Disclaimer: I am poor and own nothing.
After more than a year of being out, I've decided to revamp this chapter, as well as the next handful. The first chapter is supposed to leave a good impression, and this one is—well, WAS lacking. So I'm coming back to improve upon it. See you all on the other side!
I woke without as much as a gasp. Despite it being the best sleep I could ever remember having, there were several things wrong with this. The short grass blowing in the wind tickled my face, and I realized this was not where I fell asleep.
One, it was a pleasantly warm day with a hint of a breeze and summer green grass. For the middle of a Minnesotan spooky month, this was unusual in itself.
Two, I was sleeping on the ground. The bare ground, in the middle of nowhere without a blanket or a similar piece of cloth. There were no buildings in sight. Just me, The clothes on my back, and the sword laying across my lap—neither of which were mine—as I sat up amongst rolling green hills and a subtle dirt road weaving between them.
Three, I did not own a tunic, sword, or pauldron. Whoever or whatever dropped out in the boonies decided to leave me with some spare clothes, a weapon, and armor of all things, while all of my own belonging were gone.
Instinctively, I patted my pocket, looking for my phone. I found nothing, and made frantic swipes across the remaining pockets and folds of this foreign garment to no avail. The Gen-Z'er in me began to panic, and I shot to my feet.
The sword clattered to the ground. It dislodged in its sheath, revealing a gleaming steel blade. My eyes lingered on the shining metal for a moment before jerking upward. I spun in mad circles in a last ditch attempt to spot any hint of familiarity.
Finding nothing, I collapsed to the ground. My mind was going haywire. With nothing to base my location off of, and no phone to call for help, I was shut-down. Desperation and fear killed any semblance of coherent thought. "Oh god," I muttered, once or twice more afterward, and ran a hand through my dark, curling hair. My fingers caught on a metal-branded headband, however, which I tore off and threw to the dirt in frustration.
I had to cool down. My mind was still a roiling pit of uncertainty and distress, meaning this novel idea didn't occur to me until I was flat on my back once more, facing the sky. However long that took, I had no idea. Felt like hours. My breathing slowed during that time, and my panic faded to a fog in the back of my mind. A similar haze walled off any memory between falling asleep last night and waking up here. I racked my brain, but came up with nothing. Not even a dream to mistake for reality. This blankness in my head left me with an ironic headache.
I told myself to stand up. Sitting here, stewing, would do me no good. The thin dirt road had to lead somewhere, right? Though I did not know a single dirt road near my home, my knowledge of said area was lackluster to say the least.
The difference between which direction I chose was imperative. If I went the wrong way, I could be wandering for hours more than I needed to.
I debated with myself on whether to start my trek facing North or South, based on the sun, and a tug on my subconscious urged me to go North. A serious tug, at that, like a rope tied around my skull yanking me down the road. The same tug made me grab the sword and sheathe. At that point, I grabbed the headband as well. I didn't bother strapping either on before taking my leave.
Mindless wandering down a path was far from an exciting experience, in all honesty. The area around me was peaceful—blue skies, green grasses, and all that—but my psyche was still addled. If I paid the slightest attention to the area around me, I was reminded of where I wasn't. In other words, anything I didn't tune out, I was too stressed to take it in.
Dirt, dirt, and more dirt.
I crested a hill and planted my hands on my knees with a deep breath. A cluster of buildings, several dozen, cast from stones with red-tiled roofs, lay at the bottom of my hill. A larger road led out of the town, and five or six smaller paths led out in different directions. My stomach sank. Memories of my brother's Europe pictures resurfaced, because I could not picture houses like these anywhere else. To my chagrin, I was not from Europe. More than 3000 miles of ocean stood between those countries and mine.
At the same time, I was relieved. Even if I was a long way from home, civilization was civilization.
I descended the hill and was soon strolling along the tiled streets. There were no cars. On the dirt roads, I had not seen any cars either. I chalked that up to it being a boondock country road, but in a town this far out, there had to be some cars, right? How would you get to metropolitan areas without a car? This was bizarre.
Maybe it was a European thing, I told myself. I could not bring myself to put my faith in that excuse, but it was all I had. I repeated it like a mantra in my head. I drilled that shit in.
In the end, it was a pointless endeavor. The excuse of ignorance could only have brought me so far. Its mileage came to an end when I met the first resident of this township. Dressed in a plain, green dress laced up the back like a corset and a pink cloth wrapped about her head to cover the majority of her blonde hair. She was lugging a wicker basket piled with fruit down the way.
