.
Mort's hot breath came from beside Robin, leaning closer to be heard over the cheers and encouragement.
"This isn't your first run-in with danger."
"Nor our first cat-rescue." Robin sighed.
"You may not believe," Mort's strong grip surprised him, and Robin looked over to see the beady eyes desperate to convey a message, "But don't look into her eyes."
"I'm sure by the end of all this that will make perfect sense." Robin pulled his arm free, about to down his glass when Chrom pulled him off his stool.
The march up the path carried the air of a witch hunt – all bravado until the mansion came into view. Then voices became subdued with pre-mission-controlled-calm. Chrom was going, which meant Cynthia was full-steam ahead, Lucina was obligated, and Robin was voluntold, making Tharja invested. Owain was on a quest to sate his Spirit Vanquishing hand (formerly his Sword hand) and Inigo promised a girl he'd save her town for a date later. Virion bid them adieu at the door alongside Lissa sending them off with a "Have fun storming the castle!" and other, less interested Shepherds who smiled politely and wished them luck, but would all the rather spend the night eating, drinking and being merry. The night had chilled considerably, wind picking up before the coming storm, clouds roiling overhead as the group picked its way up the path.
"I know you don't approve of what you view as minor causes–" Chrom began, falling back to Robin's silent stride.
"I see what you did there. 'Minor.' You're so clever, Chrom."
"But I appreciate you coming all the same. How can we save our kingdom when we can't help the people right in front of us?" Chrom finished seriously.
"I don't take issue with helping people, I just think this is a matter for the local guard – or better yet regular citizens, who won't overcome a ghost story to rescue a little girl."
"We weren't doing anything for a day or two anyway, are you just mad because we didn't get the ships?"
"Yes!" Robin vented, balling his fist before poking a finger into Chrom's shoulder, "You know what I think? The landowners just don't want to give away their means to wealth and have the whole village in on it to spook away the royalty when they come knocking."
"And the missing girl?"
"Went out looking for a cat, flowers, lettuce – whatever girls are into these days."
"It's incredible the way your mind works." Chrom shook his head.
They reached the bottom of the hill, stopping at the rusted gate. Robin moved to the front as the others stepped behind him. The tall mansion loomed high above, old brick walls choked with ivy, evening fog rolling in from the forest to surround the base of the mansion. He thought he could see firelight dancing in a window on the third floor.
"And they want us to believe this won't be here tomorrow morning." Robin chuckled, stooping to pick up a brick.
A shadow dashed before him making him jump. He looked up to the wall where a black cat scrambled.
"Aw hey buddy…" Inigo cooed, moving closer until the cat turned.
He yelped and leapt back and the cat hissed warningly, bald sockets revealing missing eyes. Its tail whisked over the plaque to the house reading 13 before disappearing down the other side. Lightning cracked behind the house, silhouetting the frame and casting long shadows from the thin trees around them.
"Did anyone see that? The swing's shadow totally looked like a noose just now." Owain pushed to point over Lucina's shoulder, but she shook her head.
"No, I was distracted by the girl in the window. She must be the one that's missing." Lucina lifted an arm and knocked Tharja's hex pouch from her waist sash, uttering an apology.
"You've spilled my salt."
"That reminds me, the other day, I was walking under this ladder to help my mom hang a mirror, but it fell and broke–!" Cynthia bounded on the balls of her feet before Robin sighed.
"Can we just treat this like any other mission?" He interrupted, pushing the creaking gate open and moving up the path. The others followed.
"I think it's so cool how professional you're being, Robin." Cynthia moved beside him, sighing breathlessly.
"Er… Thanks?"
She giggled fakely, "I like professional men."
"I might know someone who's headed down that road..." Robin muttered, throwing a look over his shoulder at Inigo.
"But they have to be smart, and handsome. Like you."
Robin frowned at her, and she batted her eyelashes so enthusiastically he was surprised she didn't get lift.
"Do you… Have something in your eye?"
She opened her mouth to answer before Lucina appeared to drag her away.
Chrom took her place, looking behind him as the two girls bickered at the back of the group.
"Have to admit, though." Chrom suppressed a chill, rubbing his bare arm. "Place would be a good setting for a horror story."
"If I was writing from the big book of cliches, why not." Robin glanced over and wiggled his fingers. "Don't tell me you're buying this 'Once-a-Year!' nonsense too."
"I wouldn't be if you would stop being The Skeptic!"
"The Skeptic, is that what the realistic character is called?"
"The one who lives just long enough to realize his mistake? Yeah. Also known as the Guy-who-thinks-he's-smart-but-isn't."
"I like Skeptic better."
"Just remember we're here for the kid first. Our ships come later. Objects can be replaced, life can't."
Robin nodded, yeah yeah. Even if the girl was here he doubted she'd be in danger. Big homeowners like this wouldn't want the mob of villagers charging the tall door he now stood before. A faint creak made him look to the right.
An old broken swing hung by one side from a withered tree. It creaked softly, turning slowly in the cold breeze. Rain began to drizzle.
"Many terrible things have happened here."
They turned to see Tharja's eyes narrow as she focused on something above the swing.
"As could be said for literally any geographical location, ever." Robin sighed, reaching forward and pulling back the heavy knocker. It hit the wood and the door starting to creak open dramatically before Robin pushed it against the wall and stepped inside.
Chrom would have protested but it didn't look like anyone had lived here for years. Dust coated everything, their footsteps disturbing the evenly coated floors that been collecting for years. They stood in the long entrance hall ending in a staircase going up into darkness, empty door frames on every side keeping them from wanting to face one direction for too long. Wind rattled the windows, first drops of rain hitting glass.
