Full Summary:

This is a story of struggle. Ylisse has fallen to the wrath of the Risen. The Shepherds battle their way through, trying to save the innocent of the land, though before long, their numbers begin to dwindle. A fifteen chapter suite to display the hardship of the Risen that seemed to be overlooked in Fire Emblem: Awakening, this story features Morgan, the only hope for the Shepherds. However, no one may save them from the tragedy doomed to ensue.

From the story, combat style has been derived, including turns, abilities, and enemy tendencies.

Unparalleled, Unkempt

Chapter I - The Wrath Which Just so Happens to be Morgan

The square was flooded in sheer darkness. A gaseous fog drenched the air in a thick, noxious toxin. Every breath ached the lungs and depleted the strength of all who inhaled it. Morgan sputtered, her eyes wet and strained from irritation, but continued to aid others to the town hall, which hadn't been overwhelmed and was within running distance.

The town was of moderate size, and with an army of monsters, easy to overwhelm. Every shred of prosperity and joy that had once engulfed this town in merchants and tourists now dissipated into fierce darkness. Not that Morgan had any recollection of that. For an eternity she protected the others as she could, but often fell disastrously short on her duty. Every time bite her core, like teeth hooked around her heart that clenched whenever a risen struck one of the citizens.

Her body faltered when she witnessed the bitter death of individual, and it was usually too late to save them - the fog drenched her field of view. Whenever she located them, it was due to their screams of agony, the fatal wounds already implanted and ensuing their demise.
She gasped as her head bowed about, searching frantically for the innocent. Shuffling, stumbling, she finally located in a hollow of the dust a small girl sprawling upon the ground, and above her towered a soldier with battered and broken armor. Her eyes widened in fright, in further examination of the man. Crevices between his armor revealed nothing but abyssal blackness, pouring the deathly gas that consumed the town. Its face was disfigured and absent of skin or color. Grinding her teeth deliberately, Morgan dashed for the beast in anguish, lifting her spear-less lance which she had been saving in case of danger. It was nothing more than a stick, and it bent hesitantly beneath the power of the blow that came upon her like a hurricane the moment the soldier detected her. The speed of the attack was blinding, mind-boggling, and its strength reined unbearable.

"Hrrrn!" Morgan groaned in her effort, trying to hold back, but the beast's face grew near and almost touched Morgan's as it applied more pressure, ready to tear the two mortals apart. She was stupefied by its ghastly countenance and odious fumes that readily leaked from its mouth, and inevitably let up on her side of the battle. Then, horribly she cried in excruciating agony as the fumes entered her lungs and the lance snapped. However, in a sudden jerk, she tossed her weapon to the side as it had broken; it dislodged the blade's aim and delayed the next attack long enough for Morgan to dodge, discard the pieces, and scoop up the girl. The child, face pale, fingers cold, coughed limply without any apparent consciousness. Morgan sprinted away from the monster, eying its terrible figure. It gave little effort to run after them. Instead, it hurled its great sword, which caught Morgan's calf, and caused the two to topple onto the ground.

Morgan spat the thick heat of her exhaustion and cringed at the sting in her leg, but this did little to disperse her fuming deliberation, and so she, as quickly as possible, scurried to her feet and reclaimed the girl to bring her inside. The hall was not twenty feet from her position, but now, the monster was rapidly approaching and fetching its weapon as to throw it again and permanently bind her to the ground.

However, as Morgan desperately attempt to scoop up the girl, a spine tingling screech carried over the square. Another, much nearer, originating from the beast behind them, sounded in return, and for some reason the thing abruptly lost all interest in the two of them. It dragged its sword on the ground, and slowly it hobbled away, not so much as giving another glance their direction. Upon realization of this, Morgan dashed back to the hall, the girl in her arms. She prayed nothing had become of the nurse who dwelt inside.
As she approached to her advantage, the door automatically opened and shut behind her. With little caution, she brought the girl downstairs and rested her on a cot which had been covered in linens.

"Hurry!" Morgan cried desperately at the woman, who rushed to the little girl's bedside, carrying only a few tools.
The brunette girl, fighting to inhale each breath, had her hair done up in messy plaits, and she wore a simplistic checkered dress. Her eyes fluttered, and abruptly, she broke into a fit of coughing. Specks of blood soon dotted the checkers as the nurse gave an encouraging word and hastily prepared a remedy. Before the nurse administer the tonic though, the girl's breathing grew shallow and desperate, filled with random wheezes and coughs.
"There's nothing I can do," the nurse choked soundlessly, lachrymose, as she laid the girl onto her back.
"Morgan," the young girl mouthed painfully, barely awake.

