Author's Note: I've got this mostly outlined already so it's just a matter of fleshing it out. Hope everyone enjoys the ride!


Ygdra

Part 1

The ceremony ends with King Gustav bestowing Fensilir on Sharena. Alfonse watches proudly as she descends the steps, birthright in hand. His own rests against his hip, sheathed.

In preparation for their time on the throne, it is tradition for members of the Askran royal family to spend several years visiting kingdoms beyond their own, honing their skills from the finest warriors and studying different political systems to understand how to better rule their people. Now that Sharena is officially of age, she can accompany her brother and travel alongside him.

Alfonse smiles when he sees their mother embracing her. He can faintly hear the queen telling her to be careful, to stay close to him and follow his lead. As though sensing his gaze, Sharena turns her head and sends him a playful wink, discreetly pressing a finger against her lips, an action that Alfonse mirrors. It goes without saying that Sharena's upcoming trip will not be her first, nor her second or even her tenth.

If curiosity killed the cat, then Folkvangr and Fensilir brought it back. Sharena is eager to go on adventures and meet new people, and while Alfonse has a responsibility to keep her out of trouble, he, too, yearns to explore and learn outside of the castle walls. Both of them are young; they have plenty of time and no deadlines to meet, yet the freedom to travel is not unlimited.

Case in point: the king and queen, their days now too busy with a kingdom to run, the stones embedded within their own artifacts dull with years of inactivity.


(They don't recognize Kiran the second time.

Granted, the face offering them a cool drink in the midst of the bustling marketplace is partially obscured beneath a straw hat, but broad shoulders and a stubble-lined jaw quickly dispel any doubts as to the gender of the merchant, who is definitely not a woman with auburn hair and eyes as green as the meadow her cottage was surrounded by.

"Good to see you again Alfonse, Sharena." He says, grinning at the confused look the siblings exchange. "It's me, Kiran."

"You're not Kiran." Sharena shakes her head. "Kiran's a lady who lives in a field and grows flowers."

"Well, we can't all be royalty here." The merchant rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Anyway, the weather's scorching today. Would you like some juice? Freshly squeezed, I promise."

"No, thank you." It's disconcerting enough that this stranger knows their names, Alfonse thinks, tugging his sister away from the stall. No way are they accepting anything from him, regardless of how thirsty they may or may not be. "Sharena, we're leaving."

"Hold on, two things before you go." The expression on not-Kiran's face hardens as he zeroes in on the sword hidden under Alfonse's cape. "First, the golden rule: one traveler per artifact. You can get away with just one for now – you two are small enough that Folkvangr can carry both of you at once – but don't push your luck, okay? Bring Fensilir along next time.

"And second…" Not-Kiran pauses, furrowing his brows thoughtfully. Alfonse and Sharena hold their breaths, anticipating more stern advice from the merchant who knows too much. "I was going to say you'll get used to this, but I changed my mind." He gestures to himself and shrugs helplessly, his lips curling back into an easy smile.

Not-Kiran points towards one of the streets they have yet to explore. "If you're looking for souvenirs, there're a couple of nice shops that way which you might want to check out. Ask for my friend, Abel. He'll show you around."

Alfonse thanks him politely and not-Kiran waves at them as they leave, but not before the prince notices a white cloak with gold trimmings tied around his waist.

The exact same cloak, Alfonse realizes belatedly, that had been draped across the back of a rocking chair on a porch facing the sunset.)


They learn to keep an eye out for that cloak.

It's the one thing that remains the same. Kiran, on the other hand, changes all the time. Alfonse and Sharena have yet to come across similar – let alone identical – versions of their mysterious friend. Tall or short, male or female (or somewhere in-between), pale or tan or brawny or lean… There's no telling what the next one will be.

(Alternatively, Kiran will recount some embarrassing tale from the siblings' previous visits to prove their identity:

Like how loud Sharena shrieked when the friendly big cats she had been playing with suddenly weren't big cats anymore.

Or when Alfonse inadvertently called a lord – the same one who would later give him lessons on wielding Folkvangr – a moron.

And not to forget the time Sharena nearly walked into the wrong bath house during a solo trip, and Alfonse finally learns why his sister had insisted on tagging along with him for weeks after.)

Regardless, despite the strangeness of the land they arrive in, despite the unfamiliarity of the face that greets them, Alfonse and Sharena learn they can always count on Kiran to guide them, to tell them about whatever time and place their artifacts have brought them to, and point them to wherever they want to go.

Sights to see, things to do, people to meet… Kiran knows them all.


The fifth time Kiran's attention strays, Alfonse finally gives in to the urge to turn around.

Several tables behind them is a gray-haired man with a shield mounted on one shoulder and a sword strapped to his hip. A soldier, he looks like, and a flirtatious one at that.

"Friend of yours?" Alfonse asks, raising an eyebrow at the sight of yet another woman turning her nose up at the man, who pouts briefly in response but appears mostly unfazed; he waves her on her way with a cheeky grin.

"Not really." Kiran sips at her honeyed tea and sighs. "I guess I've just been distracted. Sometimes I'm reminded of how big the universe really is."

"Oh?"

"Why do you look so surprised? You and Sharena have been traveling for years now. There are others too, you know. They just don't travel the way you do."

Alfonse's interest is piqued. "How, then?"

Kiran shrugs. "Something that runs in the family, intervention from other gods… Plenty of ways."

She doesn't seem inclined to share any more than that and resumes squinting at the man. Alfonse hopes the soldier won't mistake her gaze for interest, and unconsciously shifts his weight to position his upper body just so.

