7: Another's Nightmare
He could have seen it coming. He had guessed at it months ago, when he and Chrom and the other Shepherds had embarked on their journey along the Northroad to Regna Ferox.
Plegia. The agents behind the abominations they had come to name the Risen.
In all the struggles that had followed, they'd heard little more of the dead abominations troubling the provinces of Ferox and Ylisse, and he had not paused to dwell on the mystery of their origin. Other, more urgent problems had demanded their attention. And so they had marched to war, confident in the knowledge of their enemy, never thinking that the spectre they had left at home would be their downfall in a foreign land.
Lucan had watched, dizzy with horror, as the revenant archers shot down Ylisse's pegasus knights, their hopes winking out with every white-winged form that fell from the sky. With a single deed they went from victory to defeat, their fortunes reversed so completely it was akin to the act of a god, swiping away the vain toils of mortal creatures who had dared to strive against a greater Design.
Yet even then, he had refused to give up.
The Mad King had stood over them and gloated, dementia in a crown and reigning supreme. With twisted magnanimity he gave Chrom a choice: the Fire Emblem or his sister's life. However mad Gangrel might be, Lucan believed there was a method in it. The Plegian king would let Emmeryn go, if Chrom gave him what he wanted.
Let him have the Emblem, he'd said. One day we'll take it back. We've beaten them before and we'll do it again. Risen or none, Lucan would see them victorious once more. He firmly believed it, without rage or spite or ego. He knew it with the certainty of an artisan, preparing for a task he knew lay within the limit of his skill.
Yet Emmeryn would not let it be. Seeing the choice they had made she intervened, offering the Plegian people a parting benediction before stepping into air.
In all the dim dreams and turbid visions of his sleep he never faced the image of a living saint falling to her doom. But he knew that Chrom would see that sight again. In the depths of drowning nightmares he would run, over and over, too slow to catch his falling sister. He would watch a thousand times as the brightest soul in Ylisse was snuffed out, and with it a part of himself.
Emmeryn was gone, and the world grew darker.
END OF PART 1