"I'm sorry." These words twanged her soul like a loose guitar string, reverberating without life or tune. This wasn't fair. It wasn't right. She stepped forward and kissed her forehead just before her head lost support and her life expired permanently. Her hand, which had been placed along her stomach, drooped to hang off the cot, and a line of blood fell from her lip. They grew only silent for too long in solemn, silent mourning.

The girl had been too young too die. Far to young to die in this agonizing way. They could only thank for her swift departure; neither of them could bear to see a child die in brutal wounds, taking hours for infection and blood loss to affect. As it was, they were on the verge of tears and utter breakage.
"Nothing works," the woman cried finally. "If those things get too close to anyone, they're doomed. Those fumes..."
Tears streamed down Morgan's cheeks steadily, and she seated herself on the floor, unable to support her standing position any longer where she could see the dead, expressionless face of the pale child.

Thunder brewed outside and lightning snapped at the clouds, sending a radiant flash through the windows. A downpour cackled against the rooftop, and the scent of rain wafted in from somewhere.

With every pound and boom, Morgan shuttered, shutter for the deceased, shuttered due to her bitter failure. She shattered like glass.

As time when on, the fog slowly had begun to disperse, to lift from the town, but now, it was only more visible the amount of monsters lurking. Each of them were watched by the company of the house who'd survived the first onslaught. Their crippled gait was eerie and dysfunctional, the brutes dragged their weaponry on the ground as they went. Everyone feared that eventually they'd be found. The monsters would eventually break in and kill them all. They had, after all, broken into several of the other residences they detected movement within.

Morgan grew determined to not let that happen. She begun training by digging graves for the six deceased they had accrued inside the manor, and had managed to finish all over the course of two days. Again and again the rain poured on her though, and she grew frustrated with the wind and chill that accompanied her excursion. Almost, in her sufficient anger, she fled the town and left the people there to die, but then it came back to her: they needed her.

Morgan, able-minded and bodied, proved to be the only one who could properly defend them from the occasional monster that wandered up the porch. She was agile and incomprehensibly strong for a girl her size, making her the most fit to deal with them. Not only that, but she handled the fumes without the fatal affliction. No one else dared to try their immunity.

"Morgan!" The shriek startled her, knocking her out of her seat at the dining room table, where she'd been in repose between downpours. On instant alert of danger, her skin crawling at the sound, she hopped to her feet and bounded towards the voice, who ran into her, worried and tantalized with fear. "They've reached the house," she choked, trembling. "You must do something!"

Morgan strode into the entryway and pried out the window, gasping when she saw the undead thing hunched over and breathing nosily just beyond her. It stared menacingly at the door, sensing the movement inside. A lump rose in her throat and she dared to look away from it to keep from scarring her mind further. However, she still knew her action was futile; no one could ever staunchly remove the image. The burning, singeing image. She shuttered, moving over and closing her fingers around the doorknob.

An idea formulated in her head, and it was the worst she could possibly think up. It made her cringe, but still, in all the outcomes she fathomed, this would result in the best. It was awful.

In single strain, she tore open the door and launched her foot at the monster, aiming her kick right in the chest, an easy point to displace its balance. Luckily, her attempt worked, knocking it off guard, and again she placed a kick. This time the opponent lost balance completely and fell from the porch, shattering in a great cacophonous noise as it struck the ground below.

She halted, stunned by her own work. The pieces had scattered, and they each flowed back into the air as the black gaseous phase that once coated the town. She watched utterly in awe. Others had to yank her back inside before another was alerted to their position, and she complied difficultly. Never she had she fathomed the thing could die by... by the force of a kick! Perhaps though, she was wrong. Maybe the thing would simply regenerate.

She huffed, her gaze inadvertent and lethargic as she realized the luck required to do what she had accomplished. It was severely doubtable that another would die so easily. Still, she wanted to know her idea of rebirth had been faulty, and so she peered out the window for some time. Nothing came for the spell she stood. Then she muttered in a stifled voice, resting herself on the door, "If any more come, barricade the door."

"But, Morgan... We're running out of provisions. We'll have to leave to gather more."

"Hn? We'll go out the back."

"They've already infested the garden."

