The still night air of the badlands at the Plegian-Ylissean border was interrupted as a powerful wyvern and a graceful pegasus descended from above. In a flurry of dust and sand, five of the six passengers quickly dismounted and stretched after staying still for the entirety of the day. The sixth, draped in a coat of black, remained fast asleep in spite of the excitement around him.

The Justice Brigade stood at the gates of Abnorun, shrouded from view by the encompassing, steep hills surrounding the area. In the dark of night, the normally beige sandstone walls glowed a warm orange in the torchlight. Several soldiers sporting traditional black light armor with purple eye-highlights on the arm pieces patrolled the upper walls, the dim torchlight reflecting off their metal shoulder pads. Compared to both Feroxes and Ylisse, security was surprisingly lax.

Matt grasped his wyvern's reins and led the powerful wyvern drake towards the stables situated near the town gates. The stables were lightly occupied, the sole resident being a chestnut horse lazily grinding hay between its molars. The wyvern lazily strolled through the stable gates, giving a curious sniff at the startled mare as he passed by. As he reached the far corner of the enclosure, he tucked his massive wings beneath him and fell to the hay-covered stable floor, a flurry of straw rising up around the giant beast.

The stable owner gave the giant beast an uninterested glance before returning to pitchforking a pile of hay.

"Folks don't bring wyverns around these parts much anymore," he drawled, impaling the farming tool into the haystack and shifting his gaze to Matt, "'Fraid I'll have to charge you extra for stable space and upkeep."

"Not a problem," Matt replied, tossing a modest pouch of gold into the old man's hand.

"And you, miss? You gonna put your pegasus up for the night? I'll have to charge you extra for the boy if he's gonna stay too."

The stable owner pointed at Nila, who was still slouched over on Owar's back, sleeping peacefully. Chast placed a hand to her chest and sighed softly.

"No, I believe he will be coming with us," Chast assured, "Matt, if you would?"

The burly man gave a nod, and gently lifted the dozing tactician from Owar's back and slung him over his shoulder like a wet towel. The pegasus seemed to sigh with relief as the burden was removed from her back, and allowed the elderly stable owner to lead her into the enclosure.

The stable owner poured the contents of the coin purse into his hand, dutifully counting each one.

"There should be enough coin in there for both," Matt said, "Make sure Bob gets a beefsteak twenty minutes after he wakes up, or he might get a little agitated. He also likes to be scratched under the chin."

"Bob?" the old man inquired, placing the sixteen coins into his pocket.

"The wyvern. Don't you laugh, or I won't be giving you a tip when we come back."

"I won't, son. I won't."

Matt huffed, giving the old man a forced wave as he turned to follow the Brigadiers through the massive wooden gates of Abnorun.

After the stablehand made sure the six had turned the corner into the town, fished a coin out of his pocket and he bit the end to check its authenticity. As expected, the coin proved to be legitimate, a layer of gold coating a distinctly copper interior. He shoved the gleaming coin back into his pocket and laid his cheek against his fist.

"What in the hell kinda name is Bob, anyway? Damned children…"

– – –

"What do you mean all the rooms are booked?!"

Matt slammed his fist on the counter angrily, rattling the empty mugs of ale abandoned by the nighttime patrons. The unconscious tactician slung over his shoulder stirred briefly, muttering something incoherent before returning to a deep sleep. The young innkeeper held her hands up defensively, visibly rattled much like her glass mugs.

"I'm sorry, sir. Abnorun is a popular destination 'round this time of year. I'm afraid there's nothing I can do."

"What could be so important that the entire town doesn't have an empty bed?" The burly wyvern rider turned from the flustered innkeeper, pinching his forehead in frustration. "This is the fourth inn…"

"You mean you don't know?" the innkeeper asked incredulously, running a hand through her long blonde hair, "The Autumn Queen Meliora is making an address in a few days' time at the foot of the royal embassy. Isn't that why you're here…?"

"No, ma'am. We had no idea," Valkus piped up, pushing the enraged Matt to the side. "I suppose we'll just be on our way, then. Have a pleasant evening."

Matt began to protest, but the general pinched his ear firmly, dragging his head down to her level.

"We're leaving," Valkus hissed, spitting acid. She dragged Matt behind her as she forced the heavy wooden inn door open. Matt stared helplessly at the other three as he struggled to keep Nila balanced on his shoulder while being dragged around by the enraged Valkus.

"How the hell does she do that?" Marius asked in awe to no one in particular. Hunter offered a shrug before Valkus and Matt rounded the corner of the inn door, the three disappearing from sight.

As the two stepped into the cool night air Valkus released her iron grip briefly before pinning the bulky man to the inn wall, her face contorted with rage. Matt struggled to reach to his ear and massage the pain away.

"You can't just yell at young girls like that," Valkus chastised as she pushed herself away from Matt, crossing her arms and turning away from the wyvern rider. "You scared the poor thing half to death!"

Matt threw his hands in the air in surrender while a defeated expression played across his face.

"Hey, it isn't my fault that all the inns are booked! Don't I have a right to be frustrated?"

"It wasn't her's either!" Valkus shouted as she turned back towards Matt, her anger increased twofold. Her long, disheveled black hair tumbled over her left eye, but did little to hide her expression of fury. "I swear, if you weren't our leader I would gut you right now."

"Alright, alright. Calm down, please. We'll keep looking for another inn, no more yelling this time."

Valkus took in a large breath before releasing it in a heavy sigh. Her anger seemed to abate slightly as her shoulders fell to a more relaxed position.

