A/N: Welcome to my latest project for FE7. As the summary indicates, this is a story focused on Karel, the Sword Demon of FE7 and later Sword Saint of FE6. I always enjoyed Karel's character but found elements confusing or muddled at best going off of what Intelligent Systems gives us. For instance, no one knows what Karel was like before he was a demon, what caused him to become one, or even what prompted his change from demon to saint. Thus, consider this my earnest attempt to connect the dots and fill in the gaps, so to speak. I will not say much else other than thank you for stopping by and I hope you enjoy what I have to offer. If you have any criticisms or comments, feel free to review.

Finally, a very generous thank you goes to Dieuwtjin for his services as my beta reader.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem. It is the property of Nintendo and Intelligent Systems.

Prologue: First Blood

It was always the same thing each night. He didn't dream anymore like he had in the past. Whenever he closed his eyes now, all he saw was fire. There were times when he woke up and could taste the acrid smoke. In the middle of the fire stood a man, clad in a blue robe, his sword dripping with blood. He'd turn, and that would be when he would wake up.

It had been another one of those nights for him. The crow of the morning cuckoo had not even sounded and Karel was already awake. He lay upon the straw woven mat, staring blankly at the ceiling of the tent. He rolled over onto his side and felt the corners of his mouth turn up. His younger sister was curled up into a ball, the blanket pulled tight over her. She had a content smile on her face. He rolled over again, trying to force himself back to sleep, but no matter how much he tossed and turned he knew it was pointless.

As silently as he could, he dressed himself in his green robe, buckled his belt, and slipped on his boots and gauntlets. He retrieved a long, curved sword protected by a worn leather sheath and affixed the weapon to his belt. He snatched one last look at his sister and made sure she was still asleep. He knew all too well how she would demand to go with him if he woke her.

He stepped lightly around the few tents that made up his clan's camp. The grass, still wet with the morning dew, crunched softly under his boots. He passed the goat pen; both of them still asleep as their stomachs rose and fell in a constant rhythm.

The training grounds were located just to the east of the camp, upon a barren, flat hill. From the top, Karel could clearly make out the camp of his clan. A pang of regret ran through him; he remembered when the tents used to reach almost to the grounds, yet now they seemed so far away. He drew his sword and cleared his mind.

Karel closed his eyes and felt the wind rustle his gray-black hair. Then he began. His blade moved slowly at first, with refined control and practice. A thrust fluidly turned into a slash; his slash seamlessly morphed into a chop. As he continued, the speed increased. To one watching, it was almost like watching a beautiful, deadly dance. As he stopped, he could feel the sweat beading on his forehead.

His muscles were already aching in certain places. He needed to continue though. If one routine like this was enough to tire him out, then he would never accomplish anything. He refused to allow himself to stand by and be helpless again.

Karel was about to begin when he was suddenly aware of another's presence. He glanced over and saw his father watching him, his cold gray eyes appraising every action he made. There was no warmth in those eyes, not anymore. Any traces of it had been snuffed out like the flames of that night.

Neither moved nor spoke. Karel was not sure what he could say and finally managed a half-smile greeting. His father merely walked to his place opposite Karel. His hand rested firmly over the hilt of the Wo Dao, the clan's most prized possession.

"Let us begin," he said simply.

The training went on for almost an hour. The only sounds to be heard came from his father constantly barking out critiques or new patterns for Karel to perform. He finished the routine and nearly collapsed from exhaustion. He used his sword as a prop to help support him.

"Again. The last strike was too slow. Feel the force carry you all the way through from beginning to end."

Karel would have protested if it had done any good. Any words would be viewed as mere excuses. He barely managed a nod before he started the pattern of strikes once again. His father watched every detail, never once blinking. Karel finished and looked over at his father. There was no change in the man's face.

"Your thrusts lack conviction," criticized Ryland.

"How exactly do I add 'conviction' to a thrust?" asked Karel.

"You show hesitation," clarified his father. "In battle, that will mean the difference between life and death. An opponent with the intent to kill is entirely different from one without."

"But if I'm skilled enough to beat someone without killing them, what difference does it make?" replied Karel.

"Don't let your skill go to your head!" shot back his father, causing Karel to jump. He shook his head. "How long are you going to keep clinging to such worthless sentiments? You will never master the blade, much less be able to protect anything at this rate."

Karel ground his teeth in frustration. "But what is the point in needlessly spilling blood?"

"And what makes you believe you can be a swordsman without the intent to kill?" his father calmly asked in turn.

Karel had no answer for him; nothing he ever said or did seemed right anymore. Nothing was ever good enough for his father. No matter how much he improved, his father's shadow always loomed over him. It just wasn't fair.