Her hands readily balled into fists. Oh, why couldn't she do more? It was impossible! She sighed, no longer resisting the inevitable.
These monsters were indomitable - she knew she lacked the ability to kick them all to death -, covered from head to toe with armor and wielding great sorts of weaponry. They were anything but human. Perhaps the undead had come to haunt them and forsake the town. Why? What exactly were these things and what purpose did they have? Could they have an intention for death only or was there something more? There had to be a reason!

Morgan contemplated, delaying her excursion, and decided to explore the basement to search for supplies. It was dark and dusty, and yielded a faint scent of the gas outside. Around every corner she peered, also deeming the architecture peculiar with many strange adjacent hallways. Her mind screamed for this to be a trap; the labyrinth passage seemingly tasted of it. But, as she went, it grew less and less of an ambiguous field. Three hallways right, three hallways left, like two interconnected tic-tic-toe boards. Each lead to larger room, usually empty, and this echoed 'strange'. The mayor had already abandoned the house, taking all of his belongings, in time for the attack to be invaded? Her jaw clenched in her anger that he'd known about the happen beforehand, neglecting to warn the others.

Soon, her irritation grew more and more furious. Not a thing but the dust settled among the floor could be located. And after searching every hallway, she finally found, in the midst of one of the rooms, a lengthy crate. Beside it was an uncannily placed crowbar, seemingly discarded there after its last use. She shuttered as she approached it.

The requirement for supplies was too hefty for her not to open the crate. Her fingers closed around the tool with caution and delicacy. Wedging the crowbar sturdily under the wooden lid, she forced it open. Dust billowed about her as it cracked resoundingly. The lid of the crate had only split, and the contents were still inside, covert. Now with only brute force, she peeled back the wood. However, once the light had glimmered inside, she choked, falling back onto the floor with her hands shakily supporting herself. The floor was rough and dirty on her palms, but she couldn't care. Her glower was astoundingly strong yet fearful. After an eternity of waiting though, she risked a pry back in the box, involuntarily trembling as she rose on her knees. A brief frustrated sigh contained all of the relief a single person could manage the moment she glanced at it wholly.

Inside a suit of armor had been packed away with a single sword and a decent scabbard. This weapon was all she took, knowing she wouldn't and couldn't wear the armor. It felt awfully heavy in her hands; it was made of pure silver. Still, the blade gleamed in the soft light, beckoning a battle of mighty proportions. Feeling it in her hands was oddly graceful, and for some reason, she longed to put it to use.

A terribly cacophonous cry rung in her ears and wind shot at her consequentially. It took her but a moment to register that one of the monsters had truly materialized in the doorway. It had probably been lurking the corridors, and when she'd opened the crate, it detected her position. How she'd not earlier noticed its presence, she was unsure.

No! she exasperated within the boundaries on her mind. With light streaming in from the windows, this creature was blatantly hideous, repugnant, and unbearably grotesque. It's suit was rusty and blackened. In it's disfigured and bony, violet-hued hand it lacked a single glove and a carried a giant axe which would be intractable for mortal use due to its inanely placed size.

Morgan was off-guard. It lunged in the least graceful way possible at her instantly. However, this sort of attack was efficient and immensely powerful. Morgan, paralyzed, accidentally discarded her own weapon at its feet as she attempted to evade the strike. It though, was more intelligent than she had expected. It gripped her neck in its free hand and pinned her against the wall instead of following through with the strike. The old rusty metal of the steel glove cut into her skin as she writhed. Her fingers hooked furiously around the beast's. With intense effort she struggled as it raised the axe truthfully to ensue her demise.

Then, suddenly, a clunk resounded through the room, and the grip slackened oddly. Hesitantly the body melted away into the air into the dark essence, and behind it, clutching the sword was the slack and deformed little girl she'd tried to save. She watched Morgan with florescent scarlet eyes as her body too vaporized to the thick, dark gas, and the sword fell to the floor once again in the exact location Morgan had lost it to.

Morgan, too stunned to comprehend anything that had just occurred, scooped up the sword, sliding it into the scabbard that she'd attached to her belt with unparalleled hesitation.

However, her feet carried her like the wind herself through the many hallway until she'd come across the stairwell, and the moment she had absconded the dark and bitterness of the basement, she swiped the key from the counter to abruptly lock it.
"Are you alright?" An elderly woman wondered, clutching a blanket around her figure. She'd appeared out of thin air, it seemed.
"Is anyone down there?" Morgan wondered breathlessly, not exactly minding the origin of her location.