"…Fine. Come on, then."

Matt snuck a glance back to the inn door, which was surprisingly still shut tightly. He could have sworn he saw the others following behind him and Valkus…

But Matt simply shrugged to himself and turned back to the impatient Valkus. But to Matt's surprise, she wasn't standing in front of him anymore. Instead, the heavily-armored woman was several paces down the brick path, standing motionless as she stared down the shadowed street.

Matt was quick to fall in beside her, and he threw her a questioning look. Valkus remained silent, throwing a hand over the wyvern rider's mouth.

"Look there," she whispered, using her free hand to point further down the road. At first, Matt couldn't see anything besides a road enveloped in darkness, but as he focused he was able to discover the source of Valkus' concern. A dark robed figure was standing at the mouth of a side street, completely motionless. His head pricked up from underneath his hood, and turned to the two standing alone in the middle of the main street. Matt felt his hand instinctively reach for his axe.

The robed figure seemed to glide across the darkness as he slowly inched toward Matt and Valkus. Matt felt as if he was rooted to the spot. Unable to move, and unable to draw his axe. After a moment, the figure was upon them, and he spoke in an inquisitive, yet lilting voice.

"Hmm. There are only two of you."

Hearing soft voices approach from behind him, Matt turned to see Chast, Marius, and Hunter approaching the scene. The hooded figure must have noticed as well, as he clasped his hands together while a smile played across the visible portion of his face.

"Excellent. The five of you are all accounted for, and you've brought a friend."

"Just who are you, kid?" Matt asked, suspicion tinging his voice. The dark-robed figure nodded, pulling his black hood down to reveal an ashy-brown face, not at all different from Nila's, adorned with an ivory-white face mask. His chocolate-brown hair was peppered with locks of white.

"Forgive my manners. My name is Christopher. I am the one who wrote you the summons that called you here."

Matt mulled over Christopher's statement for a moment. Insight passed through his mind, and his brow lowered into a scowl. "So you're the one who has no damned idea how to write a letter! Do you know how much trouble we went through to even find where you wanted us to go?"

"I apologize," he sighed, bowing his head low, "But ink is a precious commodity for someone of my… financial standing. I was also pressed for time, you understand."

"Alright, alright. Fine," Valkus interrupted, shoving her way between Matt and the mysterious boy, "Let's talk business. What do you want from us?"

"Plenty of time, dear Valkus. But first, I assume you all would appreciate a warm fire and a place to sleep for the night?"

– – –

"By, 'place to sleep for the night' I had something a little more… you know… soft in mind."

Matt gazed with disappointment down a small, shadowed alleyway. He assumed that the dark mage would have owned a decent-sized house based on his aristocratic manner of speaking, but Chris appeared to be quite at home in the alleyway as he crouched in front of well-used firepit and retrieved a firestarter from the pocket of his star-blue tunic.

"Unfortunately, I am homeless," Christopher deadpanned in response to Matt's complaint as he struck a white rock with his starter. Tiny sparks danced through the air, igniting on the small pile of wood and badland grasses placed into the fire pit. "We all cannot afford warm homes and pillows, you understand. I spent the last few precious coin on the ink and paper crumpled in your back pocket."

Matt reached into his pocket, and retrieved the aforementioned crushed parchment. The letter seemed to emit a dying cough before riding a strong gust of wind into the moonlight.

"How did you…"

"Intuition, I suppose," Christopher interrupted, "I'm quite proficient at understanding people's personalities at a glance. You, for example, are loud, aggressive, and quite fond of your muscles."

"Hey! I like small, furry animals, too. That's just an unfair generalization."

"But I was correct about the other three, wasn't I?" Christopher said with a knowing smirk.

"…I think that's enough for me today."

Matt laid his axe against the alleyway wall while he placed the dozing Nila down gently in a small alcove in the alleyway wall. He sighed, resting the back of his head against the cold stone.

"Gods… for such a scrawny guy, that Nila sure is heavy."

Matt allowed himself to slide down the stone wall until he was in a sitting position next to the unconscious Nila. He glanced around as the other four claimed spaces in the cramped alleyway his eyes beginning to close from the exhaustion of flying over the course of the whole day.

Letting his gaze wander further down the shadowy corridor, he began to wonder how Christopher was able to survive in such a dark, depressing place. The stone-bricked pathway was caked with a thick layer of dust that blew into the air as frequent gusts of wind rushed through the narrow area.

Suddenly, however, a light to his left caught his eye, and he snapped to attention. He turned towards Nila, noticing that a soft purple glow was creeping out from under the collar his dark coat. He drew back the fabric slowly.

Underneath was an odd-looking symbol etched into the back of Nila's neck, pulsing slowly with a soft, purple glow. Matt stared perplexedly at the symbol before remembering its origins.

The Mark of Grima.

"Damn. I guess he wasn't kidding about being a Fellblood." Matt murmured before drawing Nila's coat back over the pulsing symbol.

"The Mark of Grima is actually quite similar to the Brand of the Exalt," a soft voice spoke, snapping the wyvern rider back to attention. He slowly turned his head towards the voice, and found himself to be face to face with Christopher.

"Huh? When'd you get there?" Matt asked, rubbing his eyes. "Weren't you over there a second ago?"

"You were staring at your friend thoughtfully, yet with puzzlement. I simply had to investigate." Chris explained, a small smile playing across his lips. "Especially after you brought up the topic of the Fellblood."

