Unwelcome Change
'Magic inherently makes exceptions within the axiomatic foundations of the world, but the eldest and darkest shatters them in their entirety. Doing such a thing with the fundamental rules of matter and causality, the pillars of existence itself, brings with it consequences unpredictably discordant and unfathomably catastrophic.' - Fastidious Miriel, Ylissean Collegiate of Lavenwick
Before setting out of Southtown, Chrom collected what information he could from their captain of the guard, but ultimately their interrogations turned up little. The raiders were sellswords, they took a job to sack a town and raid it for valuables, nothing more. Disappointed, but not deterred, the prince left in remarkably high spirits, the journey to Ylisse' capital ahead.
"You're going to love it," happily chirped Lissa, who was currently set atop Frederick's horse. The knight himself was walking alongside Chrom, speaking with him about some political matter, Robin figured.
"Yeah?" Robin's response was a little distant, his ears still trying to pry some morsels of intrigue from the prince's conversation.
Lissa nodded. "Ylisstol's busy at all hours, so it's never boring. And you should see it from the palace walls! It stretches out in all directions, with the streets winding around the markets and parks," her gesturing was enthusiastic, but impossible to decipher. Robin only smiled. "I'm not good at describing it. Just trust me. The capital is going to spoil you for all other cities."
The two made idle chit-chat for most of the day, the others eventually rejoining the conversation. Frederick's horse was relieved of Lissa's presence once she was given some firewood to pull along in the cart the Shepherds had brought to carry their various travel supplies. The logs lasted the next few nights, and the group periodically gathered more along their two-and-a-half week journey back to Ylisstol.
Along the way, the legend of the First Exalt Quinnius was recounted by Chrom, regaling the story of when the Fell Dragon Grima first laid waste to the world. His version was that which was told to most children, and lacked the subtle details that Robin frequently interrupted to ask about. So it was said, Grima rose out of the Mamorthod desert to the continent's north, and immediately began a vicious campaign of destruction. Every great nation fell apart trying to hold back the chaos unleashed by his sudden appearance, the remnants of their armies coming together under Quinnius' banner. Wielding Falchion, sword blessed by the revered Divine Dragon Naga, Grima was killed, falling to what would later become Plegia. Quinnius, now a great hero, founded Ylisse with a group of survivors, with those possessing the blood of Naga's chosen serving as the exalted rulers of the nation. Thus he became the First Exalt of Ylisse.
Occasionally Chrom took Robin from their campsites to practice tracking and hunting. Chrom was a capable shot with a bow, but mentioned he would have made a poor archer on the battlefield, by comparison. Patience is a luxury not afforded to the soldier, but to the hunter, who was allowed to lie in wait until the perfect shot could be made. Robin was a lousy shot, but very quickly picked up the ability to track, and soon was acting as Chrom's spotter for rabbits and venison, which made up nearly the entirety of their diet along the journey.
Basic politics were covered by Frederick, who went into the complex relationship Plegia had with Ylisse, exacerbated by the former playing host to the Grimleal and the latter being a theocracy of the polar-opposite system of belief. Topping it with an offhanded mention of the militant Regna Ferox to the north, and Robin made a note to himself to brush up on history at the first opportunity. History books were a rarity to those on the open road, and yet he yearned for their presence.
Time only allowed for Chrom to teach Robin swordplay a handful of times, the demands of travel taking precedence. It was mostly just before meals where they found the opportunity. Though Chrom, as the most martially-inclined of his siblings, had in fact inherited the very same Falchion of legend, Robin was instead taught with decidedly safer implements. Wooden practice swords purchased in a hamlet three days out of Southtown served to educate him in the basics, from defending oneself to the least tiring chops and thrusts necessary to outlast an opponent in a straight fight. It wasn't much, but between it and the history lessons, it kept Robin preoccupied along the way.
Eight days from Ylisstol, shortly after dusk, the Shepherds sat around a dwindling fire, a half-cooked rack of deer being tended to by Frederick.
"Why are the bugs leaving you alone, Chrom?" A fussy Lissa whined, spastically flailing in her attempts to swat a quartet of insects which found her absolutely fascinating.
Chrom, in the midst of stringing up his tent, chuckled and shook his head at the sight. "Misery builds character, dear sister."
A dissatisfied pouting followed, followed by further flailing. "Oh, come on, they're just after me because I don't smell like smoke! It's not my fault my eyes hurt when it gets near me."
Rolling his eyes, he looked over at Robin, who was hammering one of Chrom's tent pegs into the ground. The prince stood up, quickly asking, "would you mind finishing pitching this?" The response was a shrug and a nod.
"Lissa," Chrom clapped his hands together, walking over in her direction, "why don't you come with me to gather more logs for the fire. Frederick looks like he's struggling to keep the heat up with what he has."
More pouting, more whining, but eventually Lissa decided that labour and a slight chill was a worthwhile trade to be rid of the bugs. Mercifully, they didn't seem to want to follow her, paradoxically both drawn to the light of the fire and repelled by the foulness of the smoke. The pair wandered through the woods, and Chrom holding the fabric firewood carrier in his left hand.