I heard chattering further ahead, but my attention was on this pre-Rennaissance-village-maiden-looking fuck walking in front of me. I was shocked into dropping the sword. The noise of sheathed steel on stone caught the woman's attention, and she got a blatant look and my wide-eyed, jaw-dropped stare.
"Can I help you?" she asked. It didn't register. I was lucky she spoke English… American English…"Sir? Can I help you?"
I closed my mouth and said, "Uh, no, I'm—actually, yes. Could… could you tell me where I am?"
She flashed a bright, perfect smile. "A lost traveler, eh? A mercenary by the looks of it." She nodded to the sword on the ground, then the pauldron on my shoulder. She isn't surprised in the slightest that I have a sword with me? What the actual fuck?
I nodded dumbly.
"Well you're in luck." She rested her basket against her hip. "You've found yourself in Southtown. Just a day's travel southwest of Ylisstol."
My heart stopped. My brain went dead. My blood went still, hell froze over, and the sky fell to the earth. Before I knew what happened, all of my colors swirled to black and I heard a muffled thud.
A mint green light flooded my vision. There was nothing else. I was nothing. I had no shape. I waved nonexistent hands in front of a nonexistent face that saw nothing but green. In complete disregard to this, I felt like I was expanding. A constant hum filled the stagnant emptiness like music, surrounding me. It drew closer and louder. The more prevalent it grew, so too did I grow larger. Without a scale to compare myself to, I had no proof, but I was sure that I dwarfed what I was when I came here. It was like stretching, but the burn never ended and I wasn't moving.
The humming surpassed all of my other senses. I saw no light and felt no more growth. The hum engulfed me, swallowed me, but a higher-pitched noise came from left field. It cut through the hum, and I realized it was a scream. The terrified shriek peeled through the pleasant music like a sword, a clean slice through peace.
The surreal dream came to an end as I gasped. I threw myself straight into a sitting position and clutched a shaking hand to my head. Where… Where am I? I was in a bed nothing like my own. My walls weren't made from bricks. My windows had glass, not swinging wooden doors.
What the fuck was happening? Southtown? Ylisstol? No, nope, not happening. I was not in Ylisse. There was no possible way for that. Someone was playing a trick on me, or something. Some elaborate trick and I was tripping myself deeper. Maybe a jab at how much time I spent playing Fire Emblem. There was no way this was real in any other capacity. My world was spinning, even as a soft hand came to rest on my shoulder.
"Are you okay?" the woman from outside asked. I put her under extreme scrutiny. I inspected every detail of her face from the shape of her eyes to the gentle slope of her nose to the way her ear dove straight into her jawline at its end. She had to be someone I knew. "Sir?"
If anything, her voice should have triggered a memory. Instead, I drew blanks. Unfamiliar, a complete stranger she was. "Uh, what?"
"I asked if you are alright," she repeated. Her hands were clasped in her lap. She sat on a wooden chair next to this cot.
"What happened?"
"You fainted in the street. My brother helped me bring you back here and went to get a healer in case you were injured. But you seem fine." Her brow furrowed in concern, and she frowned. "Even if you are rather pale."
"Can—" I cleared my throat. "Can I have a drink?" My mouth was dry, but I was by no means thirsty. I just needed an excuse to be alone with my thoughts.
"Of course. I'll get some tea." She stood and walked out of the room.
Tea. Her first idea of a drink was tea. I lay back down and stared out the open window. Sitting on the sill was a red-covered book. A language like scribbles was scrawled in gold along the spine. I stood and grabbed the book to get a look at its face. Emblazoned on the front in a silvery-gold was a symbol like fire. I flipped it open, and more of those strange markings filled what must have been a hundred pages. "Oh good god," I breathed, holding my head. This was absolutely insane. There was no way anyone I knew would go to these lengths for a prank.
I dropped the tome. My legs went weak, and I stumbled back to the cot.
If someone tells you that something is true, would you believe them? Chances are, you'd take their word for it, but you wouldn't really believe it. Not until you saw it. Then you'd let out something akin to a "Wow, that's amazing," or "I can't believe it." In other words, we don't believe unless we see it.
This was the exact opposite. It was a lot harder to tell myself that what I was seeing was real. I was being overloaded. How was I supposed to convince myself that I wasn't losing my mind? If everything I was experienced was meant to be fictional in every sense of the word, what did that mean for reality? I was living fiction, an incomprehensible situation.
The woman returned after some time with a tray with a kettle and two cups, humming a tune as she set them down on her chair. "I apologize in advance," she said. "This blend isn't anything special, but it's all we've got for now. My brother and I are planning on heading to Themis for more variety."
