Fire Emblem IV: The Holy wars
Foreword
It has been many long, hard years since the momentous battle at Valhalla, since we fled Lenster and since the deaths of all those I'd grown to love and cherish. To even think back to those times tears at my heartstrings like a vulture at carrion, I fear that if I think too long, the grief, remorse and anger would tear my heart and soul clean out of my chest, taking with it the measly vestiges of my fragile sanity.
Fortunately, the last few years have been filled with anxiety and action enough to take my mind off a thousand tragedies. Fear and chaos have been my constant companions, but hope and the burden of my final duties have kept me fighting when I'd rather submit in despair, fleeing when I would fight in rage and hiding when I'd flee in panic. For now, we have found respite in this tiny, isolated town of Fiana in the Lenster highlands. The people are simple and have little conception or care of what happens beyond the valley that is their home. However, even here I fear the peace will be short lived, one needn't look too far beyond the village walls to see and understand the impending catastrophe.
Others may not see it yet, but I know of the Dark Cult's insidious influence first hand. I can see their hand in everything as I never saw it before, corrupting the empire from within, like a disease of the body that comes on so slowly that by the time it shows itself, it is too late. It is too late now. Sometimes I wonder what might've been if we'd understood the threat earlier, if we'd known how they had plotted against the world for so long, all culminating in this final, achingly slow victory. I wonder if we'd have done things differently, whether we would've been able to prevent the catastrophe at Valhalla, whether such costly sacrifices could have been avoided. Yet I know that such ponderings are pointless and even so, I doubt that such knowledge would have diverted us from our chosen course of action. On some level I cannot help but feel that what happened was fated to occur. We all did what we felt was right and we could not have done things differently any more than we could've turned back time.
However, what has passed has passed and now we must look to the future. Sadly, no matter how hard I try I can foresee only darkness in times ahead. Here I am, a man still in the prime of his life that has seen and known more grief than any man should, able to see only the pain and despair that will come. Although, I forget that there is still hope, hope in the souls of those that have departed and hope in the spirits of the children in my care. To tell the truth, it is they who have sustained and restrained me these past years. My duty and love for them has kept me secure when rage and grief would threaten to rob me of my sanity. They are the hope of this world, but I pity them, for they shall never know the true joys of childhood. They have been and will be hunted for their very birth, their times will be dark ones filled with overwhelming doubt and insurmountable obstacles, obstacles for which it falls to me to prepare them. The boy already has so much of his father in his powerful features and dark auburn hair, but his gentle spirit is undoubtedly his mother's. The girl takes after her mother with her honeyed hair and her fiercely proud eyes. I wish I could spare them from the darkness of their futures, but as with so many things, their destiny is fated all I can do is prepare them as best I can to face it.
What follows is a true account of the Holy Wars as recounted by myself, Sir Finn, Lancer of Lenster and squire to Prince Cuan. It for their sake that I pen this account from the peaceful isolation of Fiana, that they might know the truth from the Empire's lies. I am no scholar or poet to compose a tale of epic proportions, all I can provide is my own truth, as accurate as that may or may not be, and hope that the truth of this time shall not be lost to them and others to come, a time when men and women far better than I fought for their beliefs with conviction and purpose, a time when knights were chivalrous, warriors were honourable and gods walked the earth in the forms of men: Lord Sigurd, noble and just, Prince Cuan, honourable and brave, and the Eltosian the Lion, loyal to the end...