"One person," Chrom muttered.
"What?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to downplay his complaining. "What I mean is that I'm hoping Sully has had better luck on her recruitment trip than we did."
Frowning, Lissa skipped a few paces ahead, turning toward her brother and walking backwards. "What's wrong with Robin?"
Chrom cracked a smile. "Nothing, nothing. But it took an amnesiac to be willing to sign on with us. None of the villagers seem to want to leave their homes. Still reeling from father's campaign into Plegia, maybe."
Lissa crooked her head sympathetically, but then twisted it into a playful smirk. "And you think Sully is the type of person who will have better luck inspiring people to join the Shepherds than you?" The question was asked flatly.
"Hey, I didn't give you permission to go badmouthing my friends," Chrom chuckled, gently pushing his sister. The siblings cheerfully wandered along for a few minutes, occasionally stopping to pick up a fallen branch for the fire or kindling for the next day.
As they continued, they found themselves in a small clearing of trees, caused by a massive ash having fallen recently. The trunk had rotted in some places, but Lissa found some usable dried branches, and the two of them began hacking pieces off to carry back.
The two of them paused briefly as they saw a large flock of birds suddenly rise up from the woods all around them, taking off into the night sky. "Was it something I said?" Chrom asked, happily returning to the log. Lissa frowned.
"Hold on," she stepped back, leaving her hatchet buried in the bark. "The crickets stopped chirping right when the birds did."
"What? We just startled them."
"Five minutes into chopping?" Lissa shook her head. "They would have left already. Somethings wrong."
The sudden crashing of trees in the distance confirmed Lissa's suspicions. "Earthquake?" She yelped, suddenly bracing herself against a nearby maple. Chrom, however, stared off through the trees, his eyes narrowing.
The sight of dozens of trunks falling in succession almost directly toward them made him go wide-eyed. "Lissa, run!"
"What?" She looked toward him, then through the trees. A nearly identical look of horror washed over her, as well. They both took off in the opposite direction, the sound of cracking and crashing lumber quickly filling their ears. Looking over her shoulder to see the faint, ominous glow of flame joining the the quakes, Lissa gasped. "Chrom, fire!" She shouted, at the very moment a sudden explosion of molten fire consumed a nearby tree.
"This way," Chrom grabbed Lissa's hand, pulling her into a hard-angled turn. Over his shoulder, he saw the environment partially obscured by smoke, and his heart sank. Cracks in the earth began opening at their feet, and with his fingers tightly clenched around her wrist, he sprinted as hard as his legs could take him, constantly shifting to where the smoke was thinnest. The heat hadn't quite caught up to him yet, but choking was a far larger threat in that moment.
Not so for Robin and Frederick. The pair of them were privy to a far less subtle form of devastation. When they first experienced the quake, the land cracked beneath them and bent, one side of the large slab of earth they stood upon sinking into magmatic fire, the maw of the crust beckoning them inside to be devoured.
Unable to keep its footing and having fallen into the infernal crevasse, the agonizing screech of the horse hung on Robin's ears while he clawed at the grass, desperate to keep himself from sliding in as well. The angle of the earthen platform gradually steepened, and even with a handhold, he couldn't remain there forever. He took a deep breath, sulfurous fumes tearing at his nostrils, and his grip slipped as he coughed. Fingernails dug into dirt, and he dared to look somewhere other than the molten rock below. The sky was raining fire, boulders of rapidly cooling lava striking the earth all around.
Robin was almost too caught up in the hellfire to even register that the earthen slab had been struck by one of the projectile rocks, knocking it back on balance. Taking the opportunity to clamber to his feet, no sooner was he upright than Frederick's shoulder was in his chest, forcing him off of the elevated island and into the thick branches of a nearby tree, which managed to remain stable, if singed, by the eruption.
The both of them tumbled through the canopy to the forest floor, buffeted by twigs, leaves, and cinders all the way down. The danger was still quite imminent, as with the lava came a forest fire next to them. A path free of smoke, convection, and magma out presented itself straight ahead, and after recovering from the impeded-yet-painful collision with the ground, Robin started to sprint for the clearing.
"Robin!" Frederick's voice was barely audible through the quaking. He came hobbling up from behind, his armor dented in several places, one of the plates on his shoulder having caved in enough to cause severe bleeding. Robin went wide-eyed at the sight, and immediately slipped himself under Frederick's good arm, assisting his escape the rest of the way.
"Are you alright?" A strained nod was his answer. "What's happening?"
"I wish I knew! Keep going!"
The air still not clean, they kept up their pace towards the very edge of the trees, and even then ran until they were sure the earth was no longer going to give way where they stood. They both fell to their knees, gasping for fresh air. Frederick faced the destruction from where they came, clawing at his shoulderplate to get it off, to which Robin immediately leaped in assistance.
Where there once was a small wood on a prairie flat, there was now a towering, twisting mountain of burning land. Smoke rose from the wildfires which slowly consumed every living thing which dared to remain in what was left of the woods. Wiping ash and dirt from his face, Frederick's jaw fell agape.