I said nothing and sipped the cup she poured for me in silence.
"Speaking of," she put a finger on her chin in thought, "he's sure taking his time finding that healer. You are feeling alright, yes?" I nodded. "That's good. If you don't mind my asking, what is your name? I don't believe we've had our introductions yet. I'm Ilya."
I hesitated. The speck of myself that still hoped this was an overly elaborate joke died at her straight-faced delivery of the fictional name. "Z—"
I was cut off by a scream. My mouth clamped up, Ilya and I shared a wide-eyed look, then both bolted to the window to see the source of the disturbance. "A fire?" the woman observed. Indeed, smoke was rising over the buildings. I couldn't see a fire, but you know the old saying. "We should go help." She took off, stepping past me and hurrying out the door.
I didn't know this place, but I would have been rotten not to go with. I paused before following, however, as several pieces clicked together. I was in Southtown. A very intact Southtown.
I had a sneaking suspicion that this smoke was leading to something bigger than a fire. I grabbed the sword I'd brought with me and ran out the door.
Ilya was long gone and the street was empty. My best sense of direction was directly toward the danger. I ran that way without a second thought. I was not a fighter. I'd never been one for violence, and hadn't gotten into as much as a schoolyard scuffle in my relatively peaceful childhood. Still, I had a sword. I had a weapon with me. I had to at least try, right?
I rounded corner after corner of the loosely packed houses, eye on the pillar of smoke in the sky, until I found myself in a wide open plaza. A river ran through the north end, connected by a bridge that led straight to a tall chapel. A handful of shirtless men wielding axes were running about the place, herding all of the villagers they could into the church. Those that didn't cooperate were cut down on the spot in as gruesome a fashion as could be done swiftly. Each spray of blood was punctuated by the scream of a survivor, who obeyed their next command with rivers of tears running down their faces.
Tucked in an alley between two houses, I was safe. No one had spotted me yet. I could still run.
I looked down at the sword in my hand. My knuckles were white from how tight I squeezed the hilt, and it shook with my quivering nerves. I could have laughed. Did I really expect myself to try and fight these madmen when the simple thought of it left me shaking in my boots?
No, no, I could leave right now. The Shepherds would take care of this when they arrived. They were better equipped and trained to deal with barbarians, as well, so really, having myself stay here would only put me in the way.
I nodded to myself. "Right, I'll just—" I spun on my heel. Every intention of slipping away unseen was blown of the motherfucking water when a massive, calloused man-hand shoved against my chest and pushed me out into the street. I stumbled and fell to the stone-tiled ground.
"Well, well, well," came an over-bearing voice. Standing over me was another one of those shirtless men. And he was massive. A barrel chest paired with broad shoulders topped by a rough cloak of furs and a thick loincloth around his waist. "Looks like we got ourselves a hero, eh?" He hefted an Iron axe up and rested it on his shoulder while a terrifying grin spread across his face. His ragged brown hair was covered by a cow-skull. "Or 're you a coward? You look like a coward, little boy, look at you shakin'."
I scrambled away, sweeping my hand along the ground in an arc until I found my fallen sword and grasped it. I pushed myself to my feet and took several steps back. The barbarian only laughed a deep, hearty chuckle and spun his axe once. "What're you gonna do?" he asked. "You gonna fight me, boy?"
Was I? I didn't have any other choice, did I? He'd cut off my option of escape, and behind me was more open space and a cluster of his allies. But how did I fight someone who was at least twice my size and had a bladed weapon that his huge muscles could put a lot of force behind?
I had to play lame.
I grabbed the hilt of this sword with one hand and scabbard with the other. It came loose with a click, and I drew this sword for the first time since waking up. The pleasant ring it let out when freed was the final note to clue me in to the reality of this situation. I straightened my back, planted my feet, and raised my weapon in what could only be called a mockery of both the Shaolin Dao and the Ko Gasumi styles of sword fighting.
"Oho, yessir, you are." The bull of a man grabbed the long handle of his axe with both hands and flashed me one more grin, like that of a butcher before he cuts down his next meal. But this meal wouldn't serve itself up to him on a platter. No, if this meal had to go, it would go kicking, screaming, clawing, and biting. "Come then. I'm going to have fun with you."
He roared, heaving his axe over his head for a wide swing. As telegraphed as it was, I was given ample opportunity to move aside. I waited until the last second, then sidestepped the strike with a nimbleness that surprised me. I did a spin, lashing out with my blade and delivering a wide laceration from his naval to the small of his back. The swing had more recoil than I'd expected, however, and pulled me off balance. In the time it took me to recover, my opponent let out a growl. "You little shit," he snarled.