Their eyes gravitated upwards as the ceiling groaned across the hall from them.
"Well I think I've seen quite enough of this." Inigo turned to leave, coming face-to-face with Tharja.
"You want to walk back alone?"
In the middle of the path behind her the cat sat frozen in silence, mouth open in a silent meow.
"Err..." Inigo blanched, glancing around, eyes resting on Chrom, "C'mon man, it doesn't look like anyone's been here in centuries. Let's head back."
"Heroes can't get cold feet!" Cynthia half-scolded, half-psyched herself up. "We can't go back without saying we tried!"
"Spirit Vanquisher is actually pretty full now – I'm in no rush but whenever you guys are ready, I'm good to go."
Faint notes drifted down the hall. Music. Discordant, but audible over the sounds of wind and rain. A piano.
"I'm good to go." Owain repeated, raising his hand and looking around for consensus.
"You are ridiculous." Lucina sighed at them, following the swirl of dust left by Robin's cloak as he strode for the stairs. "A child could need our help."
"A child that walks into this place alone," Inigo threw his hands up, "C'mon natural selection has to draw the line somewhere."
"Robin?" Chrom called after him as he reached the stairs.
"I'm not leaving without our ships." Robin answered, stopping at the first landing. He looked back, seeing them all in various stages of following and/or leaving. Tharja was the only one who looked comfortable, taking in the chandelier above like a prospective home buyer. He shook his head.
"Lucina, take Eeny Miney and Moe to look for the kid. Chrom, wanna take a look around for whoever owns the place in case it's someone else banging on that piano?"
Chrom's shaking head and expression of Hell No made Robin sigh.
"Tharja go with Chrom."
"You're going to regret it." Tharja called after him.
'You're going to regret it.' Her voice echoed back down the stairs making everyone stop and look up.
"Yeah 'cause that's not weird." Chrom frowned at the darkness past Robin as the others drew beside him, "You're not really doing the 'Let's split up' thing, are you?"
"We'll cover more ground." Robin explained, pausing mid-step. Chrom stared at him in disbelief.
'You're going to regret it.' Tharja's echo came from the upper levels once more. Thunder cracked outside.
Robin opened his mouth, frowned, and shook his head.
"You're imagining things."
"Wow." Chrom threw up his hands.
"He's not serious." Inigo breathed as Robin disappeared, staircase creaking above them.
"You're so brave!" Cynthia fangirled after him.
"Being brave is doing something when you're afraid to do it," Lucina corrected as Chrom and Tharja moved into one of the rooms, "He's not afraid, because there's nothing to be scared of."
"Oh, right. Like you'd go off on your own in here."
Lucina flushed, pushing Cynthia along towards one of the side rooms to begin their search.
"We're not talking about me. And stop flirting with him."
"Jealous?"
"You don't even like him!"
"Maybe I'm starting to." Cynthia took a deep breath and held her heart dreamily.
"Well stop." Lucina commanded, entering the drawing room to join Inigo and Owain.
"Here, kiddie kiddie." Inigo called quietly, eyes straining in the failing light. He moved to one of the windows to pull back the curtains.
The cat was there.
"Gah!" He yelped, yanking them closed again.
Owain was peeking under furniture sheets like he was looking in on surgery, very edge of the cloth held between his fingertips. He leapt at Cynthia's battlecry.
"Hyaa!"
She tore the sheet away from a wicker chair, leaping back and bracing herself. Or she would have, if she didn't jump backwards into a grandfather clock. It tipped, hitting the arm of a couch that flipped through the air, spiking the ornate chandelier towards the racks of china on the wall. The couch crushed the wicker chair in a spectacular dust cloud as the chandelier embedded itself in the shelves, pulverizing dishes while the others rolled towards gravity to escape. A cup hit the edge of the countertop, serving fork falling over it just as a heavy bowl kept the head from sliding free. The wall crumbled and the chandelier entered free fall, iron frame catching the fork's handle and slinging the bowl past Owain's face. It sailed across the room where it smashed the ceiling link to the first of five hanging lanterns chained together. They hit the floor like dominos as the the bell tolled fourteen o'clock and dust swirled.
Lucina stared around the annihilated drawing room. She coughed once, waving a hand to clear the dust as the others leaned out from behind her.
"...Here... Kiddie kiddie."
Twenty meters away Chrom stared at the hall they came from, dust rolling into their room like a fog bank.
"You guys done in there? Anyone hurt?" He called loudly, listening for any sounds of injury. After a pause Cynthia answered.
"... Everything's fine dad! Lucina was just… Dancing!"
A muffled thwap made Chrom sigh.
"An incompetent's work is never done." Tharja stated, striding to an ancient dresser and gliding her hand over old possessions.
"That doesn't stop you from standing behind them on the battlefield."
"I don't care who they are if they're between me and the enemy." She admitted, putting down a bracelet as her eyes traveled up the painting before her, "A wall would hold equal value."
Chrom chuckled. She looked at him and he stopped, sensing she wasn't joking.
"I don't want to preach love life, but if you did have eyes for Robin you could try being a little less... Cold."
"He likes cold."
"I don't think…" he considered for a moment, "Anyone does."
"He likes your daughter."
"She's not cold." He objected, shaking his head at the empty closest. Then blinked.
"Wait what?"
"Don't worry, she can't satisfy him." She leaned forward on her hands, taking in the painting with avid curiosity.
"My daughter can't satisfy Robin, my best friend?" Chrom repeated, walking around to her other side to hear her better.
"He has a dark need in him," she purred, "A lust only I can sate. Your daughter wouldn't know the first thing about it."