After all, it's only polite that Kiran pays attention to her one companion during this trip, though the prince can't quite convince himself that the bitter taste on his tongue is from his over-steeped tea.


No matter what world they end up in, or when they come, Kiran is there.

They're like a focal point of sorts; while Alfonse and Sharena can never tell what their destination will be, they know it's someplace Kiran is close.

The siblings ask again, every now and then. Who are you? Why are the artifacts drawn to you? How do your alternate selves interact across different worlds?

Because how else can Kiran bandage Alfonse's scraped knee with the same handkerchief tucked away in the prince's pocket, or wear the friendship bracelet Sharena made years ago in a different realm, or show off pressed flowers from that bouquet the siblings had presented them with during the Day of Devotion when they live in a barren desert?

Kiran shrugs and looks away.

"I'm just me," they say softly, as though those three words should explain everything.

It is over dinner in their little workshop, sitting at a handcrafted wooden table with three convenient seats, that Alfonse realizes Kiran's eyes don't change either. The shape and color do, but when he looks at them – really looks them in the eye – somehow he just knows.

Windows to the soul and all that.

Sharena breaks the spell with a badly disguised cough. Kiran flushes a pretty shade of pink. Alfonse clears his throat and pointedly averts his gaze for the rest of the evening.


Journeys don't always go smoothly.

Sharena fells two myrmidons with one swing of Fensilir and pivots to block a third coming from behind. Not far from her, Alfonse is busy engaging an axe-wielding mercenary while Kiran goes hand-to-hand with a thief.

The rest of the bandits are dead or have retreated. Alfonse's opponent drops in a crumpled heap and he hears the last myrmidon joining his brethren on the ground, but just when he thinks the fight is won, Kiran cries out. Whirling around, he spots a bloody dagger pinned to a nearby tree, the thief's outstretched arm, Kiran reeling backwards and –

Alfonse sees red, literally.

Half of Kiran's face is a mess. They clutch at it with a gloved hand to cover the wound, but still it drips and darkens the hem of their gold-trimmed sleeve. Ignoring Sharena's worried gasp, Alfonse rushes in to cut the thief down before he can land a fatal blow.

Mother hen that she is, Sharena fusses over Kiran and drags them to sit by the side of the beaten road, trying unsuccessfully to examine their injury.

"I'm fine, I'm fine! Calm down, Sharena!" Kiran laughs – laughs! – as they bat her away. "It's not as bad as it looks, I promise. There's no need to – OW! Alfonse!"

The prince's hands are shaking when he tears Kiran's face free and slaps a wet handkerchief against their cheek, tossing an uncapped waterskin aside. Kiran winces, but otherwise doesn't resist as he cradles their head and wipes gently. His careful ministrations uncover a thin line stretching from their jaw to just below their temple, a wound too superficial to have bled so excessively, but Alfonse knows what he saw.

"See? Just a scratch." Kiran pats his hand comfortingly as he traces the line with his thumb, the feather-light touch eventually coming to brush against the corner of their lips. "Sorry about your handkerchief though. I'll wash it and give it back after we return to the inn."

Alfonse thinks of the worn one hidden in his room – bloodstains faded but not fully gone even after a decade – and says "keep it".

Kiran smiles.


They study politics with the twin rulers of a sunny kingdom, learn tactics from the shrewd strategist in a mercenary group, and train under a calm general with her two young students. When it comes to expanding their repertoire of weaponry, Sharena discovers she has a disposition for magic, while Alfonse finds he can be pretty handy with an axe.

Horseback riding lessons take place on the rolling hills of Zofia, where Kiran introduces them to a pair of retired, married knights. Alfonse and Sharena spend several weeks there learning, to varying degrees of success but equally sore backsides.

At the end, Kiran challenges them to a race. "Last one to the crest of that hill has to untack all the horses!" She yells, hoisting herself up onto the saddle with ease. Her brown mare trots to the starting line so smoothly that Alfonse has no doubt they've been doing it for years. Unfair advantage aside, he barely has time to wonder why Kiran didn't just teach them herself before the countdown ends and they're off.

Sharena falls behind after a while, deliberately or not Alfonse can't tell (though he knows he'll owe her big time if it's the former), but he can't quite bring himself to care at the moment, not when all he can focus on is Kiran laughing as she speeds ahead, her ombré hair and white cloak billowing in the wind behind her.


As resourceful as it is to learn from other kingdoms, future rulers should know their own as well.

Which is why one afternoon finds Alfonse in the castle's library, catching up with his tutor's assignments. His study partner's already left; completely engrossed with reading, Alfonse takes a while to notice that the restless fidgeting across from him has disappeared entirely.

Seeing an empty chair surrounded by a much smaller pile of unopened books tempts the prince to take a break. He's been at it for a good part of the day now, surely he can afford an hour or two of rest?

But then Alfonse thinks of his father, of the king's expectations and disapproving stares, and promptly reburies himself in hardcovers, nudging Folkvangr further under the table and out of sight.

Sharena returns at the end of the day with a little treat for him. "From Kiran," she says, "as a reward for working so hard!"

The pastry is brown and shaped like a miniature brick. It fits neatly on the square of Alfonse's palm, radiating warmth through the thin napkin it is nestled in. Alfonse takes a curious bite and moans as the cake practically melts in his mouth. Flavor bursts on his tongue, rich and sweet, but not overly so.

"Delicious, isn't it? It's called a chocolate brownie. Kiran baked it himself too! He used a special recipe with a secret ingredient." Sharena leans forward and lowers her voice to a whisper: "Lots and lots of love~"

Alfonse chokes.


Author's Note: Thanks for reading :)