"Not exactly the first thing I would do, but alright," Matt said with a shrug. "You were saying, Christopher?"

Christopher looked momentarily confused, pressing his lips together thoughtfully. He let out a soft hum before nodding and continuing.

"Almost every Fellblood has a Mark of Grima somewhere on their body. The holy blood of Naga in the veins of the Ylissean Exalt produces the Brand, while the corrupted blood of Grima produces the Mark. It is remarkable how many similarities the two have, actually."

"That's all well and good," the wyvern rider said, narrowing his gaze and crossing his arms tightly, "But how do you know all this?"

"The blood of the fell dragon did not only flow down one lineage," the masked dark mage returned, "I myself carry Fell blood, as do a surprising number of Plegian people in this day and age."

"You too?" Matt marveled, his arms falling limply to his sides. For several moments, only the sounds of violent gusts of wind against the sturdy Plegian buildings could be heard. Matt looked the young dark mage up and down several times, his face contorting into an expression of confusion before he asked, "In that case, where's yours, then?"

"Err… my what?" Christopher asked with feigned confusion. His ordinarily high-class mannerisms and speech momentarily faded away, his straight back slouching and his brow raising. Matt couldn't tell, but he assumed that the dark mage's eyes had widened in shock. The moment passed, and the sophisticated Christopher that Matt had become acquainted with returned to the forefront of his visage.

Christopher coughed once to clear his throat before reiterating, "I am not certain that is something I should be showing you. We have only just met, after all."

"Is it really that big of a deal?" Matt asked with an impassive face.

"Why, of course it is a 'big deal!'" Christopher exclaimed, "Do you even understand the stigma against the Mark of Grima? The symbol of the very creature that attempted to destroy society as we know it? It's like flying a flag bearing the words 'I am evil' written in large letters! Your friend probably understands this as well."

"…Right," Matt winced after Christopher's tongue-lashing. A heavy silence fell upon the two again, and Matt let his gaze wander down the dim alleyway. The rest of his friends were all retired into various nooks and crannies all across the thin stretch of brick pavement, or at least Matt assumed they were. The thick shadows enveloping their makeshift resting area reduced visibility to near nothingness. Only Christopher was visible through the engulfing darkness.

The dark mage rested his back against the wall to the immediate right of Matt, softly exhaling through his nose. Through both the darkness and the mage's mask, Matt could not accurately identify his emotions. But based on his body language, Matt could tell something was eating at the young spellcaster.

"You want to tell me more about the Fellblood?" Matt spoke assuringly, resting a comforting hand on Christopher' black sleeve, "I'm all ears."

"Certainly," Christopher answered. He attempted to conceal his emotions, something that the mage was quite proficient at, but Matt could tell that the dark mage had brightened somewhat. "Plenty of Fellblood exist, but many of them have been executed recently by that self proclaimed 'holy group.' I was unfortunately forced to sell my home and turn to a life of a… vagabond."

Christopher shuddered at the final word before slowly lowering himself to the ground in a sitting position.

"That explains why those cultists showed up at Nila's place the other day," Matt spoke in realization. "It wasn't an isolated incident. Think of all those that we didn't save… Nila would have met the same fate if we hadn't happened to be there."

"Nila?" Christopher rolled the word around in his tongue for a moment before saying, "So that is his name. I've not heard of him before. He must have hidden himself quite well."

"His library was one of few buildings for miles. I'm still not sure how the Sons managed to find him."

"The Sons of Naga have inducted members from many walks of life," Christopher added, "It would not surprise me if a former friend or ally joined and made the cult aware of his location."

After a brief pause, Christopher suddenly stood up, his robe shifting wildly from the unexpected movement and the gusts of wind beckoning through the thin alleyway. As the young man stood up, Matt noticed that Christopher's robe wasn't really a robe. It was more a large, hooded cloak than a robe. As his cloak shifted, his star-blue shirt and coal-black pants were revealed briefly.

"I suppose it is getting rather late," the mage said in a soft voice, "Tomorrow, I will inform you of my plan to deal with the threats facing Abnorun. Until then." The dark mage offered a wave, before turning around and adding, "Oh, I almost forgot. Hand me Nila's weaponry, and I will stow it in a safe place for the night."

Careful not to disturb the tactician, Matt pulled Nila's blade from its scabbard and his spellbook from its pouch and handed the two to Christopher. He jumped in mild shock as he placed his hand to Ashen's hilt, and electricity began to flow through the dark-metaled blade. The mage quickly calmed himself, however, and grabbed Matt's axe before giving Matt a firm nod and retreating into the darkness, the heavy steel blade dragging across the ground as the thin dark mage struggled to carry the weapon.

As the dark mage faded away into the black of night, Matt heard Christopher's voice call back to him.

"Call me Chris."

Sure that Christopher, or rather Chris, had left this time, Matt let out a heavy sigh and attempted to find a comfortable position on the tough stone walkway. As he found a relatively agreeable position, he gave Nila another look. He was still sleeping soundly in the alcove above him, drawing in short breaths through his nose and exhaling softly with his mouth. In the lightless night, the tactician appeared to be almost grayscale.

"I'm glad you're here, little buddy," the wyvern rider whispered, giving the tactician a final glance before shifting onto his opposite side, "'Cause I don't think I could do this on my own."

Nila shifted in his sleep, letting out a soft grunt as if in acknowledgement. Satisfied, Matt leaned his head back against the cold alleyway wall and let his mind slowly drift away with the breeze.