"Divinity save us, what could have done this?"
On the opposite side of the freshly-formed mountains, Chrom and Lissa continued their laboured sprint out of the flames, clearing it with torn bits of their clothes pulled over their mouths and noses. After finally finding their way to a clearing free of the destruction, they were faced with a similar horrific vista of the chewed forest.
A moment to breath, however, they did not get, as Lissa pointed behind them, where a massive crystalline eye was suspended twelve feet in midair. "Chrom, what is that?"
A pair of bodies fell from the eye like tears, impacting the ground hard enough to throw up dust, adding to the haze of ash which already permeated the air. Chrom pushed his sister behind him, and pulled his sword free of its scabbard. Narrowing his eyes, he waded through the cloud for a few steps.
An inhuman, warbling roar came from just ahead, where two pairs of dull red lights stood. The bodies that came from the eye were dusty, hollow things, wearing stitched masks and moving as if they actively fought rigor mortis. The lights came from their eyesockets, which were mostly obscured but stared right back at Chrom. One of them roared again and charged him, brandishing a wicked, tarnished blade.
Against Robin, Chrom was an instructor, using simple, effective, but commonplace techniques. Against these abominations, the prince swung the Falchion with the skill of a master and the speed of a demon. Though the stitched creature's movements were uncharacteristically fast, Chrom was faster, and had cut clean through its stomach before it was even able to bring the rusted sword down. Already moving to the other one, he had dismissed the first as vanquished. Halfway to his second mark, Chrom heard movement from both in the dust cloud, and to his surprise the cadaver he'd already stuck down was on him again, this time able to push him back with a flurry of furious, uneven strikes.
In the melee, Chrom lost track of everything except the threat directly before him. Forced into a corner, he finally found an opportunity when the creature overextended to slide to the side and sever its spine, twisting the Falchion for good measure. The polyphonic groan was satisfying enough to hear, but it was quickly interrupted by Lissa's yelp.
The princess was capable of fighting unsuspecting fools who were quick to write her off as a non-threat, but an unthinking berserker was a different story altogether. A poorly-sharpened logging hatchet was not enough to deter the monster's advance, who had pushed her all the way back into a tree, missing with its deadly swings by hair-lengths each time. It needed only to wait for Lissa to tire or slip up once to make its kill. A blade pushed through the back of its face halted that inevitability.
At first, Lissa thought Chrom had come to her aid. Instead, a youth stood before her, younger than she was, probably, given his slight stature. Clad in a navy mask and hair to match, he stepped back from the shambling assailant as it slumped to the ground, its flesh gradually dissolving into a purple-grey sludge.
"Quite an entrance," Chrom said, and the boy jolted, slipping his sword into its sheathe hastily.
"You saved me!" Lissa stammered, her heart still racing. "I, I can't thank you enough." She pulled herself off the tree and hugged him, gratitude and adrenaline working in equal measure. "What's your name? I owe you everything!"
He wriggled out of Lissa's grasp slowly, and stood back, glancing up at the smoking crags. His shoulders fell. "Marth," his voice fit his size. Definitely a teenager, Chrom noted. "You may call me Marth."
Chrom raised an eyebrow. "Someone must have thought highly of you, naming you after a legend like that."
Marth shrugged. "I'm not here to talk about me."
"Fair enough. What about all this?" Chrom gestured to both the bodies and the molten remains of the forest road. He turned to look at the crystal eye as well, but it had disappeared.
Marth shook his head, already starting to walk away. He visibly shuddered before he spoke again. "We'll meet again, young prince." Marth didn't break stride as he wandered into the untouched part of the woods.
"What?" Chrom frowned, and took a few steps after him. "Hey, wait!" A tug on his cloak stopped him. Lissa.
"We can't chase him right now, we need to find Frederick and Robin," her voice was ragged and weak. If Chrom didn't know any better, he'd have assumed she was on the verge of tears. Nodding, he agreed.
The next handful of hours that night were spent by both parties searching each other out, as well as for any other survivors. Though they did finally rendezvous, there was no sign of anybody else even being present at the time of the eruption, nor was there a trace of the young lad Marth.
"We have to warn the capital of this," Frederick concluded, to absolutely no argument. "Without," he sighed solemnly. "Without our cart, we'll have to resupply in Kostern, and we'll have to make it there by tomorrow or we'll lose lots of time."
Chrom concurred, but with a caveat. "I'm not doing a forced march until we're sure that wound is okay, Frederick. Lissa can take a look at it when her strength returns."
Even with the new arrangements, the originally prospected eight days from Ylisstol was only reduced to six, and they still had yet to get a wink of sleep. Nobody did. They each walked until another suggested to stop, none of them brave enough to let down their guard when the ground itself could swallow them at any moment. It wasn't until they could see the town of Kostern the next afternoon that they all collapsed from exhaustion. One hasty nap later, they finally made it to the town's inn by sunset, each falling into a bed and not reemerging until the following noon.