For the most part, this story is a prequel to the Future Past DLC concerning my particular file. My unit's name is Kilian and he married Say'ri. For the most part, this is inconsequential to the story: for those who aren't fond of Say'ri or marrying her to the Avatar. The only other pairing I have made obvious in this story is Laurent/Morgan, which again, proves of literal importance to the plot.

I really just wanted to write a story showing a possibility for Morgan's involvement in the DLC, as it never explained her or his origins, but does hint that Morgan had been friends with the Shepherds before joining Grima.


"Find her."

It was only a matter of time before the call came, before things got desperate. Such a development had not been unforeseen, but perhaps unwarranted all the same. Unwanted and shoved away as long as humanly possible, but now the call was coming nearly every day. A call she was no longer able to ignore and had her rushing about in a panic. Armor, clothes, shoes, a weapon. Say'ri had ignored the call too long and now there was no choice left.

"Mommy—Mommy!" Morgan cried, pulling herself up onto the table. It was her light voiced call that stopped Say'ri in her tracks, her armor only half on. The little girl raised up her arms, desperate for the attention.

"Morgan…" Say'ri sighed, her shoulders slumping. The rush paused for but a moment before she tore her eyes away to finish dressing. With that, the sword she left high above on the wall was dismounted and strapped tightly to her hip. Only then did she allow herself one final luxury of picking up the small girl.

"Where are you going?" Morgan asked, her hands winding around. Her little fingers tangled into Say'ri's hair and yanked gently. She was getting big, as it were, but small for ten.

"Mother is…going away for a while," she said. Her feet began to pad along the flooring of the small house, quickly and quicker still. She moved back into Morgan's bedroom and sat the girl on the floor. "Do you recall the strange monsters?" Say'ri asked. She moved away from Morgan for only a minute, returning from a concealed closet with a long coat.

"The risen!" Morgan cheered, jumping up. Say'ri calmed her quickly as she knelt down.

"Aye, risen. These monsters are destroying our lovely home, so I must meet them in battle," Say'ri explained. "Now listen, Morgan," her words were hurried as she unfolded the coat. It was nothing if not familiar and still smelled pleasant. "This belonged to your father, and he would want nothing more than you to have it."

Morgan took the coat, almost in awe. But there was no more time for niceties. Say'ri grabbed Morgan by the arms and took her to the back of the room where she sat her in the corner, laying the coat over her like a blanket. Her heart was racing, pounding loudly in her ears now. Grasping things was becoming hard. If not for the band around her forehead, she might have been sweating by now. The knowledge of what was to come loomed dreadfully in the back of her mind, consumed her completely. If not for the grasp she had on Morgan, she might have lost reality completely.

"The risen will come for you," Say'ri warned hastily, "they will come, and you are to fight back. There are others like you. Fie! You are to find them and fight back!" Say'ri gulped, her trembling hands pulling back only to take Morgan's face. "Morgan…" she whispered now, a gentle smile coming across her face. She leaned forward to kiss her daughter's forehead, and with that, she stood quickly. There was no time to look back now, and she dashed from the house.

Silence was deafening now; Morgan held tight to the coat and curled in on herself. She never let go of it, all that remained of a father she never knew and a mother long gone.

Now adorned upon her arms, the cloak still did not fit right. It was in the moments that it slid down her shoulders and bunched around her hands that she recalled her mother's voice. Her mother's soothing voice spilling and telling tale after tale of her father. He must have been tall, Morgan mused. She fixed the cloak again and held up her tome.

At age ten, she had mastered thunder, by twelve—elthunder. Now, in her hands was the last arcthunder she could find in the house. Training had become a part of her daily life. Every day she would discover a new tome to use hidden away in the house as if they were left for her to find. One by one, she burned through each of them and left it ashen and destroyed in a corner. They had begun to pile up, but she could not leave to dispose of them. There was nowhere to go.

Morgan had never wandered far from the house, and all she could see for miles was nothing. It stuck out wildly in her mind her mother's warning of some impending doom that risen would come for her. So she practiced and trained, trained and practiced, until magic could fly from her fingers and through the air, until her sword was her own body. Out and alone where Say'ri had left her, where she had lived her entire life, there was no one for miles. There was not even a risen for Morgan's company.

Such was not the luxury of present any longer. A sudden crash jerked her from her studies, from her training. The tome spun through the air and landed with a thud, and only silence remained. Morgan's breath slowed, her heart beat quickened and beat against her throat.

They'll come for you.

Her palms began to sweat, gloves or not. They clammed up quickly before droplets formed against her cheek. She swallowed hard, feet padded along the floor as she made her way across the room. The wall seemed ages away, too far and too long of a walk. And yet somehow, against the odds, she pressed against it. It was cold against her ear, but the sensation was too short lived. She calmed herself inside and out, going still against the structure.

You are to fight back.

Again, Morgan gulped. This was never something she believed would come to fruition, not even in her wildest nightmares did she see the visage of risen skulking across the horizon, her name on their labored voices. Never did she think she would have to fight the monsters, but the noises arising from outside could be none other than risen.