When Nila awoke, his face was plastered against a cold, brick ledge in a slightly dark place. The air was cool, and a sharp chill rolled up his spine as he pulled himself into a sitting position. A groan escaped his lips as he realized how stiff his back had become during the night.

As he became familiar with his surroundings, he discovered that he had been resting face-down on an elevated alcove next to a building's wall for the entire night. In an alleyway, no less. To his surprise, he was completely alone.

"Gods, what happened last night?" Nila coughed, his voice still very weak so soon after waking. He massaged the back of his neck firmly, trying to work out the tensed muscle.

"They abandoned you here and left," Other Nila whispered with a small giggle, "You should have known better than to trust them."

Nila sighed and ignored his voice, whose presence appeared to be growing from impatience. It was as if he could feel Other Nila standing beside him mockingly.

"Look!" Other Nila exclaimed, as one would to a young child, "They took Ashen and your spellbook, too. Now how are you going to protect yourself?"

Nila instinctively put a hand to his belt, and his heart dropped into his stomach as Other Nila's words rang true. His prized sword was missing from its scabbard, replaced only with a feeling of emptiness. Without his weapon at his side, Nila felt naked. Useless, even.

"Where could they have taken it?" Nila said, visibly panicked, "Gods, I should have seen this coming!"

"A pawn shop, probably. Best get looking, or else—"

"By 'it,' do you mean this?"

Other Nila's presence noticeably faltered as an unrecognizable voice rang out from behind him. He turned, the voice belonging to a younger boy who was inexplicably the same height he was. His cloak, a dark gray with a regal gold trim, contrasted heavily with the pure white mask adorning the upper portion of his face. His eyes were not visible beneath the ivory surface, two black spots instead appearing where eyeholes would normally be carved. And in his ashy-brown hands was the weapon Nila was missing.

Nila apprehensively took the blade from the boy's grasp and quickly slid it into its scabbard.

"Yes, thank you," Nila nodded, sizing up the young man. He was a Plegian dark mage, that much was definite. With a skin tone similar to Nila's and what appeared to be the dark robes befitting of dark mages, there was little doubt in his mind. Yet, at the same time, something seemed strange about the boy. It was as if they were on a similar wavelength to each other. Almost like a mutual understanding.

"You are the second of your companions to wake," he continued, offering Nila's Mark of Grima-embossed spellbook to the tactician, "Fortunately, this gives us a chance to talk. My name is Christopher. But please, call me Chris. I am the contact that called you to Abnorun."

Accepting the spellbook from the boy's hand, Nila placed the black tome into its holder attached to his belt. He replied uneasily, "So you are. In that case, where is everyone else?"

"Sleeping further down the alleyway, I'm afraid, and your friend Matthew left some time ago. It was rather late when you all arrived, after all."

"I see. And why are we in an alley to begin with? Abnorun has plenty of inns… I think."

"Ah, you must not have heard," the mage surmised, crossing his arms, "Queen Meliora is visiting. There's not a bed to be spared in the entire city."

"The Autumn Queen herself?" Nila gasped, "What for?"

"I cannot say for certain, but I'm inclined to believe for the same reason I urged the six of you here."

"The Abnorun protector entity is missing and Sons of Naga have been sighted in the area," the tactician said, finishing Chris' thought. "Am I right?"

"Precisely," Chris affirmed, "Tensions are growing, and I have little doubt that the Sons are beginning to bolster forces in the mountains outside the city. We must prepare for the coming storm."

Chris turned from Nila, his hands laced behind his back. A gentle sigh escaped his lips as he tilted his head downwards.

"But please, do not be alarmed into action just yet. Time still yet remains. Feel free to take a walk around the town. Familiarize yourself with the shops. Wander to your heart's content. Return to us when you are through."

Nila slowly nodded once before asking, "Do I… know you from somewhere? You feel… familiar to me somehow."

"We may not know each other, but our blood does," Chris responded cryptically, turning back to face Nila. The blank black circles replacing eyes on his mask seemed to bore directly into the tactician's soul.

"…Come again?"

"You are of Fell blood, correct? The symbol burned into the back of your neck says as much."

"Oh," Nila fretted, putting a hand to the back of his neck. It was warm to the touch, as it always was in the presence of dark magic. This Chris apparently had a lot of it. "So you saw, then?"

"I, no. I suppose I just had a feeling."

"That would make two of us."

A stiff breeze ran through the alley, carrying a chill not uncommon during the winter within the badlands nearest to Ylisse. The cold was not nearly as chilling as it would be in Ylisse proper, but it was enough for goosebumps to run along Nila's arms. He pulled his coat closed with a shiver.

"But I was serious about going for that walk. You are visibly stressed. Please take some time to relax and find some food. We'll be waiting for your return."

– – –

The dark-coated tactician stepped into the dim light of the Abnorun streets, the chill of the early morning wind abating slightly as the sun began to work its way over the horizon. The clouds above were tinged with a fiery scarlet as they smeared the color across the sky like an oil painting. The light was not strong enough to brighten the streets, keeping the town in a peaceful reverie. Nila cracked his neck, which had fortunately recovered from his awkward sleeping position.

Nila had never visited Abnorun, which was structured quite differently than other Plegian cities because of its location. The streets were paved with sturdy cobble rather than the usual softer sandstone, and the buildings were built in a much taller style. Nila could have easily mistaken the town as Ylissean if not for the temple-style architecture characteristic of the desert nation.

Very few were milling about in the dawn-lit Abnorun streets. A butcher struggled with a side of venison carried over his shoulder while a young boy dashed through the streets with a bag full of papers, presumably for the town crier. On the road he walked, very few shops and businesses were open.