Chrom closed his eyes, trying to scrub clean the images Tharja was branding his brain with.
"I won't mention this conversation to either of them if you never, ever bring it up again." Chrom vowed as he turned away but she merely shrugged indifference. He took silence as agreement and changed subject.
"Hope they didn't break anything too priceless in there. I'll have to find the people that live here and apologize."
"I don't think you will." She reassured him, finally tearing her eyes from the painting and moving towards an adjoining room.
He looked up the wall. A family portrait, a girl standing before their parents. Proper clothes, wide smiles, missing eyes. Two burnt holes in the canvas over each face, dried paint running down their cheeks like dark tears.
Thirty feet above Chrom, boots stopped at a doorway. Their owners listened for piano notes.
The third floor of the mansion was simply halls and rooms, and only with honed sense heading could Robin vaguely recall the general direction of the stairs. The music drifted from the end of the hall and he moved again, checking his corners after every turn. While he didn't believe in spirits he wasn't a fool, a naked hobo with a knife between his teeth could be lurking just out of sight waiting for him to pass. As he continued his ascent through the house he reached the conclusion it probably was abandoned. Not haunted, because that would be stupid, but he doubted the original owners were here anymore. Still, there might some trace of where they'd gone, and whoever was on that awful piano was their best lead.
The music was coming from one door down, time between notes elongating. He neared the frame, sticking to one side of the hall out of instinct. He doubted he'd be blasted by walking through the door but there was little predicting how the mind of someone who lived here could work.
The last note died as he came alongside the doorframe. Back to the wall, he listened for the next stroke, chair pushing back, scraping shoes. But all was silent save the wind and faint patter of rain on a glass window. He frowned, glancing back the way he'd come. He hated having no dead end to put his back, it kept him uneasy and constantly looking over his shoulder.
Robin stuck his head past the frame, taking in the room at a glance. The piano's back was to him in the far corner, naturally. Dim light from the window fell across the front half, leaving the bench and player hidden in shadow. The window was open, sudden gust rattling the glass as a new song began.
"Hey, sorry to intrude." Robin called, coming fully into view. He was half-hoping to catch the piano-player's back but with their position it was impossible to pretend like he wasn't sneaking in.
"We were just looking for the owners of this place. Looks like upkeep's been a pain, huh?"
He smiled, hands up to show he didn't mean harm. He stood in the door for another few seconds, waiting for a response. His grin faltered.
"Like I said we didn't wanna be a bother, just looking for some information and we'll be on our way, and you can... Keep playing that beautiful music... Or ignore me."
The player ran their hand across several keys, slipping off mid-note. Robin cleared his throat as he made across the room. He was about to feel very embarrassed if the person had a hearing disorder, but much more likely was annoyance at being ignored despite his best manners.
"Alright I was trying to be nice about this, but you're being rude and bad at piano, so if I could get you to–!"
Robin passed the side of the piano and reached to turn the bench. It lifted easily. Empty. He frowned, taking in the dirty keys, eyes narrowed in confusion. He stooped, not spotting anything underneath silhouetted against the window light. The wind rose to a howl, dull creak above making him look up as piano keys depressed.
Lightning flashed outside, room illuminating with an earsplitting crash of sound.
A tall woman hung from the rafters, swinging as her toes ran along the edge of the keyboard. Frazzled hair. Manic grin. Dilated sunken pupils locked on Robin's.
Robin caught himself falling backwards, stumbling to his feet in an inelegant spin as he backed away from the visage. The light had gone but he could imagine where she was, swaying in the wind.
"Whooo alright. Let's everyone... Calm down now." He breathed, feeling behind him for the wall.
His heart pounded with that initial rush of adrenaline but he wanted his ears sharp for any signs if anyone was in the house. He jumped when lightning flashed again, feeling foolish at first, then entirely justified when the empty noose swung gently over the piano.
He knew what he saw, she was there. The noose was still was, why wasn't she?
Robin wasn't above admitting when he was startled, and his desire to find "a rational explanation for all this" was quickly passing his ability. Stress? It could have been stress. He'd been working a lot lately, multitasking numerous projects. He wasn't sure why his stress would manifest itself as a dead woman hanging in a house he'd never been to before but it was the closest thing to logical he could conjure right now.
The wall ended and he stepped out into the hall. He turned slowly, not wanting to come face-to-face with another apparition. The hall ahead was empty. As was the room across the way. Then he faced the hall he'd come from.
In the dim he could just make out a pair of tall, pale legs under a plain white dress, between him and the direction of the stairs. The torso was cast in shadow and he wasn't sure if it made things better or worse.
"Just an apparition."
He squared his shoulders, marching towards the stairs until the legs shifted, unbalanced, making towards him. He backed away reflexively, realizing how little distance was between them and that it suddenly wasn't anywhere near enough. Something about the jerky, uncoordinated movements was disturbing by more than just being unknown. It was like watching the human body being deconstructed – jarring something instinctual that made him want to turn and run. Run, or the same thing could happen to him. It would happen to him. Run, now.
Robin turned coming face-to-grinning-face with the woman.
He opened his mouth and was lifted off his feet by long arms, shaking him violently. His arms were bound to his side and he kicked out, finding some part of her he couldn't see as he was thrashed against the wall. The next sensation was soaring through dark air, hitting the wall before rolling to a halt at an intersection in a cloud of dust.
Robin looked around the intersection. Rain pounded on the rooftop, creating enough cover noise for anyone to sneak behind him. He staggered to his feet, looking down one hall, then another. The dust trail he'd made was already gone, thick fuzz settling back in place.