With one hand, he used his entire body weight to swing his axe in a wide horizontal arc. I dodged under it and took a series of short hops back to put more distance between us. He took a step forward and stumbled. His wound was gushing blood—a cut like that had to have hit an artery. I let the sight invigorate me.
I got a hit in. A good one, too. I was winning. Maybe I grinned, but it was wiped off my face when he shouted again. He stomped his foot. Both hands flew to his axe, and he raised it above his head.
I took too much time questioning.
Before I could react, he whipped the weapon forward. It soared toward me, giving me only enough time to twist my body. The axe scored a deep cut on my left shoulder and kept going past. Its force knocked me off my feet and the impact hit my sword loose. I made the mistake of crying out in pain, and the barbarian closed in. I realized I'd dropped my sword again.
As the distance separated us chipped away in slow-motion, I felt wound leather and hoped. My fingers wrapped around whatever it was and swung up just as the barbarian was on top of me. I would later thank whatever god dealt with luck in this world that it was my sword, that his weight carried him forward, and that his axe hit my weak arm. The tip pierced just above his collar bone, severed straight through his spine.
He collapsed on top of me. His bulk was suffocating, but I did not move. I was frozen. A moment of clarity made me close my eyes and stuff my arm in my mouth before the scream escaped.
I was stuck under a dead body. A dead body of a man that I'd killed in a world that was supposed to be in a videogame. As hard as it was to breathe, my body found a way to hyperventilate. I was half-aware of his weight pressing the pommel of my sword into my sternum, but I could not move. My mind was desperately trying not to shut down from the shock.
First—first, first, first, I had to breathe. In, out. In, out. Slow, deep. Get this guy off of you. In, out.
I could only move my right arm. My left was drenched in liquid-hot pain. I let go of my sword and pushed my palm against his chest. I managed by some miracle to flip him onto his side and failed to resist the urge to take a deep breath.
In, out. In, out. Take your sword.
My sword. It was still buried in the soft-spot of his chest. I gulped. Right. Pull it out. Yank that shit. I planted my foot on his shoulder and bent down. His eyes were still open. I turned away, repressed the bile rising in my throat. "No," I said, my voice raw. I had to compartmentalize all this. Couldn't process it right now. Didn't have the time. "No, don't look him. Look at the sword. Focus on the sword."
I faced the sword again. I wound my good hand around its grip and, using whatever leverage I could manage on whatever it was stuck in, yanked it free. I nearly lost my balance, but recovered before I fell. Next, I would look for the scabbard I'd dropped. At least, that was the plan before another deep voice called out to me.
"Oi!" I spun around to see three more red-dressed people stalking toward me. None of them looked very happy. One had a pointy red hat, robes, and a book in his hand. The second looked like the guy I… the guy on the ground, an axe dragging along the ground. And the third was… unlike the others. He didn't have much in the way of bulk, but I could see muscled definition, and the way he carried his sword led me to believe he knew how to use it. Unlike me.. "Who d'you think you are?" the goat head-wearing man barked. "You think you c'n just kill one of our boys? You're gonna pay for that, little boy."
Focus on the sword.
I was in a bad way. My left arm was immobilized. Still, I spread my feet to shoulder width, got low, and got into as good a ready stance as I was able. To be honest, fighting that first barbarian took a lot out of me. I could barely hold my sword straight.
The barbarian, who stood in the middle, turned to his two cohorts and spoke in a voice too low to hear over the oncoming clamor that the rest of their gang was causing. I took this as my chance to make peace. Or at least, as best I could. Here I was, about to die. I had no chance of making it out of here alive. I was down an arm and outnumbered three-to-one against people who did this for a living. One of them looked to be a mage, if this really was Ylisse. Yeah, my ass was grass. Had to admit, this was not how I thought I would go down. There was still so much I wanted to do, books I wanted to write, people I wanted to meet. Yet this was it. My reckoning. My one-way ticket to the great beyond.
Tears I hadn't known were welling spilled down my cheeks. I may have been sobbing. I didn't want to die.
The three guys in front of me noticed and shared a laugh. The guy in the middle turned to the wizard-looking dude, said something about a wounded animal that needed to be put down. He stepped forward and flipped his book open. The pages moved by themselves. He grinned. His lips moved, but his words fell on deaf ears. I wasn't too keen at reading lips, either.