She shook her head to Morgan's relief, but then she cried, "Dearie, your neck!"

Morgan touched it and felt the warmth of fresh blood on her fingers. Great. She'll have rust poisoning no doubt. "I know," she revealed, uncaring. Her heart pulsed feverishly. Her heart pulsed for vengeance. It lacked every quality of a good idea, but who cares? If she died who would care? All she needed was to try.

Her feet raced to the back door. Her footsteps were easy and determined outside after she'd swung the door to the garden ajar defiantly. Already she could see two of the monsters sauntering about, looking to portray their malignity to the living. She leapt upon the first one with an impregnable will. Right in the neck the strike was placed, and the blade sliced through the undead material like butter. Immediately, the next one was on her, screaming with unnatural might. She slashed at it cholericly, severing its torso entirely from the remainder of its body. Then another lashed at her. And another. Three more. It seemed the moment each dispersed, the more the fog cleared. This was the only thing that kept her alive, creeping in silent satisfaction.

Once she'd clear those of the monsters, she raced to the square, vaulting the garden's fence in the process to reach those who had haunted the premises.

"Hyyah!" she screamed, tearing her sword into everything in sight. They went down roaring, their armor splattering onto the ground before it vaporized. Every spurt of the gas around her sent energy tingling through her veins, and suddenly, she felt utterly unstoppable. She grew quicker, stronger, and now very few of the things require more than a single blow to be obliterated.

All her pent-up frustration was released during the fight, and she felt she was making up for those she lost, protecting those who would be killed if not for her massacre. And her mind began to calculate her situation perfectly, planning every step out, putting it into a large grid. This was a giant game of destructive chess, and she was the offensive queen of the battlefield.

Finally without her even realizing it, the square was clear. There was nothing she could hit, nothing coming at her. Instead, daylight shone down on her. For days she'd gone unknowing of the time or whether the sun would ever return. Drooping her sword towards the ground, touching the tip upon the pavement delicately, her breath became easy. Greedily her lungs indulged in the clear, warm air. Success tasted sweet on her tongue, like a melting chocolate desert. Not another monster was in sight. None of the gaseous poison was visible.

She'd won the fight.

The sunlight beamed down on the town which had previously been coated in stifling black fumes. Morgan danced and smiled - the sun was not something she was accustomed to. It seemed that she'd never before felt its warmth, and she allowed it to envelope her, raising her face against the rays. Again and again she turned, skipping occasionally to shake up her frivolous routine.

She was a petite thing, with silken hair that crept just beneath her shoulders. It curled up rather strangely, but the naturalness of it suited her perfectly and seemed only to give her more astonishing charm. She was garbed in robes of black that draped over her, adding bulk to her minuscule figure. Even with this extra weight, she was smaller than some children. However, her aptitude in swordplay suggested she was a much more mature age than she looked.

"Are we just going to watch her?"

Morgan halted, breathing in a gasp, a crazy flush immediately enshrouding her face. There were...other people? Whirling, she stumbled back and gaped at the mere number of people who had been standing before her, watching. Numerous of them had amused expressions, obviously brought on by her ignominious behavior.
"I've never seen anything like it. An entire swarm of Risen defeated by a small girl," a very well-suited mounted warrior complimented, "Impressive."

Behind him sat a frivolous-looking blonde, who wore a strange wired dress and kept her hair up in enormous tails. She nodded and mentioned something quietly to the knight in agreement.

Morgan, stunned and flustered, lost her weapon to the ground and faltered trying to catch it-which she failed miserably at.
"Clumsy, but impressive nonetheless," he restated.

"Who are you?" Morgan fumed lightly, embarrassment screwing up her voice.

"We are the Shepherds. Guardians of Ylisse," a smaller man stated. His hair was an odd shade of deep blue, and a very demeaning blade latched on his side. His countenance seemed especially charmed though with his lackadaisical half-smirk and bright eyes.

Morgan sneered and wondered ignorantly, "What's Ylisse?"

"You are unaware that the country which we stand in now is Ylisse? That is quite strange. Are you perhaps a foreigner?" The mounted warrior spoke up again, edge now entering his tone.

"Peace, Frederick," the other advised, "we have had a similar instance."

"That was a great stroke of luck, milord. But no two experiences may exactly parallel," Frederick forewarned wisely. The other man weighed the possibility.

Morgan intervened, waving a tiny hand, "I can assure you I am no threat. I don't even know how to use a weapon," she explained, simpering above a loose fist at her chest.