He coughed, massaging his neck from whiplash. He'd decided that A) this probably wasn't stress-related, and B) it may have been a mistake coming up here alone.
Robin was, in fact, regretting it.
Thirty feet below Inigo pushed against a thick iron door leading further into the basement. It wouldn't budge.
"Hey Muscles, wanna crack at this?"
"I got ya." Owain and Cynthia answered at the same time.
Lucina stood at a wall of giant casks in the corner, frowning.
"What's up cous'?" Owain asked, pushing up his sleeves as he waited for Cynthia to finish her attempt on the heavy door, "Think the kid could be hiding in there?"
Inigo approached Lucina and crouched beside the cask to put an ear to it.
"Hey kid! If you're in there we're here to save you!... So just come on out!"
They were silent as nothing happened.
"Don't think anyone's in there." Inigo folded his arms as Cynthia resumed grunting.
"I was under the impression oversized wall-casks were common among vineyard owners. To store the wine." Lucina muttered, turning the faucet. Empty. Inigo chuckled.
"You really think this is the time to be getting sloshed, Lucina?"
"We didn't pass any vineyards." Cynthia heaved through grit teeth. The door handle snapped and she looked between it and Owain, then tossed it to him.
"You really think they'd import this much?" Lucina asked, moving to the side of the massive barrels to feel along cracks in the wood.
"No, more likely is they're cliché Counts with secret tunnels that–!" Inigo started before a mechanism released and the cask top swung wide like a door.
"...Hide something." He finished lamely.
Lucina stepped forward. The passage was black save the corner ahead where a torch bracket burned.
"Someone lives down here?" Cynthia whispered behind her, peering over her shoulder.
"Robin was right, nothing to this place after all." Inigo smirked, moving quickly so Owain brought up the rear.
Lucina didn't answer as she reached for the torch, then saw light from the room ahead. The others bunched behind her noiselessly and she sighed resignedly, striding forward.
The large room was divided into two sections, an upper level lined with desks and cages, and a flooded lower level.
"What was this place?" Cynthia asked, rattling one of the cages.
The others detected no immediate danger and moved out from the safety of Lucina like ducklings to explore sections of the room.
Owain crouched near the flooded staircase to peer down into murky water. He reached forward, finger creating countless ripples past the driftwood floating along the still surface, and dabbed it to his tongue.
"It must connect to the ocean outside," he pointed to a submerged passage heading west and spat, "Maybe some channel to get things in and out?"
"The town has a harbor for that." Inigo muttered, turning the page of a logbook on a candlelit table.
"Smuggling, then. Pirates transporting..." Cynthia began boisterously, following Lucina's gaze to the cages, "Oh..."
"Whoever owned this house accrued their wealth through others' misery." Lucina spoke, voice echoing around the room. The ripples from Owain's finger hit the submerged passage and disappeared.
"We should be grateful their time passed. Let's head back up to meet with the others, I don't think the child is here."
"Who lit all the torches, then?"
Lucina looked around at Cynthia's question.
"And why does the last shipment list today." Inigo asked slowly, frowning and holding up the book, "Some kind of joke? 'Due by midnight: Male IIII, Female IIII.' Last shipment was a year ago."
"H-hey guys, something's moving down there." Owain's voice brought their attention to the water.
A small trail of bubbles wound slowly towards them from the passage. Dark shapes curled just beneath the surface of the still water, barely disturbing the driftwood. They readied their weapons, standing back from the water's edge as the bubbles disappeared.
Inigo looked back, inspired by a sudden realization.
The monstrosity reared from the water with a dramatic spray that showered everything in the room. Its misshapen slug-like body was a waterlogged mass of swollen human limbs, stringy hair, mismatched eyes, and mouths – all stretched and screaming in agony, designed to give pause, make prey wonder if there was anything that could be done to save the poor souls before they too would be added to the conglomerate. The mouths shrieked as the monster lunged forward.
But the room was empty. A hanging cage swung half-heartedly from the emergence spray but nothing else moved. The mouths quieted as the monster swung ponderously this way. Then that. It drooped, then resubmerged beneath the still waters.
"We still could have at least seen what it was." Owain insisted, looking back over his shoulder at the dark passage as they stepped into the basement.
"Why – why would we do that." Inigo shook his head in disbelief, "It obviously wasn't the girl, and I've seen enough monster-entrances to know the signs of bad news."
"I hate water monsters." Cynthia shuddered, "And that one sounded pretty nasty. It would have killed one of us, at least. Probably Owain because he's the shortest."
Owain made a face at her as Lucina closed the casket door, stooping for a piece of charcoal to write Monster across the wood.
"I think we can all agree sticking around would have been stupid." Inigo nodded, taking the charcoal and adding Seriously, don't go in, "Now we can write off this part of the house."
"You boys wanna try that door again so we can say we finished the basement and never come back here?" Cynthia asked, gesturing for the charcoal. Horrible Death Inside.
Inigo sighed, slapping Owain's shoulder as the girls took the stairs up. Owain finished his turn with the coal and joined his comrade, taking his gloves off to begin fiddling with the locking mechanism exposed by the missing handle. Inigo rolled his eyes at the cask.
UNLESS YOU'RE A FAN OF EPIC WATER BATTLES AND WOMEN.
Cynthia caught up to Lucina in the destroyed dining room, picking her way across the porcelain-strewn floor.
"You know, this is like the perfect time to make your move on Robin." Cynthia whispered loudly over the sound of the rising storm.
"I'm not very good at this yet, but no it isn't." Lucina frowned, pushing the overturned couch aside to make a clear path to the main entry hall. "We're here to save a little girl, not… Start relationships."