He pointed his hand my way. I went low in wait. I couldn't remember what his tome was. Either way, I would try and dodge. My end would not be swift as long as I still had a say in it.
For the second time today, my luck played a crucial factor. "Halt, scoundrel!" came the deep, authoritative voice of a much appreciated outside variable. The mage in front of me faltered, lowering his hand. All three looked that way, and I seized my opportunity. Through watery eyes, I flipped my sword in a reverse-grip and speared it toward the mage. It connected, the sharp point driving into his gut. His tome fell to the ground, and he soon followed, taking away their only ranged weaponry. It left me down a weapon, but now they would have to catch me. If anyone was playing lame here, it was me.
To my right, I heard hooves clattering on stones. It grew louder until a massive metal-clad horse collided with the barbarian. Its rider had a lance, as well, and ran it through the swordsman.
I cried again. The horse skidded to a stop, and I was bawling. I wiped the neverending rivers flowing from my eyes with gloved palms. "Oh my god." I was saved. I had never been this happy, this relieved. It felt like I got shot in the face with a serotonin gun. "Oh my god, thank you s-so much…"
The horse's rider dismounted and walked my way. "Lady Lissa," he called, "this man needs healing." Lady Lissa? Oh, thank god, the Shepherds were here! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my g—"Sir." The knight placed his hand on my shoulder. His arm was heavy and cold, covered in a metal gauntlet. "Sir, you are safe now. You did well fighting these cur, but we can handle it from here."
"Thank you, thank you," I repeated. I wanted to fall against him and just crash. He held me at a respectable distance, though, until a young woman with blonde hair came to my side. I sniffled the entire time she treated me.
"Let him rest against your horse, Fred." She placed a gentle hand on my back and guided me to the towering steed. "Put your good arm out and hold on." I did. Fred—wait, that was Frederick? Oh, so it was. His mane of luxurious brown hair and stern face should have been unmistakable. I blamed it on the tears in my ey—
"Ow—ow, ow fffffuck, wha—" A different pain overtook the throb. It felt like the two separated pieces of skin were being yanked together by fishhooks and stitched through with razor wire. Inside, the torn muscles scratched beneath my skin. I had to white-knuckle Frederick's saddle to keep from itching at it.
"I told you it would hurt," the girl said. Had she? "Almost done."
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to keep from crying out again. The last few seconds were no less excruciating, but when the girl slapped my shoulder and said it was as good as new, there was no blood. No gouge. Only a dull throb. "Thank you," I said. My voice shook a little from the sobbing.
She smiled. "No problem."
"If you don't mind, milady," Frederick cut in, placing a hand on his horse's saddle. "Milord is still in the fray and I would like to be of assistance." I let go and took a step back. He swung his leg over and mounted his steed. "Keep watch over milady."
He took off, leaving the girl and I in the dust. My addled head struggled to put the pieces together. It only now dawned on me that this 'milady' was the girl who healed me, I hadn't seen Lissa yet, and Frederick's two ladies were Emmeryn and Lissa.
"Ah!" I spun on my heel to face her and bowed my head. "I apologize for my rudeness, milady. I meant no disrespect, I didn't realize it was you. Please for—"
"I'm all for a little praise," she said, "but now isn't the time. There is still fighting going on, and my brother may need healing."
"Uh, right." I shook the cloudiness from my brain. Stupid idiot, use your head. "Stay behind me, then." I jogged over to the mage I felled and seized my sword. I made the futile gesture of wiping the blood-covered blade off on his red robes. Beside him, Frederick had cut down the third bandit, leaving three crimson-clad bodies in a circle.
Closer to the chapel, Frederick was leading the charge. He was dueling with a nimble swordsman while a second mage kept him on his toes. I would have been worried, and put more spring in my step to reach him had it not been for the pair of sword-wielding wargods beside him. In the time it had taken for me to get healed, a blue-haired man in silver attire—good god, it's lord Chrom—and a snow-haired woman in dark robes sped to Frederick's aid. The two of them, the latter of whom rotated between sword swings and bolts of lightning, tagged in and out. Chrom would swing his golden blade, then the woman—if I hadn't known any better, I'd have said it was Robin—stepped in and finished them off with a well-placed slash or spell. Anxiety made my focus hazy, but if this took place when I thought it did, then their efficiency as a team was mortifying for the short time they'd known each other.
"Who is that woman?" I asked Lissa as we made our moderately-paced way over.
"Her name's Robin," the princess informed. Ah, so it is. "We just met her, but she seems to fit right in."