"Watch your back," Other Nila shrieked, his voice manifesting to the right of the tactician, "He's right behind you."

Nila quickly turned, stopping dead in his tracks. His rapid breath abated slightly as he noticed that not a soul lingered on the Abnorun streets. Nila heavily sighed, both to calm himself and to express enmity to the voice before continuing down the cobbled path.

The tactician eventually found himself in what appeared to be the town's center. A stiff gust, much stronger than the light gusts that flowed through the enclosed alleyways and streets, carried a chill down from the eastern plains of Ylisse. Many small merchant stalls encircled the central fountain, and Nila noticed several were beginning to set up their displays for the day. Most worked by lamplight, illuminating the individually-designed cloth shop banners with a soft yellow glow.

Glancing around, Nila eventually laid his eyes upon a small fruit stall. The merchant behind the counter was already conducting business, bartering with a young woman draped in a dark blue cloak. Her maroon hair appeared almost black in the dark of night, but streaks of red flickered into sight in the light of the two lamps placed at either side of the stall's wooden counter.

The tall, balding man behind the counter was of Plegian descent like himself, and was loudly bartering with the cloaked woman. As he approached, he picked up bits and pieces of their conversation.

"I have some fresh southern Ylissean apples, two gold a pound," the merchant smiled, pointing to the delicious red fruits,"Or perhaps some Valmese bananas? I have those set at three gold per pound. What'll it be?"

Nila took a position at the opposite side of the counter, perusing the selection of fruits. The merchant gave him a nod before returning to business with the cloaked woman.

She pondered the merchant's offer, glowering at the meager amount of coin in the palm of her hand.

"How about one gold for the pound of apples?" the woman insisted, stuffing her paltry coinage into her cloak pocket. The merchant thought for a moment before shaking his head.

"No can do, miss. That's too low for my tastes. I'll tell you what, though. I can do two pounds for three gold. Fair deal?"

A smile played across her face as she tossed three gold coins onto the wooden counter.

"That should be fine."

As she continued business with the merchant, Nila couldn't help but study her face. She was incredibly familiar, with the specific shade of her hair tipping him off. It wasn't until he got a good look at her face, however, that her identity became apparent to his sleep-addled mind.

"Excuse me?" Nila began. The woman slowly turned to meet his gaze, looking him up and down once before responding.

"May I help you?" she said apprehensively, stowing her newly-purchased apples in her knapsack. By the tone of her voice, Nila understood that she wasn't used to interacting with strangers on a whim in the early hours of the morning.

"Is that you, Zoe? It's been far too long."

Recognition flashed across her eyes, but to Nila's surprise she shook her head slowly.

"I'm sorry, you must have mistaken me for another. My name is Grace. So sorry."

Grace. That's who she was. Grace hung her knapsack over her right shoulder, before stepping away from the counter.

"Grace! It's been years, and your sister has always looked a lot like you."

She turned back towards Nila with an expression of astonishment mixed with uncertainty. She looked him up and down once more, trying to remember where she might have known Nila.

"Hold on a second. You know who my sister and I are?"

Nila adopted a similarly perplexed expression, absentmindedly scratching his cheek.

"Of course," he nodded, "Your father and Zoe served under my father, Norman. The Plegian Mercenaries, remember?"

Grace processed the statement for several seconds before smacking herself in the forehead in her denseness.

"Oh gods, Nila. I'm so sorry. I completely forgot. I haven't thought about that in such a long—"

"Excuse me," the balding merchant piped up, "I have customers waiting. While this reunion is quite touching, could you please take it somewhere else?"

Nila glanced around the center of trade, which was completely deserted save for a brisk, frigid breeze and the few other merchants still setting up their wares.

"There's no one here."

"…Get lost, kids."

– – –

Nila peeled apart one of the oranges that he had somehow managed to convince the displeased fruit merchant to part with while Grace snacked on one of her apples. Nila pointed out a secluded alleyway, complete with crates the two could rest on briefly while they caught up.

"What have you been up to these past few years, Nila?" Grace inquired, tossing the core of her finished apple absentmindedly behind her shoulder, smacking the wall behind her with a muffled thump.

"After my father died, I took his place as leader of the Mercenaries," Nila began, "What a terrible idea that turned out to be."

"Oh?"

"They're all gone. Every last one of them."

Grace was quiet for a moment, unsure how to properly respond. She cleared her throat before asking, "Dead, or…"

"Some dead, others missing. The point is, the Plegian Mercenaries are done for. I've been living by myself for the past three years in my mother's old library home before a couple of mercenaries picked me up the other day."

"Oh," Grace trailed off briefly, letting the weight of Nila's plight sink in before changing the subject. "I've done some traveling, doing a few odd jobs. Must have seen each corner of this continent twice now."

Nila noticed Grace was keeping her words intentionally vague, dodging specifics about her line of work. He suspected her of selling her sword based on her extensive set of equipment, as she carried a sturdy steel sword at one hip and a red-hilted blade with a wicked edge on another. Not typically equipment carried by farmhands or servants.

A lull in the conversation passed as Nila finished his orange and Grace watched the red-tinged clouds lazily float through the extensive sky. She pulled a second apple from her bag and began to contemplatively chew through the skin of the bright red fruit as Nila reignited the conversation.

"How has your sister been? You two were usually inseparable."