Frederick passed Morgan an uncertain, scrutinizing gaze.

"...Uncanny indeed."

The blue-haired man dismissed his skepticism, almost admonishing him for a wrongdoing. "I've told you this before, and I will stand by this statement: anyone who protects Ylissean people is an ally of mine. Plus, you tell me if our soldiers couldn't easily take her out it she turned out to be some sort of spy or assassin."

If this comment was meant to intimidate her at all, it failed miserably; Morgan was oblivious, staring at the ground, relaying her embarrassment mentally. Frederick's horse padded over to her, and he got a good glance of how tiny of a person she was. Barely did she notice him, spacing off entirely.

"I suppose we could quite easily overwhelm her. But take her size. Not an easy target to hit, I wager."

"If that's how you will act, so be it. I trust her as a humble, capable swordsman."

"Hhn?" Morgan snapped back as the other man, speaking only highly of her, approached. Her eyelids fluttered, absorbing her fresh realistic view. He grinned brilliantly.

"Prince Chrom of Ylisse, leader of the Shepherds," he introduced.

"Morgan," she replied, dazed by his very charm.

"What lands do you travel from?"

She shook her head, raising her hands up in surrender. "I've been in this town for as long as I can remember. And er, what are the Shepherds?"

"The properties which encumber an amnesiac malady are enormously eminent in the strangers we tend to approach," a tidy magician snickered, flicking through the pages of her tome. "This beckons experimentation on the effects of the Risen's fumes."

Chrom sniffed. "The Shepherds are a band of warriors who guard Ylisse with their lives against brigades, bandits and this new opponent, Risen."

"Father," a woman hummed, approaching Morgan. Her silvery blue eyes flashed as she quickly sized her up. At her side was the very same sword Chrom kept. "I trust her as well. She is strong and daring. Shepherd material if anything..." she trailed off, something foreign catching her attention.

Chrom too felt this sensation; his eyes darted about, and he tensed momentarily. With a single hand, he lead the woman aside and stepped a ways away from his retinue. He waited, analyzing the air.

"Uh, Chrom?" the blond riding behind Frederick voiced.

He growled and slashed the air. A cry rose above all, making the sheer air curl in disdain of its powerful, emphatic caw. It rung metallic in the air, poising a sense of fear and corruption. A Risen warrior split down the middle and its armor clanked onto the ground before it dissipated feverishly in into a smog. Morgan cringed, knowing the thing far too well for her own good. Others clenched their fists. Not a person had detected it before; it had been invisible to the naked eye.

The magician shrugged with an apathetic boo, "Perfectly decent testing material lost." She replaced her glasses and refocused her attention on the pages before her.

"The Risen are growing stronger," Chrom fathomed as he turned back his men, ignoring the mage's comment. "Frederick, Sully. Secure the town. Lissa will accompany you. I don't doubt your ability to clear out the remaining of them."

"Sure thing, captain," a mounted woman, presumably Sully, assured. Her short red hair danced around her head and she yielded a very womanly appearance, but Morgan couldn't fathom anything but her as a mighty solider. Her voice rang of definite confidence though it was rather easy-going. Frederick only nodded in reply to his commander, and the blond woman, Lissa, happily poked Frederick on the neck, whispering something zealously as the horses galloped off into the alleyways.

Chrom glanced back at Morgan, who had sincere shock etched on her face.

"I also trust your judgment, Lucina." He allowed a soft, warming grin. "Morgan, how would you like to join the Shepherds?"

"Are you sure?" Morgan spouted, her eyes lighting up intensely.

He nodded. "Help us slaughter these undead and protect the citizens of Ylisse."

She'd made a promise to destroy the Risen, and she was going to keep it.

"Morgan!" A voice behind her caused the back of her neck to tickle slightly, and she whirled to it. The elderly woman, now shaking, held a voice that contained all of her emotion. "The... the basement..." Suddenly, she'd fallen, and several of the Shepherds had gone to aid her.

"Huh?!" A tingle of panic flushed through her veins as she reminisced upon a previous happening. She locked her gaze with Chrom's and her face paled - the town hall was silent.

"What is it, Morgan?" Chrom wondered urgently, taking his sword in his hand.