"Exactly!" Cynthia clutched at her own chest in yearning, "The excitement, the adventure together! Rushing to save an innocent child – is there anything more romantic?"
"I think you're confusing Romantic with Things-That-Aren't-Romantic, again."
Lucina felt a hand on her arm and stopped, looking back at her astonished sister.
"Did... Did you just make a joke?"
Lucina thought.
"No?"
"I think you did! Lucina you made your first joke! This proves it, you're ready for him!" Cynthia bounced excitedly in place until Lucina rested hands on her shoulders.
"Cynthia, a child is lost in this house. She is scared, alone, and needs our help getting home safe to her worried mother."
"And we'll find her! We have seven people looking."
"Have you already forgotten what we saw and heard downstairs? Something's wrong with this place, Cynthia."
Cynthia stared back at her grave expression. Thunder struck outside.
"He might need help."
"Robin can handle himself."
Two stories above her Robin flew through an unfinished drywall.
'You're going to regret it.'
"Okay!" He croaked, breathing dust on the floor and coughing violently as a grinning face snaked through the hole he'd made.
Lucina reached but missed Cynthia's arm as the girl darted for the entry hall stairs.
"Have you already forgotten what we saw and heard downstairs?" Cynthia echoed in a deep voice.
"I don't sound like that."
"Get your metaphorical broom and dustpan ready, Lucina! When I break his heart he'll need you there to sweep up the pieces!"
"Cynthia!" Lucina lunged for her sister, catching her collar just before she escaped. She yanked her back, standing between her sister and the stairs.
"If you stay here I'll bring him back." Lucina breathed in forced calm. "Gather the others, I don't know how long I'll be."
Her sister grinned knowingly with suggestive eyebrows and Lucina flushed.
"I don't know how long until he'll be finished."
Cynthia's eyebrows bobbed and Lucina gaped.
"Searching."
"Are you doing this intentionally or are you this good?" Cynthia called as Lucina marched red-faced up the stairs.
One wall over Chrom got on his hands and knees beside the bed. Tharja watched from the doorway.
"You can help too, you know." Chrom reminded without looking at her.
Tharja stretched against the door disinterested.
"I fail to see the point. That girl made her choice when she followed the other one up here."
Chrom scowled and pushed himself off the ground to move to the closet, dusty clothes draped over bent hangers or piled on shelves.
"With that optimism it's a wonder you haven't caught Robin's eye yet."
She yawned at him.
"And what 'choice' did she make, exactly? She was just running around with her friend." He continued.
"The dead make poor playmates." Tharja responded, rolling her eyes at him, "I would know."
Chrom turned from the window, frowning.
"What?"
"The dead child. The one the girl followed." Tharja checked her immaculate nails, "To quote Inigo, 'natural selection.' Then again you've already reproduced so I suppose the theory isn't foolproof–"
"What dead child?"
Tharja looked at him.
"The one the girl followed." She drawled slowly as if he were particularly dim. When his face registered no comprehension she cocked her head. "You didn't see her."
"I saw two girls, both very much alive."
"What a simple life you must lead." Her brows met sympathetically and he crossed the room to face her.
"If you saw something why didn't you say something?"
"What should I have said?"
"'Hey look, there's a dead girl running around, isn't that strange?' or 'Hey kid, don't follow her.'"
"With that sarcasm it's a wonder you caught anyone's eye, ever." Her sympathetic tone grew as she reached out to stroke his face. "Would you really believe someone who said that?"
"'Someone,' no; you, yes." He knocked the hand away and strode past her for the main entry hall. "We have to find Robin."
"Robin can handle himself."
Two stories above them Robin slammed the door shut, looking around the darkened room filled entirely with mannequins. They faced him simultaneously.
'You're going to regret it.'
"Shut up!"
"And if by pure chance he needed help dealing with the trauma he overcame this night well… My physical comforts would naturally be available to him." Tharja grinned, trailing a finger across her bottom lip.
Chrom stopped to stare in disbelief.
"That's your plan? Get him to almost die and so you can take physical advantage of him after he's been traumatized."
"'Plan' is such an ugly word. I prefer Scheme."
"What is wrong with you, Tharja?"
She caught his genuinely concerned tone and stared at him. She blinked, uncertain expression matching his.
"Do you not think it will work?"
Chrom rubbed his forehead as he left the room, unable to deal with this right now. They had to find Robin – if they were to search this place it would be as an entire group. He'd only heard stories of hauntings growing up, but recent tales had intensified since Grima's slow awakening. Clearing a haunted house wasn't a task to undertake lightly, and definitely not alone. They couldn't wander off on their…
"Cynthia?"
His daughter turned to him in the entry hall, beaming.
"Where's Lucina? And the others?"
"Oh, the boys were downstairs trying to get past a broken door going deeper under the house. Lucina went upstairs to look for Robin."
He covered his face with both hands and Tharja patted his shoulder gently.
"Don't worry, she hasn't reproduced yet so Natural Selection may spare us."
Chrom ignored her, weighing his options. He wanted to grab Cynthia by the shoulders and ask if she understood this was how people died but knew that wouldn't be productive right now. He nodded.
"Okay, Owain and Inigo are together but Lucina and Robin can be assumed alone so they're our priority. We'll start from the top and work our way down, gather everyone in the house and get out."
"What about the kid? Leaving her here isn't very heroic."
"We'll find her." He spoke encouragingly, but his mind held reservations.
He hated to admit that if they were dealing with a real haunting there was significant chance they'd arrived too late. But being a leader wasn't about being the guy who could say "I told you," it was keeping everyone believing in fairies and angels until the mission finished, at which point success was diverted or blame consolidated from and to him, respectively.