Grace froze mid-bite at Nila's question, and the tactician knew that he had stepped onto thin ice. The blue-cloaked woman sighed, placing her half-finished apple at her side before answering.

"I… have not seen her since my father died," Grace said, choosing her words carefully. "She loved him dearly. With all the chaos in the world, I cannot say for sure that she survived."

"Ah…" Nila stuttered, racking his brain for something comforting to say. "I'm… so sorry. How about your mother, then?"

If Nila regretted broaching the topic of Zoe, he definitely wished that he left the subject of her mother alone. Grace appeared completely broken, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. Eventually, she managed to choke out, "Sh-she… she's dead. She died in my arms over half a year ago. I buried her body myself. All I have to remember her from is this."

Grace rummaged through her knapsack and retrieved a visibly-aged Levin Sword. The leatherbound hilt had faded to a pasty tan, and the blade had been reduced to a state of complete dullness. Nila placed a hand to the hilt, with only a single small spark running along the faded yellow vein at the blade's center before petering out. It had obviously seen little action or upkeep in the past few months.

Nila was at a complete loss for words. He had somehow managed to dredge up bad memories of not one, but two deceased family members over the course of five minutes. He began to stutter out an apology, but Grace held her hand up to silence the tactician.

"I-It's okay," Grace sputtered, wiping her tan wristband across her eyes, "You had no way of knowing otherwise. Truth be told, I can barely believe it myself, being the only member of my family alive."

Grace turned her gaze skyward wistfully, letting a drawn-out sigh escape her lips before continuing.

"I still hope this is all just a dream. A terrible, terrible dream that I'll wake up from and go out training with my father and Zoe, mother waiting at home with food and drink when we were finished. Just like any other day."

She held the dulled Levin Sword tightly to her chest as her voice dwindled into a whisper. She paused, curling up atop the abandoned crate and holding her legs tightly.

"But I know that this dream will never end."

Nila let the silence sink in a moment, allowing Grace to comfort herself. The frigid northerly wind dissipated as the sun crested over the horizon, bathing the whole of Abnorun in a warm embrace. Nila rested a hand comfortingly on Grace's shoulder.

"I suppose that makes two of us, then."

Grace turned with a start, her gaze inquisitive.

"Two of what?"

"We're both the last of our families. My father and mother have both passed on, and my sister died in the final battle the mercenaries ever fought."

"Marisa? No…"

Nila pulled the clearly distraught Grace into a warm, comforting side hug.

"We're in this together, Grace. You and me."

The pair sat in heavy silence, neither willing to break the fragile barrier set between them. The sun rising brought the whole of Abnorun to life, as citizens hurried down the crowded streets. Not a soul paid any mind to the silent pair sitting side by side in the shadowed alleyway, watching the world go by.


Valkus bathed in the unfamiliar feeling of the early morning sun as she pulled herself from sleep and rubbed her eyes. She was not used to waking up early in the morning, usually as a result of her late night binge drinking, but found the change of pace to be quite welcome. Nevertheless, the rising sun shone through the clouds to create picturesque bursting colors of dawn, and bathed the alleyway in a bright red light. It seemed as if the whole of Abnorun was immersed in the blaze of a warm, comforting bonfire.

But her reverie was soon broken as she heard hurried shuffling emanating from further down the alleyway. A loud crash of glass breaking was enough to pull Valkus from her state of half-sleep and into the realm of reality. As she smoothed her long, black hair, Valkus managed to slowly work herself into a standing position.

Valkus glanced around the corner of the high-arched entrance of the abandoned building she had slept in front of, only to find herself face to face with Chast as she rooted through the massive piles of empty boxes and crates littered around the alleyway.

"Have you seen my armor anywhere around here, dear?" Chast asked without preamble, "Or my staff? My lance?"

Valkus shook her head before tilting her head quizzically and narrowing her gaze.

"Didn't you give your things to Christopher to hold onto for the night?"

The Falcon Knight froze in the middle of digging through another crate, her eyes widening in shock.

"Christopher was doing that? I had no idea, I—"

"Chast, calm down," Valkus said, holding her hands out in front of her, "Maybe Christopher just took them and put them with everything else. We'll go ask him together, okay?"

Valkus' words did little to abate Chast's anxiety, but she eventually gave an uncertain nod. She followed Valkus through the glowing red Abnorun alleyway, the light enveloping the two in a warm embrace. After rounding a corner, Valkus found Christopher clearing the remains of the previous night's fire from the fire pit. As the two women approached, Christopher turned and offered a wave.

"Greetings. Slept well, I take it?"

Christopher's salutation fell on deaf ears, as the still-anxious Chast began to stammer, "D-did you happen to stow my armor and weapons in here because I can't seem to find it anywhere and I really need them for combat—"

"Get ahold of yourself, friend," Christopher interrupted, making an effort to keep his emotions neutral, "I'm sure I have your things in my cache. Come with me."

The dark mage retreated through the door behind him with the ladies in tow. The morning light funneled into the repurposed building, illuminating the varied metal weapons and armor within. Chris had laid out the entirety of the party's items on various tables inside the building, following a loose organizational pattern of separation by person. Hunter's twin steel blades rested in the sheaths atop a table next to Marius' snakebound katana and dusty spellbook. Valkus' spear and ebony armor were piled in the opposite corner alongside Marius' dark armor, both blending into the dimly lit surroundings. Notably absent from the ensemble were Ashen, Nila's spellbook, and Matt's massive steel axe.

Christopher rooted through the cobwebs, his searching hands only retrieving dust. With a heavy sigh, the masked man turned back to Chast.