"I can't believe-!" Bolting with all the speed she could muster, Morgan made way past the crowd of Shepherds, through the building. She'd just now realized, that if the people whom she'd buried had come back as risen in the basement, and she'd only seen two of six defeated... She dashed inside quickly, raising her fists to her head in agony of her stupidity. She prayed silently that the nurse and others had evacuated after she cleared the rest of them out outside. Searching as she went, there seemed to be no one inside, but this sent only further tingles of fright through her nervous, rattling veins. A spout of regret emitted from her lips - "Errh - No!" - as she viewed the place whence she found the monsters. The basement door lay off its hinges, broken on the floor. Pieces of wooden coated the entirety of the kitchen area, but to a slight, slight relief, not a bit of blood could be found. Once she'd regained her composure over the realization, the screech of the risen sounded below, beckoning her presence to the darkened world beneath the dirt.

Without a conscious thought, her feet carried her down and through the corridors until the first of them had been located in one of the further rooms. The nurse, cloistered between it and the wall, clutched a broom and cowered desperately, hoping the thing would begin to lose interest. However, its rage was visibly burning in the radiant eyes as it steadily treaded on her. Morgan, realizing she lacked weaponry, let loose a kick on the monster, who staggered back, nearly losing its footing, and during the process, Morgan tasted blood - her anger upon herself had been so great she willingly bit her tongue with as much force as the kick had placed. Now this taste and scent filled her mouth, and she spat to the side, readying herself for a vengeful act.

"Hey idiot!" she announced. The nurse whispered to furiously, passing her the broom and retreating to the stairwell the moment she could, while the thing was regaining its own composure. The Risen was odd in automatic sense to ignore the enemy that had fled out of attacking range. Now all focus implanted itself in Morgan. Noting her lack of weaponry, it hurled itself violently at her, waving its steel sword, and she barely ducked in time. Despite her dodge though, she was immersed in a fiery sensation that instantly knocked her out of consciousness. Her mind and vision became nothing but blurs, but she could pick out three large, crippled figures closing in on her before she lost sense entirely.

Chrom paraded in, his weapon ready, and with a discerning roar, it flew with even more grace than Morgan's had. It was almost like a dance in the way he spun and angled his sword with his body. Right down to the fingertips it was rather intricate though the first, magic-wielding Risen exploded into a storm of dust, gas, and armor.; his strikes were downright barbaric in their force. This distracted the Risen for long enough, in a cloud of their own comrade, that his daughter took the other two out with a similar style, in a single stroke. They roared, toppling over, and once they'd vaporized, she dropped her unbreakable weapon. Cautiously to her knees at Morgan's side she lowered herself, feverishly searching for a pulse on her neck. Beneath her particularly acute jaw line it pulsed blatantly.

"She's still alive," Lucina offered.

"Good. I couldn't have my newest member die so easily," he smirked, picturing home in his mind. "Remind me to thank your mother for that move."

Lucina nodded, a smirk also spreading across her face. Her father's smile was one so contagious and full, it could hardly ever be deemed feigned or apathetic. It was her father's smirk that gave her hope for a better future past than the one she had lived.

However, her expression soon withered as her gaze returned to the crippled Morgan. "I've never seen anyone that... willing to die," she mused, captivated by the mere thought. "She's entirely inspirational."

"Her ability is quite strange, isn't it?"

"Yes. Though I can't help but feel I've seen it before. I almost feel like I know her."

"Could she be from the future?"

"Doubtable." Lucina cringed, reminiscing upon the future. "She knew nothing of Ylisse, and coming from the future, there's no possible way she'd have no knowledge of it. We came back to this time to defend Ylisse."

"I suppose that should be accounted for. Still, even in this time it seems impossible."

"That's true, father," she regarded, wondering deeply in thought. "It's too early to say. She may have more to explain. We have only just met her."

Chrom nodded, registering her sagacious comment. "Perhaps once she awakens, we may ask more of her."

Lucina accepted his suggestion and allowed her father to scoop up the wilted figure. He began to return back up the stairs when, guided by an unseen force, he stated, "Behind you."

She caught the hint and instantly flashed her sword back once she had retrieved it from its place on the floor. As expected, the last of the Risen fell to pieces. The air suddenly grew content and warm as she sheathed her sword, gazing indifferently at her father.

Something prodded at her, so very gently, and for the briefest moment she felt her father was in danger, carrying Morgan like that.

What am I thinking? She nearly sacrificed herself, Lucina thought, admonishing herself. How could she be of any danger to us when she so willing to fight for us? Then she chewed her lips, and Chrom found the need to command her to get going, back to the others.

Still...