I'll say. I was about to speak when the mage that had been troubling Frederick scored a hit, a blade of wind gashing into the knight's side. He let out a loud groan, blocked a blow from the swordsman he'd been fighting, parried the blade to the ground, disarmed the fool, then launched his Silver Lance at the mage with the precision of a sniper. On God, the lance pinned the mage to the stone pillar behind him. Then the knight delivered a steel-covered elbow to the swordsman's face, picked up the dropped sword, and ran him through with it.
"Frederick!" Lissa cried, pushing past me to run to the knight. I failed to stop her and had to give chase. The Great Knight looked our way and a brief look of panic flashed across his face before stoicism returned. Lissa readied her staff to heal him.
I was a bit faster, and caught up despite my delay with my sword ready to guard them as Lissa raised her staff. "You were to watch over her, swordsman," Frederick said. I mumbled an apology and turned my back.
"Go easy on him," Lissa said. I caught the green glow out of the corner of my eye. Frederick grunted, but reacted better than I did. "He's still rattled." I did not disagree. I also did not let myself dwell on the thought. Doing that would mean… No, keep the thoughts buried. I cleared my throat and steadied myself. Coming this way were Robin and Chrom, both finished with clearing the other half of the plaza.
Everything was clear. I lowered my sword and sighed.
"Frederick!" Chrom called. His gaze was levelled at me, wary and suspicious. My body went rigid. Robin sensed his concern. Her tome was flipped open, her sword held in the other hand.
"Worry not, milord." Frederick rolled his shoulder, repaired and ready for more. "This young man is not a threat."
"Then everything's clear," the prince said. Robin stared at me and lowered her sword. Her tome remained open. Chrom sheathed Falchion; the blade let out a hum more pleasant than any tune as it returned to its scabbard. He turned to me. "All of the bandits in this area have been taken care of. Do you know if they spread anywhere else?"
"Um." I spun around. Which way had I come from? "There aren't any that way," I said after a moment's thought. "That's where I came from. But I don't know if they got anywhere else."
"I suspect not," Robin said. Her brown eyes never left mine. "None of these look well-equipped." She kicked at the swordsman Frederick had impaled. The sword through his gut was in poor condition, with rust coloring the blade and the leather-wrap around the hilt coming undone. "I don't think a larger band would attack with such faulty equipment."
"I'm inclined to agree," Chrom said, crossing his arms. The Brand of the Exalt was stuck out on his shoulder. "We should notify everyone we can that the coast is clear. Then we can be on our way." I frowned. On our way. A number of things felt wrong about that, not least of all this feeling in my gut that we were forgetting something. "What's your name, by the way?"
"Huh?" I snapped out of my thoughts with wide eyes. "What?"
"Your name," the prince said. "What is it?"
"Oh, I'm—"
An explosion shuddered the ground. Fire erupted from the cathedral, spilling out the windows and kicking the glass out with a shrill ring. Smoke billowed from the white-washed stone walls. The double doors at its base flew open and outstepped a crew of three or four more bandits, one of whom carried a hefty, red-handled axe over his shoulder while the rest hauled bags full of goods. He let out a deep laugh, then stopped short when he saw us and none of his men occupying the square. His expression changed from one of jubilation to shock and, finally, outrage.
"What the fuck happened out here?" he boomed, lowering his axe and dropping the bag he'd been carrying to the ground. It let out a brassy ring at the impact. He stepped forward. "Why're all o' my men layin' in their own blood? What'd you do!"
I trembled at his fury, at his animalistic growl. Chrom spun around, whipping Falchion out of its sheathe with the same terrific ring as before. Frederick yanked free the sword he'd used to impale the last swordsman. Robin turned and outstretched her free hand. Sparks crackled around her gloved fingers.
"You fuckin' blue bloods," the bandit snarled. "GET 'EM, BOYS!" His three allies—two swordsman and a third mage—ran around him with their weapons ready.
The three Shepherds sped forward. I stayed behind with Lissa at first, then shared a glance with her and took off with a reluctant first step.
Robin took the first shot; pivoting on one foot, she spun and fire a ball of thunder at the enemy mage. He launched a series of wind-blades in response. The spells neutralized one another. In the clash, Chrom and Frederick closed the distance. Frederick needed to get closer; without his lance, his reach was limited. Chrom leapt into his first strike.
He landed with a shout. One of the swordsmen intercepted him and guarded against the heavy blow. The two clashed, and my view was blocked by Frederick afterward. They seemed to be fine. I made my way to Robin. She and the enemy mage were still trading spells, neither landing a hit. Their spells collided in the air. Sparks rained down around them, wind billowing their cloaks and ruffling both their hair and mine.