"What color did it happen to be again?" Christopher requested, as he slowly scratched the back of his head, "It doesn't happen to be among the collection of items."

"Dark violet, with darker shoulder pieces," Chast responded. The Falcon Knight was noticeably sweating despite the cool air of the shadow-enveloped room, and she was undoubtedly on the cusp of hyperventilation. Her striking red eyes were dilated from the darkness, epitomizing fear and uncertainty.

Christopher appeared momentarily baffled before returning to an expression of neutrality. He seemed anxious, however, as he absentmindedly scratched his cheek while pursing his lips. He seemed to be lost in thought, as if he was mentally retracing footsteps.

After a moment, the mage gave up whatever search through his mind he was conducting. With a pained expression, he asked, "Did you happen to give them to me last night? I certainly would have them stored somewhere in here…"

Shaking her head, Chast replied, "No, I left them against a wall where I was sleeping…"

As soon as the words left the Falcon Knight's mouth, a mixture of shock and fear materialized on the lower half of his face. If his eyes were visible from under his mask, they surely would have widened. For a moment, he was completely lost for words, making severals sounds that could only be described as grunts or failed words. With a significant amount of effort the dark maged managed to spit out, "W-what? That… that's… Oh dear…"

Chast stoned joined in Christopher's state of panic, leaving Valkus completely baffled as she tried to calm the two down. Christopher, however, soon found his voice again, and explained, "…I think I may know what has become of your armor, friend."

Christopher paused momentarily before moving towards the lone window window, pulling the dust-caked blinds ajar to gaze into the sunrise over the spire of the Abnorun palace. He seemed to be lost in thought once again, and judging by his hesitation to speak, Valkus assumed that he was drudging up less than pleasant memories.

Without turning from his state of vigil, he said, "There is a certain scourge that plagues Abnorun. Few outside his circle of companions have seen him, but those who have know him as Ulysses. He is a nimble and silent thief, plaguing the streets at nightfall. He is quick, he is deadly…" He turned back towards the two women with pursed lips. "And healways gets what he wants. If I were to guess, your armor is most likely either in his possession or in the hands of a fence."

"Stolen?!" Chast exclaimed, equally out of shock and anger, "You don't understand. That armor was me! When I find him, I'll—"

"As much as I like to be the optimist," Christopher interrupted, "Very few can claim to have seen him. The only fact I can say for sure is that he has amassed an excessive amount of wealth from stolen property, and is hidden somewhere in the city. Unfortunately, I would search for a new set of armor if I was in your position."

"I… I can't do that," Chast repeated, her voice faltering, "That set of armor has too much sentimental value. There must be something I could do to track this… Ulysses down!" Chast spat the name 'Ulysses' off of her tongue much like one would a crushed insect: with the most absolute disgust and repulsion.

Christopher remained silent, instead slowly walking over to the flustered Falcon Knight. He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, and the black circles replacing his eyes on his ivory mask somehow became quite expressive with empathy.

"Chastity," he reassured, momentarily tightening his grasp on the Falcon Knight's purple-draped shoulder, "As I have informed your friend Matthew last night, I was once rather well off. I was in possession of my parents' inheritance, and I even owned a small house on the edge of town. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep me satisfied."

The dark mage released his grip, turning from Chast and towards Valkus as he interlaced his fingers behind his back. The sparse light shining in through the singular window reflected off of the innumerable dust particles floating through the room, enveloping Christopher in a fiery sea of dancing stars.

"I have dealt with Ulysses in the past. And like you, Chastity, I wanted revenge," he shot a quick glance towards the Falcon Knight, whose eyes were now slowly leaking tears. "So much so that I became blinded. I had very little to my name, and I thought it unfair that he would so ruthlessly fleece my paltry coinage."

Christopher let out a long drawn sigh, as he chose his next few words carefully.

"I pursued Ulysses. And I soon discovered that he has connections, far too many that any sane man would keep close. You may try to recover your armor, but you will only be met with the strongest of resistances. And by the time you do eventually work his location out of one of his acquaintances, he would have already flipped the set and made himself scarce."

Chast began to protest once again, but Christopher raised his hand firmly for silence. He turned back to Chast, his painted ebony circles radiating concern and pity.

"Please, Chastity. For your own safety. And the safety of those around you."

– – –

"Of all the terrible luck…"

Chast kicked at a stray pebble as she ran her violet sleeve across her eyes. The rock rattled against the brick street as it bounced, coming to rest against a worn stone wall. She and Valkus threaded through a northern side street of Abnorun, enveloped in a pained air. In spite of her close bond with Chast, Valkus found herself lost as to what to do to comfort the devastated Falcon Knight.

Valkus had dressed herself in her gold-trimmed black armor, which produced an audible clang with each step she took. Equipping herself was probably a poor idea considering the circumstances, but Valkus felt less whole without metal plating coating the whole of her body. She held her black-tipped spear like a walking cane, its leatherbound, wooden hilt tapping methodically against the ground.

Chast, however, was wearing only her simple violet tunic and dark pants that she usually wore underneath her similarly-colored armor. Without her trademark radiant violet armor set, Chast was a completely different person: lost, frail, and weak.

"I'm sure we'll find something better for you around here," Valkus comforted, giving Chast as realistic of a warm smile as she could muster, "After all, Abnorun is one of the largest towns in Plegia. They've got to have something in stock."

Valkus' words seemed to fall on deaf ears, as Chast's melancholy expression still remained on her face like a terrible scar.

