Chapter 1: Mor Ardain Noir

Location: Some obscure beaches in lower Mor Ardain (53 years prior to the main game)

Time: 21:17

"Oh, come on, gents! Is this really necessary?"

Few things annoyed Flynn as much as a rifle to the face. And right now there were three.

"How'd ye get 'ere?" barked the Ardainian soldier through his ridiculous metal helmet. "And what's yer name? Where are yer papers?"

"Woah, slow down, fellas" said Flynn, raising a hand. "One question at a time."

"Yeah," said Atawn, "you should really ask him something like, can you please not hurt us, sir?"

All three soldiers gaped at the six-foot red elk that'd just spoken. "Wha— yer a Driver! Get him!"

Flynn rolled his eyes. "Damn it Atawn, you did that on purpose!"

Flynn ducked into a crouch and sprung straight into the nearest guard. The two others turned just as the first fell to the floor. Flynn used his momentum, shot a quick kick to another's knee, and hit him with a satisfying thwack. The third had enough sense to shoulder his gun, but by that point Flynn had closed the space between them. He hit the rifle aside and rammed his forehead into the man's nose. The soldier fell onto a few large boulders behind him.

"Don't forget me!"

Flynn turned, only to have a fist engulf his vision. The punch hit him square in the jaw and the loud Ardainian wind was lost under a sharp new ringing in his ears.

"You bastard," Flynn said through his teeth. He jumped forward and wrapped both arms around the man, sending both of them onto the sandy beach. Flynn sat up and tried prying the guard's helmet off but couldn't find purchase. Instead, he grabbed the nearest rock hit the damn thing with a vibrant clang. Near him, Atawn had reared on his front legs, using the hind ones to kick the other soldier into a terrifying skyward arc a few meters high. He landed a ways off with a cloud of sand.

Flynn got up and walked over to his Blade. But behind him the three men were groaning and still trying to stand.

"We don't have time for this," Flynn said. He pulled out one of his stilettos and pointed it towards the three of them. "Genesis Sleep!" The green light of Atawn's Blade Art fell over the soldiers and in moments they were unconscious and snoring.

"Atawn!" Flynn yelled. "You're supposed to be my pack-horse. My simple animal pack-horse!"

The elk looked aghast. "They had guns at your head! They were about to shoot you!"

"Bah, I had that completely under control."

"Yeah? Just like how you said this beach would be deserted?"

"Well," Flynn said, looking over his shoulder, "it is now."

Atawn frowned. "I'd say we have two hours before that Art wears off. We'll have to finish this mission in that time."

"Agreed." Flynn squinted at the jagged cliffs to their right. They were sharp and looked pretty damn crumbly; four hundred meters to the top, at least, and not a path in sight. "We're going to need to scale those," he offered.

"Ready when you are."

Flynn mounted Atawn's cloth saddle and the elk leapt a good twenty meters up. They hit a boulder and Atawn jumped again, as easy as a ball bouncing off a wall, ready for the next leap. Out beyond, some rough-looking rainclouds were rolling in over the cloud sea. The World Tree had become just a few blue lights and the moon was nonexistent. If they were going to catch a ship back to Gormott, they'd need one that could weather a tough storm. And damn it, once they were back, he'd finally demand a raise from those bastards at the Intelligence Council.

Flynn dismounted Atawn once they'd made it to the upper plain, where the white and orange lights of Alba Cavanich towered over them. Flynn then pulled out a knit hat and tucked his feline ears under it. The last thing he needed was some Ardainian asking why a Gormotti was walking down the streets.

He pointed at Atawn. "Alright remember, you horse, me farmer. Horses carry things and don't talk back."

"What horse has two silver horns sprouting from its head?"

"We're going to find a card key into Hardhaigh Palace," he continued, "snoop around a bit, learn what the Ardainians are up to, and not get caught. Savvy?"

Atawn nodded. "Always am."

They walked through the Kedeigh Gate and all the noises and smells of industry overtook them. Dung from a dozen different beasts mixed with the saltiness of desert sand and dry hay. There were sounds of hammers on metal, chatter from the night market, and steam released from any number of surrounding machinery. The whole city was a furious machine that pumped power from the huge, overheating Titan below. And amid all that action, no one gave a damn about some laborer and his horse.

Flynn and Atawn made for a nondescript ally. Once there, they climbed to the city's metal roofs and hid among the exhaust pipes, observing the chaos below.

"There!" Flynn pointed. Four more soldiers were shuffling down a sidewalk, but these were the palace guard variety, each with a card key at his hip. They walked across the street and into an inn. Flynn winked at Atawn. "Okay, I'll go grab that key and you head over to the palace wall. We'll meet there."

"You sure you'll be alright by yourself?"

Flynn grinned. "Hey, it's me we're talking about!"

He jumped down. Below was a metal catwalk that bridged his building with the inn, and with a few silent steps he'd raced over to it and made it inside. It was a quaint place, or as quaint as you'll get in Mor Ardain, where everything was cold steel and sodium lamps. An old carpet ran the length of the hallway and each wall had three or four doors. Midway down one side was another exit over to the inn's spring water baths. Flynn pocketed his hands and sauntered down it. He turned once, doubled back, and walked again in a rough semicircle. A few guests passed him here and there. And when he finally turned at the fork, he found the four palace guards standing right next to him.