Cynthia nodded, leaning into the doorway of the destroyed drawing room and shouting.
"Hey boys!"
They didn't answer.
"I'm going upstairs with dad and the necromancer! When we come down we're getting out of here so finish up with that door!"
She waited few seconds, then nodded at Chrom and Tharja.
"Think they heard me. Let's go!"
Inigo didn't answer because he had one ear covered, other pressed to the hole where the handle used to be, and Owain didn't answer because he was ignoring everything else, trying to hear the faint sounds coming from the other side of the door. Inigo looked at him.
"You hear something?"
"Cynthia. They're gonna stare at the padded dancer or something."
Inigo nodded then frowned. "What?"
"What'd you hear? I swore I heard crying." Owain gestured to the door impatiently.
Inigo returned his focus to the door and held his breath, placing his ear to the hole again.
"I can't tell what it is."
"Can you see anything?"
"It's too dark."
"Lemme look, I've got the eyes of a hawk."
"I don't think hawks can see in the dark."
"I've got the eyes of an owl."
"Why don't you use your mighty morphin powers to get the strength of a bear or something useful."
Owain pushed him away, kneeling beside the door to peer into the black.
"...It's too far."
"Maybe if you had the eyes of a hawk–"
"Wait! Something's coming closer… I think it's the little girl…"
"It's her?! Is she alright? Can you–?" Inigo started but Owain swiped at him to shut up, frowning with one scrunched up eye.
"She's saying something… Hey!"
"I've got the ears of an eavesdropper, my turn." Inigo muttered, pushing Owain aside.
"That's not how it wor–!" Owain cut off as Inigo cupped a hand to his mouth.
After several seconds Inigo frowned to the side of the door without moving his head. He opened his mouth but didn't say anything.
What?! Owain mouthed silently.
Inigo held up a finger. He half-turned to the door, then leaned back, frown still in place. Owain moved forward but Inigo shoved him back with a look of urgency.
No!
Why?
Inigo mouthed too many words and Owain threw his arms up. Inigo thought for a moment then tapped Owain, then his ear, and pointed to the hole. Owain slid forward slowly, turning his head as Inigo directed and placed it to the door.
"Look." A child's voice whispered.
Owain frowned, unsure he heard right.
"Look."
That's it?
"Look."
Owain's head started to pivot until Inigo cuffed him.
"Don't look!"
"Why not?"
"Not so loud!"
"You talked first!" Owain cried, turning back to the door before Inigo's hand flew over the hole.
"Just some voice telling you to look into the hole and you're going to do it?"
"It could be the girl!"
"It could be the... Death!"
"She might be stuck in there!"
"On the other side of the sealed iron door neither of the full grown men could open."
"Maybe she locked it."
"Hey miss, did you lock the door?" Inigo put his ear to the hole.
"Look."
"Yeah I'm calling a big 'Nope' on this one." Inigo started to stand before Owain stopped him.
"We can't leave without knowing. If it is… Was the girl…" He trailed off, expression sombre.
"Yeah well…" Inigo looked back to the stairs, then the door. He tapped a foot in indecision before silently spasming in frustration.
"Okay fine look then."
"I don't want to look." Owain objected.
"You were all about it before!"
"It could be something scary!"
"We've seen scary." Inigo smiled charmingly, putting a hand on his shoulder, "You've faced way bigger monsters than one tiny girl."
"We've also seen demons, spirits, sirens, and all sorts of other things from our time." Owain knocked the hand away, "You look! I don't wanna get possessed down here!"
"So I have to be?"
"If you're incorruptible, they say you can't be possessed, right?"
Inigo waved a hand over himself, staring at Owain.
"Okay so not you, but not me either! Between it and my sword arm…" Owain spoke louder over Inigo's groan, "I might not resist the temptations of power it may offer!"
"I don't think the hole has anything to teach the master of the Angry Dragon technique."
"I told you I didn't know that name was taken!" Owain flushed instantly, standing from the door now. "Not that I would doubt your experience receiving from glory holes!"
Inigo rose too, door forgotten.
On the second floor Lucina moved carefully along the dusty hall lined with paintings, hand on hilt as she peered into every room before passing. Calling Robin's name started feeling silly shortly after the first ten times no one answered, but increased her worry something had in fact gone wrong. He could simply be on the third floor, or he could be unable to answer.
She passed a full-body painting. A nude of a pale woman, rearranged limbs bending in ways the human body shouldn't, mouth open in an eternal scream. The eyes were burnt out, creating two eerie holes through the subject's face. Lucina didn't understand why anyone would have something so horrific in their homes. Even if the owner had poor taste, didn't children live here?
Continuing down the hall, the creaking ceiling made her look up. It was either the house weathering the storm or someone walking above her. She passed another hanging painting, ears strained for anything. Her senses were on high alert, imagination turning every draft into a sigh, every reflection a glinting eye in her peripherals. She didn't share Robin's boldness now not because she believed in ghost stories, but because she knew better. It seemed unlikely before, but now she considered it a thousand horrors awoke simply due to Grima's influence. Though he slept in this world, it was possible nightmares were beginning to stir in light of his awakening.
In hindsight: probably an observation she should have made with the group present.
After two more paintings she paused. She looked back, then to the art on the wall before her. Each was identical to the grains of paint strokes of the dirt road. The only difference between them was a white figure halfway up the road in the first, a bit further in the second, and a silhouette on the horizon in the painting before her. Lucina squinted in the dim light, a disgusted fascination. The way the artist captured the creature's lurching movements through still snapshots in time was disturbing as it was skilled. Lifelike.