"Dammit," Robin cursed, slinging another thunderbolt. She cast a glance my way when I approached, but said nothing. Her second glance, I met her eyes. The enemy mage looked at me, too. His arm drew back, a golden circle phased into existence around him.
His wind-blades launched my way instead of Robin's. I faltered at the imposing magic. Healing magic hurt. That was meant to help. What would offensive magic feel like? I imagined the blades, cold and sharp, cutting into me, shredding my skin and my clothes and ripping my low-res body to clean slices of—
The razor-blades of green energy whipped toward me, gliding along the tiled streets but they never arrived. A ball of lightning exploded into it, blasting the wind to the side and clearing the path. "Go!" Robin's voice cut through my storm clouds.
"My turn!" I pushed off with more speed than I figured I could muster. The red-wizard hat wearing mage suffered a panicked look, his eyes going wide and teeth clenching as he drew his hand back a last time. But, it did not make a difference. I was too close. I counted the steps. I drew my sword back. 2 steps away. The mage's arm started forward. I swung.
He shrieked as the iron blade pierced his gut. As pretty as those robes were, they offered no protection from cold, sharp metal. No resistance. No slowing. The sword went straight through. At my side, his spell fired off, wind not cutting me, but violently rippling my clothes and hair.
His arm went limp. His weight fell against me. I pushed him off and pulled my sword free. He crumpled to the ground, blood wetting the corners of his lips and his hands hovering over the hole I'd put in him.
"Nice work!" Robin said, running up. She stopped short and spun 90 degrees with a leer. I followed her gaze to where Chrom's guard was broken. The enemy had knocked Falchion from his grip and was moving to finish the job.
Sparks crackled in Robin's hand. I swiveled and tried to go toward him. Chrom moved his free hand in to block what he could.
Frederick, once again, launched his weapon with deadeye precision. It didn't kill the swordsman, but his weapon was knocked away, and the prince threw the first punch.
Robin scowled, then shouted, "Chrom!"
The prince grabbed the bandit by his lapels and spun him around, back to Robin. The tactician swung her arm and sent a charge of Thunder into the guy. He went down, spasming as the electricity ran its course.
"Godsdammit," the bandit with the scary axe barked. He lowered said axe and charged with a ferocious roar. The skull atop his head added to his barbaric appearance.
Chrom dusted himself off. "Caution, milord," Frederick said.
"Right," the blue-haired man said, throwing him one of the several swords scattered about in order to meet the charging leader. Robin drew her blade and followed. Chrom and I shared a look before he plucked Falchion from the dirt. His course of action followed a similar path. I fell to peer pressure.
The barbarian—he could have been called no less—was a tower of a man. If not for his slouch, I estimated he would have stood even to Frederick while the latter was atop his horse. His life as a bandit had served him well, building a considerable swell of muscle, as well. But, he was decked in cloth and the occasional patch of leather. Neither gave much resistance to the combined might of four swords and the sting of lightning.
He swung his axe in a wide arc at our approach. I went low, Chrom jumped high, Frederick swept around the side, and Robin fired a preemptive Thunder.
The mountain of barbarism stumbled from the spell. I recovered from my roll and slashed one of his knees while Fred got the other in time for Chrom to land the sword version of a superman punch to the chest. Falchion cut clean, speared in and brought the bandit to the ground. He shouted out, cursed, but to his credit did not cry or scream. The prince knelt atop him and pulled Falchion free, ready to deliver a finishing blow.
"Dammit, fuck!" the bandit spat. "I can't die yet! I'm Garrick! I'm strong! You're just sheep! I should have slaughtered y—"
Chrom stabbed him in the throat. Bone and all. Instant death.
"There," the prince said. He wiped the divine blade off and sheathed it. I stood up and winced. My shoulders were scraped up from the roll. I made a note for later not to do that again, unless I had shoulder pads. "That takes care of that."
"For real this time," Robin quipped with a tired smile. Chrom reciprocated, then cast it way as he turned to me, mouth open to speak.
At the last second, he changed his mind, and turned to his knight. "Frederick, spread the word that the bandits have been defeated."
"Yes, milord." As he reared up and sped off, Robin and I put away our weapons. Lissa started toward us after the knight passed her.