"I thought we were out far enough," she muttered to herself, almost in shock. We had turned to "I", but Morgan could not stop insisting Say'ri was there. She pushed away from the wall, dashing through the room again to scoop up her fallen tome. The incessant growling was getting louder, and louder still. Her fingers curled around the hilt of a sword. It was nothing special, made of iron and old, but it was all she had.

"I will protect our home, Mother," she said grimly, a sullen frown setting across her lips. Alone as she was, it was in her gone-mother's hands that she left her trust in life. A lesson she'd been taught long ago: trust your family no matter what. Morgan nodded to herself, determination setting across her features as she made headway for the door. She would fight back.

The visage laid out before her was one of more terror than she ever thought imaginable. Somewhere along the lines, the sky had gone dark. The once verdant field amass with flowers ran rampant with monsters, monsters in every direction. Morgan sucked in her breath and closed her eyes.

One.

Two.

She breathed again and opened up, her prayer sent off to whoever was listening. Fighting back was her only option now. She faced the mob head on, gripping her sword in one hand and her tome in the other.

The risen swarmed faster than she could have ever imagined, one by one they surrounded her, and one by one she cut them down. One after the other, they fell like flies as she cut through them. Their black smoke rose up as they dissipated. One by one, one by one. Morgan cried out, stepping back as lightning flew from her fingertips. It shot through the air, flying right through the chest of a risen. It fell with a loud groan.

"Twenty," Morgan smiled as it hit the ground, counting on her fingers for added affect. Her joy was not to last as three more took its place. One charged, and Morgan could not pull forth her blade fast enough to stop the lance from piercing her side. She let out a guttural groan and staggered backwards, dropping her tome in order to gasp at her side. With the other arm she waved her sword through the air and cut the risen down.

The sword was near useless now that she had to hold her side. She threw the weapon aside and retook her tome in a quick retreat. Once out of range, she pulled back her hand and peered at the blood dripping through the coat—it would need reparation again. She grimaced and shifted to hold the tome in her right arm, which then folded across to hold at her side again.

"Damn, there's too many of them," she looked around, watching as the creatures moved closer and closer. It was too late to give up hope, she decided, and stood tall again. Her back straightened and her neck cracked as she raised up her arm. Lightning shot through the air again, one strike after another, one risen after another. The only problem became that she could feel the tome's power weakening, losing its ability to protect her. It couldn't have had more than a few spells left in it by the time she let her hand fall again.

Her side twinged as she stepped backward. Breath after breath was sucked in deeply as she readied herself for her last stand, her last chance to protect everything she knew. The offensive was no longer doing her any good, leaving the defensive as the only stance she could take. Determination set strong across her face yet again as she planted her feet in the grassy ground. Her hand raised, and she waited.

Her labored breath was only rivaled by the heavy beating of her heart and some thought in the back of her mind that this would be the end. She would never see her mother again and would never hear a word of her father again. Her eyes closed and she readied to cast another spell.

An ear shattering shriek ripped her eyes right back open—a noise unlike any other she'd ever heard. Air pushed away with the sound of flapping, and Morgan was met with the first Wyvern she'd ever seen. Though far off, it seemed to be coming closer. Closer and closer, faster than the risen could make their way towards Morgan. But it was no perfect savior, it was no flawless hope. She raised her hand again in attempts to fend off the fiends coming closer. Even when she missed, it seemed to slow their assault.

Until the tome went dead in her hands. Her eyes went wide in shock. She twitched her fingers, panicked, anything in attempts to cast another spell. But the tome was dark and useless now, no better than a piece of garbage to be thrown out. It couldn't end like this, not now. She still had so much to do, she still had to find her mother. She still had to live.

"No…" Morgan gasped, "It can't end like this, I won't…!" she tossed the tome aside, but grabbing her sword was out of the question. She grimaced again at the sudden movement, her side twinging in pain.

"Fear not, dear lady!" a sudden voice rang out. Morgan staggered backwards as a figure took its place in front of her. He was dressed in spectacular armor, a shield adorning his entire left arm. In his right, a shining sword.

Perhaps it was all too good to be true, perhaps it was some miracle, but Morgan didn't care anymore. Her feet carried her back and back and back until she rested against the side of the house, sliding down to sit. She winced and let her eyes close. Finally a time to rest, and she left the risen in the hands of the mystery hero.

When her eyes fluttered open, her heart jumped into her throat as the face of a rough man entered her visage. She jerked, jumped, and sat up with a yelp. It was a choice she regretted immediately as pain shot up through her side.

"Hey!" the man shouted, his brows furrowing into a frown. "Lay back down! You aren't healed yet."

"Ah…." Morgan groaned, staring blankly at the man. He was dressed in attire she had never seen, colored purple and black and a drape over his shoulder. In his hand was a staff, glowing dimly as he lowered it out of her face.

"I think you're scaring her, Brady," a light voice rang up. Morgan looked up and her brown eyes met those of another who was incredibly familiar.

Brady, presumably, redirected his frown to the man with swooped up hair. Instead of fighting back, as Morgan thought he might, he reverted his attention back to her.

"Lay down," he suggested gently, albeit it was not as gentle as Morgan thought he might have intended.