The ceiling thumped and she looked up again. That wasn't the wind. She was about to turn for the stairs when a long creak sounded from the end of the hall ten meters ahead.
A door swung slowly inward to darkness as she watched.
"...Robin?"
She expected the silence that answered. It was slowly dawning on her coming alone may have been a mistake. But one never expected the supernatural to occur to themselves – it was always someone else's horror stories they'd survived. And now it wasn't the fear of the unknown that prickled the back of her neck, nor the dread any leader felt when something happened to one of her own. It was the fact that it was Robin she was searching for, worrying about. She didn't want anything to happen to him. Maybe she couldn't tell him how she felt, but she'd be damned if she stood by while he could be in danger.
She gripped her sword with new resolution, striding for the door just as the painting at the start of the hall slammed to the floor and made her spin, Falchion sliding an inch from its sheath.
It lay face down across the hardwood. Muffled thunder barked quietly as rectangles of light flickered across the wall.
Lucina made her way back to stand over the frame. It had been the full-body of the woman having finally arrived at her destination after making the way up the road through the other paintings, she realized. The hanging hadn't snapped, nail in the wall still intact. She turned slightly to keep both ends of the hall in her peripherals, glancing over her shoulder to kneel and lift the wooden frame. She stiffened.
This was the right painting, she remembered the revulsion she felt on seeing it. The lightning flash was an unnecessary addition to making the empty road eerie.
A rapid series of thumps from the ceiling made her jump. Feet, running across the floor above.
"Robin..."
She followed them around the corner and found herself staring through two holes in the figure's skull where eyes used to be.
It whispered at her, lurching forward on a hand and backwards leg. Her instinct was to throw herself backwards in disgust but the creature shambled forward with blurring speed, knocking them to the floor. She rolled to her feet as a long-fingered hand grasped her ankle.
She stared at the empty eyes and twitching lips, twisting her foot free as it dragged itself towards her.
Above them a door slammed and feet crossed the hall. She followed them, backing away from the creature sliding towards her. She drew Falchion as she retreated, feeling behind her as something slammed above. She bumped into a door and kicked it open behind her, creature pulling itself along using the floor and wall in sporadic, jerking bursts of speed.
Slap. Slide. Slap. Slide.
A quick glance around told her she was in a dining room. A single broad table with drapes stretched the length of it, and she moved quickly to put it between her and the only door.
Slap. Slide.
The scraping sounds from the hall drew close to the door and she took a breath to steady herself. She glanced up. Something was still shuffling around upstairs.
"Robin?" She shouted.
The movement stopped.
"Robin!"
A muffled voice came from above followed by what she assumed was an expletive, and the shuffling resumed. She looked back to her own door. She realized she hadn't heard anything for several seconds. Considerably worse than hearing something getting closer.
She waited a full minute. The sounds above carried into another room and she was left alone with the storm battering against the window. Falchion lowered to rest on the edge of the table, ready to rise again at the slightest hint of danger.
"I'm not coming out for you." She declared flatly, glaring at the door. "I know you're out there."
Lucina didn't even know if the thing understood her, but hearing her own calm voice helped steel her nerves.
Nothing happened for another minute. Lucina grit her teeth. The fact was that was the only door, and if she wanted to help Robin she needed to get out of this room.
Falchion lifted from the table just as the door slowly pushed open. The hall was black now, ambient light from the windows behind her granting just enough vision to see the silhouette in the doorway.
"I know you're… There." Her own voice echoed back to her as if from a distance, "I'm… Coming... For you."
Lucina's eyes narrowed as the thing staggered into the room, mouth twitching in constant faint whispers. It reached the table and paused, head rotating to remain fixated on her as it shuffled to the left side of the long obstacle between them.
Lucina walked to the right.
It stopped, turned, and started moving right. Lucina moved left.
It stopped again. Lucina watched it from the opposite end of the table. She sheathed Falchion because it was getting heavy. It continued its pace right until realizing Lucina would soon have a clear path to the door, and doubled back.
Lucina sighed, mirroring.
It suddenly ducked out of sight. Lucina heard it shuffling under the drapes and stared. Was it really this stupid?
She stepped onto the table, off the other side, and made straight for the door.
One floor above and half-a-house away Robin shouldered through a door to reveal a kitchen.
This was ridiculous, he knew where the stairs had been. And who put a kitchen on the third floor?! He'd covered every inch of this level thrice over, the halls were a tapestry of dust and footprints marking everywhere he'd been. But no path led to the stairs. It was as if they'd been removed from the blueprints once he'd found his way up here. He guessed what would bring them back, and that wasn't going to happen. He'd take the window before anything he'd seen up here would get him.
Faint whispers announced he wouldn't be alone long and he walked on the edges of the balls of his feet across the tile. All he could do was run, his foe was as impervious to weapons and magic as it was to foul words. But eventually he'd get tired, make a mistake, get caught. He needed an out.
He thought quickly. He was in a kitchen. Feroxi kitchens had stoves… Well most kitchens had stoves, but Ragna Ferox was known for harsh winters, which meant big stoves. A bubble of firelight over his hand illuminated the surrounding area. He found the old stove by the other door and yanked the handle open, feeling around inside.
His fingers closed on something small, hard, smooth. He frowned, pulling out a soot-stained sleeve to reveal what he'd found. It took him a second to realize what he held before he threw the blackened bones back in the stove with disgust. He slammed it shut, almost wiping his hand on his robes out of habit.
Robin grimaced, then saw the neatly stacked piles of wood beside the door and growled in annoyance. He pulled log after log, hastily tossing them in a rough rectangle in the hall outside.
"Why did you leave me, sweetums?"