Flynn smiled wide and nodded to them. They kept walking.

Immediately after they'd turned the corner, Flynn ducked into the closest room and shut the door.

If he was going to have any chance at getting that key, it had to be there. The room was depressingly bare—just a small bed, night stand, and dresser. But that suited his needs perfectly. Right on top of the bed was a bundle of cast-aside Ardainian equipment, as if they'd thrown it down in a hurry to be rid of it. Flynn searched the junk, throwing grieves on the floor and bracers to the side, until finally he came up with a slender metal rectangle: a palace key card.

"Like I said, we have two days max before we get shipped out again."

"Architect's balls! Why so soon?"

The voices were right outside Flynn's door. He was on his guard before he even pocketed the key. Flynn jumped to the door and reached for the handle, but the thing started opening inward before he even grasped it. He twirled away instead and, without anywhere else to hide, put his back against the wall behind the door just as it swung open.

"Don't know yet, but everyone in the palace is on edge. Feels like new orders are gonna get issued— what? Who the hell was in our room?"

The two soldiers ran to the bed and started grabbing their equipment. They pulled up the clothing and armor and flung it back on the bed. Then one of them turned and came face to face with Flynn.

"And who the hell are you?"

Flynn felt his eyes go wide. With a quick jump he ran to the door and burst out of it. The two other soldiers had heard the commotion and were right outside. Flynn jumped to their right, ducked out of their reach, and raced over the old worn carpet. All four of them chased him down the hallway. Flynn raced to the stairs, hearing yells of profanity as he pushed guests out of the way. Once at the bottom, Flynn emerged into the central tavern. And there he found himself staring at four more Ardainian soldiers.

"Oh damn," he said.

A hand pulled Flynn's shoulder, and one of the men hit him in the face, directly on the bruising area from earlier. Flynn's ears rang. The soldier followed this with a two-ton punch to his gut that knocked the air from his lungs. He fell onto the beer-stained tavern floor, gasping to return his breath. Hesitantly, Flynn stood up, and immediately regretted it as he felt a crack at the back of his head by something hard. All at once the world seemed to tilt on its axis. Somewhere beyond the blooming numb sensation around his head, he felt his knit cap slip down to the floor.

"Wha— you're just a pathetic Gormotti?"

Flynn spat a worryingly among of red liquid to the floor. "D-damn right."

The next kick sent him a few feet backwards, and his lower back his the small side of a table. His lungs felt like they were working three times as hard for a third of the breath. His vision blurred at the edges and his face was on fire. Flynn thought he registered three of the men approaching him, right as he heard shouting from the tavern entrance.

"What they hell is this? Someone get that thing out of here!"

"Who let this damn horse loose?"

Flynn pried open his eyes. Standing in the main entrance was a familiar red figure.

"Atawn!"

"Hey," grinned the elk, "figured I'd find you down here. It was you that we were talking about." Atawn took one of Flynn's stilettos in his mouth and threw it towards him.

Flynn caught it, lifted the thing towards the soldiers, and with the last of his breath he spat, "Genesis Sleep!"

Green light covered the room and soldier, barkeep, and patron alike fell into successive unconscious. Atawn jumped over the bodies and came right up to Flynn, yanking him to his feet.

"That Art's not going to last long."

"Well, we'll just have to storm the palace at double-speed, then," Flynn wheezed.

"Wait, you didn't—"

Flynn held up the card key and grinned a ridiculous smile from under his quickly developing bruises.

"Let's go," he said.

Compared to getting the key, sneaking into the palace was quick. Atawn lead him around the buildings and jumped over the palace wall. Soon, with the help of the key, Flynn and his Blade were in the upper corridors of the building. They found a private ledge to the outside, circled around it, and continued scaling the structure until they'd made it up to the glass throne room at its top. Silently, they approached one of it's open windows.

Inside, the room was just what Flynn wanted to see: a dozen men sitting around a table. The best information always came from meetings that looked like these. Flynn first identified Emperor Ardanach right where he should be at the table's head. Near him was his blue-haired blade, Brighid, and a few other high-ranking military types. Beyond them, a few scientists were talking.

"… and we've confirmed our suspicions, sire. Our Titan Mor Ardain truly is dying."

"How long do we have?" said the Emperor, without looking up.

"We more data to create accurate models. But by our best hypothesis, we believe fifty years."

"However," continued another researcher, "we will run out of food long before that."

"Then it's just as we've discussed!" boomed a general. "Sir, we cannot waste another moment! We must—"

"I've made my decision," said the Emperor, silencing him with a hand. "General Jarlin, I want four battalions of eight companies each, ready to leave immediately. Take your men to White Chair in Gormott. They're the closest Titan to us right now." He paused a moment to cough. "Establish a siphon of Gormotti crop into Mor Ardain. Do not engage unless they resist. But, if they do, you have authority to destroy their capital and everything in it. I will not let our nation die. Mor Ardain will rule over Gormott if necessary."

Flynn and Atawn gave each other a knowing look.

"We need to leave," Flynn said. "Now."