Morgan squirmed, "Who…who are you?" she asked quietly. Her eyes began to scan the room, looking for any other people. It was obvious the room was her own, the house hers. But the people were new to her, completely. She had never seen them before in her life, but her gut told her loud and clear that they were not enemies. They certainly weren't risen.

"Name's Brady," Brady offered his hand, and Morgan took it cautiously. They shook once, twice, and released. He then pointed back to the other. The man waved and put on a flashing smile.

"And I'm Inigo," he planted his hands on his hips, "it's a pleasure to meet you, my dear lady. What might your name be?"

Feeling a bit more comfortable, Morgan slid back down on her bed, "My name is Morgan," she replied. Brady raised up his staff again and it resumed its bright glowing. The pain slowly started to subside, and she breathed again much easier.

"I must say, you fought those risen quite spectacularly," Inigo began, sliding around to sit on the bed. "Have you been out here long?"

Morgan nodded, "My whole life," she gasped not a moment after as the healing finished, and her wound sealed shut.

"Your whole life?" It was then that Brady chose to butt in, a little shocked at the development. Morgan nodded, a hum of affirmation leaving her lips.

"I and my mother lived here together, but she's gone," Morgan slid her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. She meandered about the room in search of her mirror, then inspected her clothes. There was some crude stitching in along the side where they had ripped upon meeting the blade.

"Where's my coat?" she asked then, whirling around. She ignored whatever questions were about to rise from the two others' lips and moved towards the door. It opened with relative ease, revealing to her just one more person she didn't know.

"Hey! You shouldn't be walking around yet—!" Brady called after her. He pushed himself to his feet and moved out after Morgan, Inigo followed suit.

"Who are you?" Morgan frowned. A particularly hard frown was sent towards the man she saw handling her precious coat. She weaved around the furniture and walked over to the masked man. She was about to rip her coat from his hands when she caught sight of just what he was doing. In one hand was a needle. With some superb amount of skill, it threaded through the fabric and stitched the rip.

"That's Gerome," Inigo introduced, a wide smile on his face. He took Morgan by the shoulders and pulled her away, "he doesn't like to be disturbed. So come now, tell us more about your life," he offered.

Morgan raised an eyebrow and straightened up. She brushed away his hands and dusted her tank top off.

"I lived with my mother. She left some…uh," she raised her fingers and began to count on them. She stopped when she held up a palm and a finger, "six years ago."

Inigo and Brady looked at each other.

"What are you three doing out here?" she asked.

"We've been out there killing the risen," Inigo began, "some sort of army I guess, after our parents. We'd heard word that there was an unusually large amount of risen gathering around this area and came to investigate!"

There are others like you.

Morgan pondered the idea for a moment, "Just you?" she wondered. Her feet lead her back over to the main sitting area. Gerome, as she had gathered, briefly looked up at her. He handed up her coat and received a joyous smile in return.

"There are others," Gerome clarified.

"Thank you!" the comment was brushed aside as Morgan again adorned the over-sized coat. "Oh what a nice job, yes," she laughed and inspected the stitches. There was no reply to her overzealous appreciation, only silence as they watched her twirl.

"Do you plan to stay here?" Inigo asked then. Morgan stopped twirling and went stiff at the question. Her hands coiled around one another. She sucked in a breath.

You are to find them and fight back!

Morgan gulped, "Mother…told me that they would come for me—the risen," she replied in turn. Her voice had gone quiet, and her face had gone serious. She eyed the boisterous boy and breathed deeply yet again. "I don't know why she told me, or how she even knew but—"

Morgan stopped short. She didn't particularly want to leave the comfort of her own home. It was all she knew, all she'd ever known. And even more so, where she'd been alone all this time. These strangers appear from nowhere and save her life from a horde she'd never seen coming. Dreaming was out of the question; it was as if her mind knew what to do in this situation.

"Can I come?" she picked up where she left off, head slowly turning to meet eyes with all of them. The idea didn't seem too pleasant, not with the threat of risen rising slowly the longer Morgan stayed in one spot. But Say'ri had requested Morgan find the chance to fight back—this seemed like a god send to fulfill her mother's wishes.

"I don't have a problem with it," Inigo chirped, his gaze sliding over to Brady.

"The more the merrier," he replied. Then he looked to Gerome, who only grunted.

"We should get back quickly then."

"Get back? Get back where?" Morgan inquired, her head tilting in curiosity.

"To Ylisse, the Ylisstol castle," Gerome didn't seem too enthused about explaining the situation. He stood, his posture screamed annoyance as he stomped towards the door. Though the area was foreign to Morgan, she had heard stories of it from Say'ri. All she could figure was that it was their base of operations. It only made sense in the long run to return.

Morgan didn't pack much, only a small bag she could sling over her shoulders. After all, her tomes had been used up and her sword was broken. Besides the clothes on her back, she didn't need much either. It was easier to travel light, she had been advised. Especially due to their mode of transportation. In order to return to a place called Ylisse, they would ride the Wyvern of which the likes Morgan had never seen. It was an innate curiosity that was leading her to agree so easily. Perhaps even thoughts of her long dead father, who would have never let an adventure go to waste.

At least, that was what Say'ri told her.