Robin's heart skipped a beat from the strained voice that came from the other side of the room. He grabbed two more logs and moved to the hall, closing the door quietly behind him.
"Shouldn't play with mummy's things..."
Robin hummed loudly to himself to drown the muffled voice, bringing the ball of fire to the wood and stepping back. It started to smoke.
"Bad, bad boys played with mummy's things. You want to join them, do you?"
"If it gets me away from you...?" Robin muttered, summoning a small gust of wind just as the door creaked opened.
The tall woman's mouth distended before the rising flames, dark pitted eyes fixed on Robin as he stood his ground.
"Let me love you!"
"Take a number." Robin kicked the stack of wood, sending burning logs across the hall as he backed away.
She screamed, a horrible grating shriek that made the hairs on his neck stand, and backed away into the darkness of the kitchen.
He swallowed, looking around. He stood in the middle of an intersection, one hall full of spreading flame, the other three as ominous as the kitchen door. Warmth touched his back as the fire built, light shining on the paintings and furniture in the hall ahead.
An echoing sob came from every hall at once.
"I'm a good mother…"
"I haven't known you for that long, but no you aren't." Robin shouted at the surrounding blackness, backing to a corner to watch three halls at once.
"I'm a good mother."
"Lady I'm not your kid!"
"I am a good mother!"
The scream came from the hall across the flames and Robin could see a pale form lurching towards him with frightening speed. Too fast to outrun. Instinct drove him the opposite direction, directly for the fire.
It wasn't as much time as he would have preferred giving it, but he'd take burning to death over whatever fate she had in store for him. He charged the flames, hearing the mismatched pace behind gaining quickly. He couldn't hesitate, there was no time to ready himself. The smoke stung his eyes and made gauging the distance difficult to tell, but it was now or death.
Robin clenched his eyes and leapt, tucking into his robe, feeling the heat intensify hundredfold as he entered the eye of the firestorm.
He hit the dead center of the flames and the floor cracked under him. Even through his robes the heat was overwhelming. Too hot to think. Flames cutting through cloth as if it weren't there.
His weight dropped, hitting the floor with another crack followed by an immense crashing around him. He was falling. Too fast to see and he didn't dare open his eyes for debris. But the heat lessened as wind rushed around him.
The hardwood floor met his face with a loud slap. He groaned in displeasure, dazedly peeking from his robe.
More wood crashed around him and he scrambled forward before a thick beam fell, hit the floor with a splintering slam, and rolled across his back to pin him in the middle of the hall.
He cried out, testing the weight but it didn't give. At this angle he couldn't position his arms to push it off – only by slightly turning his torso could he barely manage shallow breaths.
"Uggghhhhhhh my gods this sucks..." He panted, resting for a moment to think. Somehow he didn't think fire was the answer to this one.
Footsteps at the end of the hall made him look up. Through the smoke a silhouette stepped cautiously forward. Long hair. Female.
Robin groaned painfully. Struggling again but to no avail.
"Robin!"
He looked again, recognizing the voice. It could still be a deception. Struggling and failing to draw his weapon he called out something only she would know.
"What's your birthday?"
Lucina's silhouette stopped, coughing slightly and waving at the smoke between them.
"Why?"
"Because I need to know it's you!"
"Are you going to do something if I'm not me?" Lucina asked, looking him over. He tried to raise an arm at her and failed. "Okay then."
She stepped forward and the floor cracked under them, sinking slightly. Robin gasped as the weight across his back grew heavier. The only thing keeping the thick-beam-pinning-him from being the thick-beam-crushing-him was the smaller shaft of timber on his other side. If the floor under that second piece gave way the full weight of the beam would rest on him, and he'd accidentally stepped on enough tomatoes to know how that physics project ended.
"Back up, back up!" He coughed, trying to convey urgency without hands or air in his lungs.
She leapt back, staring at the wood in concern. The problem had escalated quickly.
"Father, Cynthia!" She called, looking over her shoulder. No one answered. She paced, watching him like an anxious dog at the window of a house.
"You might find this... Highly immasculine, but please," Robin took a strained breath, "Don't leave me?"
"I'm not going to leave you." She stepped along the side of the hall where the support was strongest. It didn't creak.
"Good." He sighed in relief, watching her progress along the wall.
"If I do, I promise you won't fall into enemy hands." She vowed solemnly, gripping Falchion.
"You always say... The sweetest things." He grinned, nodding. "Yeah. Just a quick beheading will do just fine."
Her mouth thinned, and it occurred to him she might not have been joking.
"Just ah... Don't leave me, alright?"
A sudden crack ran between Lucina's foot and Robin and she stepped back with a hiss.
"What are you doing, messy children?" A shaky voice came from the hall behind him.
"Go away!" Robin called, struggling feebly once more. Lucina looked over the pile of wood to see a silhouette gliding towards them in the dark.
"What is that?"
"Something immune to steel, magic and swear words. I'll take that beheading now." He sighed resignedly.
"It can't be killed?"
"I think she's already dead. Really, you need to run now. I'll find another way out, catch up with you, et cetera..." He lied shamelessly.
She drew her weapon and backed away. He fought an internal struggle. Was it irresponsible to tell her his feelings now? He wouldn't get another chance. Then again he was also probably about to die. That would somewhat inconsiderate: "Hey I think I love you bye."
He looked up and opened his mouth in time to see her leap into a spinning backslash, severing a thick beam protruding from the floor above and causing a landslide of burnt or burning wood cascading towards them.
Robin had just enough time to cover his head and wonder what was wrong with decapitation before he felt another body press over him as the floor cracked once, sank an inch, then gave way and they plummeted into darkness.