A/N: Now, I could wait to post this, but I'm super excited, and I know you guys are excited, and I'm on a roll, and it's not long enough for me to get stuck (I hope...), so here we go!
This won't be as long as some of my other multi-chapter works, so I might be able to post all of it before summer-no promises, though.
ALSO, since there's no room for this info in the summery: content/trigger warnings for child abuse (or what basically amounts to it) and trauma, so proceed with caution. Title is taken from a song by Nathan Sharp/NateWantsToBattle, as are the chapter titles.
He'd thought he was finally done with those nightmares.
His footsteps likely echoed through the temple, accompanied by the sound of his feathers faintly rustling as he shivered with fear. He was probably gasping for air, coughing up soil and soot-but he couldn't hear any of that. No, as far as the angel could tell, there was only dead silence.
Because to him, it wasn't his sounds that mattered; it was the sounds that should've surrounded him.
For the first time since waking up on the charred battlefield he'd been fighting on, he heard himself make a sound. "M-my goddess!" His call rang hollowly through the marble hallways, going unanswered. "Men?" His run slowed to a near-crawl, eyes darting about anxiously. "Men, this is your captain! I-if any of you can hear me, please-!"
He trailed off. It… it was pointless, he realized, a sharp gasp exiting his throat. He turned around quickly, letting out one last desperate cry. "My goddess!"
No answer.
Chrom was still getting the hang of how things worked around here, but he'd like to think he was doing a pretty good job. He had managed to become acquainted with all the others dubbed 'Echo Fighters' alongside himself and his daughter Lucina-well, Dark Samus was seemingly impossible to crack, but very few of the other residents of the manor bothered with her(?) much, either, so he felt he could count what he had gotten done with her a success.
As such, while he wasn't as perceptive as some of his Ylissean comrades, he knew enough of the other Echos' habits that he knew it was odd to find Dark Pit up and about so early. Usually, even if he did wake up, he wouldn't be found in the main halls. Pit and Lucina said that he'd usually spend those early hours training, or locked up in his room, avoiding conversation. (Not that this surprised Chrom all that much-he'd served in an army with Lon'qu, for gods' sake.)
And yet, there the angel was, leaning over the balcony, surveying the main foyer on the floor below. As Chrom approached, he noticed the tiny droplets of water still clinging to Dark Pit's wings and hair. So, he took the time to take a shower before coming out? Not even half of the Smashers were up and about at this point; what was he doing up?
Chrom bit his lip, then cleared his throat. "Um, Dark Pit?"
The angel jumped slightly, turning to face Chrom. For a moment, Chrom could've sworn he saw a flash of… something on Dark Pit's face. If it was real, though, it passed quickly, and the angel simply sighed, crossing his arms and leaning against the railing again, this time turned to face the prince. "What is it?"
"Nothing, it's just…" Chrom paused awkwardly, unsure of how to express his concern without simply setting the angel off. "Any reason you're up so early?"
Dark Pit huffed quietly, averting his eyes. This time, something was definitely off about it. It wasn't mere annoyance; Chrom could've sworn he noticed something else there. "Couldn't sleep," he said, his voice low and soft.
That Chrom could certainly pick up on as odd. The Ylissean royal scratched the back of his head and sighed. If only he knew what was wrong, he might be able to help… "Right, well…" Chrom forced a chuckle, trying to keep the mood light-hearted. "If you need help next time, it seems to be customary to fall asleep on the furniture downstairs."
"Yeah, I know." Chrom took a few steps towards Dark Pit, and noticed that the closer he came, the more the angel drew his wings behind himself. Poor guy, he thought. He knew that both the angels would suffer from nightmares occasionally, due to what Lucina and Robin called the 'Chaos War,' and while Chrom hadn't dared to pry as to what that was, he'd encountered enough nightmares-both his own and those of his comrades-after Grima's defeat, it didn't surprise him in the least if Dark Pit was up with a bad dream.
"Alright." Well, this was getting awkward fast. Chrom cleared his throat again, then said, "Well, uh, I'll leave you to it." He turned away, the paused, glancing over his shoulder. "Oh, and, well, if you need to talk to someone-"
"I don't," Dark Pit growled in response, eyes shooting up to meet Chrom's. The prince took a step back in response, more than a little surprised, and the angel turned away, repeating, more quietly this time, "I don't."
Chrom had a distinct feeling the angel was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.
The draw was too much. Draw to what, he wasn't sure, but if it something other than the lifeless, empty remains of his home, then it was worth investigating.
Pit felt his feet drag against the marble tiles as he made his way through the temple. His face was red and damp, but he wasn't crying anymore. He didn't have anything left to give.
It wasn't until he rounded the corner, entered the room, and came face-to-face with that mirror again that feeling began to return to him.
A sharp gasp escaped his throat, his eyes growing moist again. "N-no…" Slowly, he approached the mirror, gazing into it. It was… a portal, she'd said. To another realm, like their own, but… worse. Full of monsters and villains in disguise, traitors in the making; a whole pack of wolves in sheep's clothing.
And yet… Now it was the only place to go. His hand ran over the glass, wondering how it would even activate. He caught his own eyes, red-on-red, the natural hue of his irises almost bleeding into the tired, tear-stained whites. He was alone. Nobody… Nobody was left here. All that waited for him was to let the Underworld Army-or whatever it was that had destroyed his home and goddess-find him and, hopefully, kill him quickly.
But there was another world through this mirror. He could leave. Escape from the ashes and craters around him, be reborn anew.
And all he had to do was abandon his mission, his life's purpose, and everything he ever loved.
A deep breath shook his body, and he pulled his hand away quickly. No. He… He failed this world. If anything, he deserved to burn with it.
He stepped away from the mirror, refusing to meet his reflection's gaze. A hot rage filled his body suddenly-how dare this prop mock him, try to turn him away from his heart?! After all, his heart wanted to stay here, to make one last, futile final stand.
...Didn't it?
He stumbled backwards, hands shaking. With a cry of anguish, the angel took a flying leap at the mirror, determined to not let himself falter.
If any of the few hundred already-doomed mortals had been there, that would've been the last they'd seen of their pointless hope. The warrior of Skyworld; the Accursed Angel, as he was fondly known; with the eerie, unnatural wings and eyes, but a protective, loving heart, disappeared that day. Desperately trying to make himself adhere to his fate, and yet falling to desires he didn't know he had.
Meanwhile, in another realm, a new legend-of a creation of the Underworld, a twisted clone of mankind's hero-was born.