"You two," Chrom said, putting his hands on his waist, serious. His eyes were no longer hardened, however, so I was able to relax despite his tone. "You both fought for lives that were not your own." I tried not to wince. "You risked your own life in the process. You have my thanks." He bowed. I blinked. A prince was bowing to me. Regardless of circumstance, this was a powerful sense of validation. "This is a debt that I cannot repay. And I'd hate to ask for more, but I have a favor to ask." Lissa arrived at his side and smiled, her hands behind her back, clutching her staff. "See, I've gathered up a band of people like you who fight in the name of peace for this Halidom. We are few in number, but proud nonetheless. We call ourselves the Shepherds."
"'The Shepherds?'" Robin asked with a grin. "Like the kind that tend sheep?"
Lissa shouldered Chrom, and he chuckled. I smiled. "Exactly like the kind that tend sheep," the prince said. "It just so happens that our sheep are a country wide, and could not be in greater need of protecting. So what do you say? Before Frederick comes back, would the two of you like to join us in guarding our flock?" I shared a look with Robin. "Robin, we could use someone with your talents. Mages are hard to come by, strategists as skilled as you even more so." She flushed, averted her eyes. "And—" Chrom faltered when he turned to me. "I'm sorry, I don't believe I ever got your name."
"My name is Zach," I said, putting my hand out.
The prince shook it. His grip was firm, strong. "I'm Chrom. And this is my little sister, Lissa." The blonde waved. "Well, Zach? What do you think? Would you like to join my Shepherds?"
I wanted to. I did, but it felt wrong. My smile died. "I-I don't know," I stammered. "Are you sure you'd want me? I'm not really fit for combat, I almost died today. I think I'd probably just get in the way."
"We all have to start somewhere," he said with a shrug. "And I almost died, too, don't forget. It happens. It shouldn't, but it happens. That's combat. That's the risk."
"And you don't know anything about me!" I said. "You don't know where I'm from, who I am, or what I do. I could be a spy, or an assassin!"
"You aren't an assassin," he deadpanned. "I can see that much. As for where you're from, I don't care. It doesn't make a difference to me, because you saved Ylissean lives. That's what matters. That's what I'm looking for. What's your choice?"
"I…"
"If you don't want to join, just say so. I won't pressure you."
"It's not that!" I blurted. I was scared. The entire prospect was terrifying. Going with them would mean war. More of this, death and blood and fear. I didn't know if I could handle that. "I'm just…"
At the same time, where else was I going to go? I did not know how to get home. I did not know anyone here, or anywhere here. I was lost and alone in a world far from my own. Going with them was my greatest chance of survival, as ironic as that sounded.
I closed my eyes, sighed, and mustered up all the resolve I could to say, "Alright. I'll do it. I'll come with you."
"That's the spirit," Chrom said, grinning. He clapped me on the shoulder and chuckled. "What about you, Robin? Do you want to come with us?"
The tactician laughed. "Do I even have a choice?" Chrom shook her hand, finalizing the deal.
"Yay!" LIssa cheered. "Another girl! I was scared we were going to get outnumbered!" Robin laughed again. Chrom chuckled. I managed a hum, but my battle-high was falling. The weight of today was beginning to press down.
Chrom must have thought I was still unsure. "Hey," he said. "We're all green when we start. But I see potential in you. With some work, you could be among the best swordfighters in Ylisse. I'll even train you myself, if you want."
"I'd appreciate that."
"And now that you mention it, where are you from?" He cocked his head and arched his eyebrows. "I know I said I didn't care, but that doesn't mean I'm not curious."
"I get it," I said. "I'm… I'm from Valm. Small town."
"I see. Well, welcome to Ylisse." He clapped my shoulder again. "And to the Shepherds. We're glad to have you." He walked off, then, headed to meet the incoming Frederick. "Just a shame this had to be our introduction."
I forced a smile. "Yeah." I barely made it through today. I fought three times, and almost died twice. I'd say it was a miracle that saved me, but it was plain dumb luck. When was that going to run out? When was the world going to be sick of saving me and let someone run me through? The weight of that fear was almost enough to make my legs give out.
No matter what Chrom said, I was not ready for combat. This world was going to break me.
Here we go, boys! The first revamped chapter to Fractured and Burned. This was a long time coming. I don't really know what to say here. This is not a reopening of the OC submissions or whatever. I just figured that this chapter was shittily written before and needed a redux. No cheap hook or anything like that. This is where we're at.
Hope you guys enjoyed. Gimme a review if you've made it this far and let me know what you thought. Tell me if this is finally a good chapter now instead of a lackluster, carbon copy SI prologue, eh?
And, as a sort of stamp to show how new this is, y'all are getting' the NEW sign off. Trust me, this makes sense if you're caught up.
The Oats have been harvested.