"Do you remember the words I spoke to you when I first handed you a sword?" asked his father.

Karel nodded. He remembered them all too well. He spoke them slowly in a monotone voice. "Swords are weapons that kill. The way of the sword is the art of killing."

"Exactly." His father began to pace. "To try and wield a sword as well as think you can spare the life of your foe is simply naïve. Only a child would still believe he could have both."

Something about the way he said "child" made Karel snap. He went through the motions from the earlier routine perfectly and shoved all his anger into the final thrust. The blade stopped an inch from his father's throat. The man hadn't even flinched, much to Karel's frustration.

"Go on. Finish it." Karel froze and then backed away. His father snorted in disgust. "You lack the resolve to do what is necessary." With a gloved hand, his father flicked Karel's blade away from his face like an annoying fly.

"Stop talking like it's so simple!" shot back Karel. His voice got smaller. "You can't tell me you actually wanted me to kill you!"

His father shook his head. "I am disappointed. I had expected better of the boy who practically begged me to teach him."

"I…that-"

"Enough," cut off his father. "Return here tonight. Then, we will test your resolve."

His father left him as though the two had been having a casual conversation. Karel slumped to his knees as though he had the wind punched out of him. Part of him wanted to cry while the other part wanted to punch his father in the face. More than anything, he wanted his father just to put his hand on his shoulder and tell him that it was all right. That was done though. The days when his father used to carry him on his shoulders, or used to gently smile and encourage him were no more.

Karel steadied his breathing and returned to the camp. He spotted his Uncle Raidal sitting with Karla. He seemed to be telling her a story, and a riveting one at that since she seemed completely oblivious to all else at the moment. His uncle stopped and glanced over in Karel's direction, flashing him what only could be a sympathetic smile. Karel was half-tempted to ask his uncle if he had heard but was interrupted when Karla dashed over and gripped him in a tight hug. Karel nearly fell over backwards from the sudden weight. "Whoa! Easy there, Karla."

"Are you ready to keep your promise?" she asked with a grin.

"Promise?"

Her face shifted to a pout. "Don't tell me you forgot already! The promise you made to me yesterday."

Karel allowed himself a small grin. Following his session with his father, he actually had forgotten. If he told Karla that, he would never hear the end of it. "Of course I didn't forget."

She narrowed her eyes. "Liar."

Karel shook his head in defeat. "All right, I don't remember. But whatever I promised still stands."

Karla seemed to brighten somewhat at that. "You promised to show me where the deer grazed and take me close, remember?"

He looked over at his uncle. "Is that all right, Uncle?" he asked sheepishly.

Raidal smiled. "Your father and elder brothers are out on a job for the afternoon. As long as you get back before dinner, I see no harm in it."

"Thanks, Uncle! Well then, let's go," said Karel with a broad grin. His sister took his arm and all but dragged him out of the camp. He could feel her enthusiasm and energy infect him and by the time they had actually found the deer, the morning seemed like a distant memory.

-x-

The afternoon was drawing late and Karel realized it was time for them to head back. As he got closer to the camp, the events of the morning came to the fore of his thoughts. His father had said he intended to test Karel's resolve. He could only wonder such a statement meant.

Upon feeling a tug on his sleeve, Karel looked down and saw Karla seemed concerned. "My apologies. Did I space out for a bit?"

"Are you okay, brother? You seemed really sad when you came back."

She was more observant than he gave her credit for; that or he was just that bad at hiding his feelings. "Father and I had a little argument, that's all."

"It's just that you still look sad and it seems like it's been happening a lot more lately," she said softly.

Karel gave her a brief poke in the forehead, startling her as she rubbed the spot. "I'm sorry, Karla. I'll try and be more cheerful from now on."

She seemed to accept that answer, as her cheery smile returned like it had never left. As the two neared the firepit, Karel could smell the aroma of baked flatbread. His mother along with his aunt sat around the fire, tending to the dough as it cooked on a hot rock. Upon seeing the two, his mother smiled. A few young girls and boys were already gathered around, waiting for the breads to finish cooking.

"Did you two have fun?" she asked softly. Karla ran over and gave her mother a hug.

"Yeah! It was great! Karel showed me the deer and we even got close enough to touch one."

His mother placed a comforting arm around his little sister. "Well I'm glad to hear the two of you had a good time. Dinner will be ready soon. Karel, why don't you go and clean up a bit before your father returns? He said that tonight was an important time for you."

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," said Karel with an awkward grin.

"More training, little Karel? It's a wonder you haven't been worked to death yet," mused his aunt.

"Ryland works them hard because he knows he needs to," interjected his mother. "Besides, Karel requested to be taught personally by his father. There isn't a better swordsman in the clan he could learn from."

His aunt sighed. "Forgive this old lady's musings."

"It's fine, Aunt Marel," replied Karel. "I have learned a lot in the last few months and I really do enjoy swordsmanship."

He returned to his tent and cleaned up, mentally trying to refocus for the evening test his father had planned for him.

-x-

By the time he had arrived at the training grounds, it was already sunset. The plains seemed to have borrowed the red hue in place of their usual green, giving the grass a red and gold brilliance. His father was likely already there; shortly after his and Karel's brothers' return, his father had departed saying he had to prepare for the evening.

He was surprised when he arrived at the top to see his father was not alone. He had with him a man Karel had never seen before in his life. The man had both his hands and knees tied. What stuck out the most to Karel were his eyes; they were filled with fear. Next to him was something smaller covered in a brown cloak.

"Father, what's going on?" asked Karel hesitantly.

"I told you. We are going to test your resolve. It is time to determine if you have the conviction to do what is necessary," said his father plainly.

"W-what are you saying?"

His father pointed to the sword at Karel's waist. "Simple. Show me that you can discard your childish ideas of compassion. Here and now, you will kill this man."

The man's eyes bulged and he began to squirm wildly about. His mouth was gagged so all he could utter were muffled shouts. Karel froze, uncertain about what he had just heard. His father kicked the man in the knees forcing him to kneel.

"Draw your sword and do it, Karel," ordered his father.

Karel looked from the man, who was now crying profusely, to his father. His father didn't say any more and merely gestured once again to Karel's sword. Karel gulped and nodded.

Slowly, he removed the sword from its sheath and gripped it tightly with both his hands. He touched the blade to the man's neck, causing him to look up at Karel. His eyes were pleading for Karel to spare him.

Karel held the blade there for what felt like an eternity. He could feel his heartbeat pounding inside his head. The blade was visibly shaking in his grip.

"I…I can't do it," he said, letting the blade go slack.

"There is no reason to feel sympathy for this man. He murdered his clansmen in hopes of acquiring their wealth for himself."

"It's not that…"

His father pressed further. "Discard your hesitation!" he roared suddenly. "Such hesitation is what led to the deaths of your brother and fellow clansmen!"

Karel bit down on his lip and slowly replaced the sword over the man's neck. He breathing felt forced and the sword was like a dead weight in his arms. He couldn't move it, no matter how much he willed it. He looked into the man's eyes, and could see how much they were begging him not to do it. Karel could feel tears starting to form in his eyes.

"I can't!" shouted Karel emphatically as he backed away. It all was wrong. It all felt so wrong.

"Did you not tell me it was your desire to become stronger, strong enough to prevent that tragedy from happening again?" growled his father. "Were those empty words just meant to console a guilty conscience?"

"Stop!" roared Karel. Tears were now freely flowing down his face. "I can't do it. I'll do any other test you have, just not this one. Please…just stop."

His father finally let out a sigh. "I was hoping I would not have to resort to this, but you have forced my hand."

Karel looked up in confusion. "What are you saying?"

His father removed the cloak and his mind went blank. It didn't make sense. She shouldn't be here, not her.

Karla… thought Karel, his entire being numb with shock.

She was clearly confused but upon seeing her brother's face started to worry.

"Broth-" His father cut her off by grabbing the collar of her robe.

"Let me make this easy for you Karel," said his father. He drew the Wo Dao from its sheath and placed the edge of the blade to her neck. "Either you kill the man before you, or Karla will die instead."

"Father…please…don't do this," begged Karel. "She's family! She doesn't need to be involved!"

Why Karla? How did she get pulled into this? Why? Did mother allow it? Just what was going on. Why? Why? WHY?!

"I'll give you until the count of three. Remember that if her blood spills, it will be on your hands," added his father. Karel was about to say something when his father cut him off. "No more words. If you have something to say, say it with your sword. One."

Think! He had to think! There was no time though. There wasn't any time to think, no time to do anything but act.

"Two."

The sword was still in his hand. He could feel his grip tightening. Karla was in tears, saying something that he couldn't hear. The sound of blood rushing through his head deafened him to everything but his father's voice.

"Three."

"AAAAAAHHHHHH!" All thought was lost as he let out a bestial roar.

The sword came down.

There was a dull thud as the man's head fell from his body. Crimson blood pooled around the headless body, staining the hilltop. The thought of what he had just done didn't even register with his mind. His breathing was heavy and fast. He looked over and saw that Karla was fine; the Wo Dao was safely tucked within its sheath at his father's side. His father regarded him with a smile. It was wrong. He wished then and there that he would never have to see that smile again.

He had killed him.

He was only ten years old.