"…That armor was custom made for me the day Owar and I joined the Justice Brigade. You remember, don't you?"

"How could I forget?"

Valkus briefly reminisced on how Matt insisted on having a fine set of armor crafted for a younger version of Chast. Out of the steel forges of southwest Regna Ferox came the trademark violet-tinted hauberk Chast held so dear, alongside a hardy steel spear. Valkus found it incredibly hard to believe that Chast's lifeblood was now nothing more than a distant, faded memory.

Before she could reflect any further upon her past, Valkus felt a hand grasp the giant black-steel shoulder of her massive armor. Now firmly attached to the material plane of reality, Valkus noticed that Chast had stopped in her tracks, and was staring at a large, sea green-caped man wearing a gilded set of armor. The paragon of a knight was standing over a tiny book stall, its counter barely holding the weight of the tomes scattered across its surface. The man closely studying the cover of two tomes, each sporting with green covers embossed with a detailed Brand of the Exalt.

"Isn't that…" Chast muttered beneath her breath, trailing off mid sentence. Valkus looked the hulking man up and down once quickly, unable to place him in her mind. By Chast's knowing expression, however, Valkus assumed that the Falcon Knight was convinced that she knew him from somewhere.

Apparently unsatisfied with the two tomes, the gilded man placed both back on the table, and retreated towards a side alleyway tunneling into the wall to the book stall's immediate left. Seeing the man leave, Chast broke out into a run towards the gaping mouth of the shadowed side street.

Valkus chased after the Falcon Knight as quickly as she could with her hulking armor lugging her down. Much to Valkus' confusion, however, Chast immediately stopped at the entrance to the alleyway. Not a moment after Valkus caught up with Chast, the Falcon Knight turned to her with a perplexed expression.

"…He's gone."

Much to the dark-armored general's bewilderment, the gilded, teal-caped knight had inexplicably vanished. Even in the darkest of alleyways, a man in a suit of gold would be quite easy to spot, especially since this alleyway ended at a dead stop mere meters into it.

It took significant effort, but Valkus was able to pull the puzzled Chast away from the ominous mouth of the alleyway that had claimed the gilded knight. Several paces down the street, Valkus keenly spotted a signpost labeled with a hammer and anvil hanging over the sparsely populated street, the universal symbol of a smithy.

"Here we are," Valkus stated before opening the wrought-iron door, "After you."

As Chast led Valkus through through the door of the unassuming armory, a bearded, musclebound young man clapped his hands together once, shattering the tranquility of the workplace. The sound reverberated through the otherwise quiet showroom floor silencing the rhythmic sound of hammer on steel.

"Look alive! We've got customers, people! Move it!" The musclebound man smoothed his thin black hair while he donned a similarly black apron and a white headband. With his work attire complete, he stepped behind the low, wooden counter against the wall nearest the entry. A cheesy grin appeared on his face as he addressed the two women.

"Ladies! Welcome to Dominic's Armory, finest armor and weapons in Abnorun! I'm Dominic, but my boys call me Dom. How can I help you?"

Dom spoke with an accent that Valkus couldn't place. It certainly wasn't Plegian, yet it lacked the typical heaviness of Regna Ferox. It was also a far cry from the lilt of the Valmese and Ylissean. Based on his clean and fair skin tone, he obviously wasn't a local. Valkus' train of thought was interrupted, as the melancholy Chast was already responding to the musclebound giant.

"Hello. I need a new set of armor, and weapons. Can you help me?"

The blacksmith either chose to ignore the obvious melancholy of Chast's voice, or was blissfully unaware of its presence as he responded with a cheerful, "Sure thing! What kind of fightin' style we talkin' 'bout here?"

Dom was already digging through a box of steel parts, tossing dangerously wicked cutting knives, blunt hammers, and pointed nails behind him casually, which all fell to the stone floor with varied pitches of metallic clangs.

"Falcon Knight, sir."

"Ah, Falcon Knight… Falcon Knight… Beautiful armor and weapons. Love 'em." Dom threw the last of his metal tools and scraps behind him, which formed a comically large pile compared to their small metallic storage box. At the bottom of the container, the odd blacksmith retrieved a small piece of paper and laid it out on the counter, smoothing away an innumerable amount of creases. Unintelligible scribbles crossed its surface, but judging from Dom's intense focus on the document, he was able to decipher the unintelligible scrawl.

"Unfortunately, I ain't no artificer, so you'll need to go somewhere else for that staff. But I think I've got just the thing for you in the weapons and armor department."

Dom ducked below the counter before emerging with a long, flexible cloth ruler. He quickly ran the tan, marked cloth around Chast's body as he darted from position to position, gathering measurements.

"Waist size, medium. Hip size, medium. Torso, large. You're a tall girl. Bust size… nonexistent."

Valkus found herself momentarily floored that the blacksmith actually took the time to point out that specific facet of Chast's appearance. And judging by her enraged glower, the Falcon Knight wasn't taking too kindly to the situation either.

"I have had a terrible enough day already, and it is not even noon," Chast articulated slowly, "I have lost the armor and weapons I have known for the past two years of my life. So let's not embarrass me on top of it, okay?"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, girl," Dom paused for a moment, a sheepish expression crossing his face. As quickly as it appeared, it melted away back into his trademark smile. "I don't think so good in my head, so I say things out loud sometimes. Sorry."

In the face of the awkward situation, Valkus forced herself to become incredibly intrigued with the stone tiles covering the floor. She counted fifteen of them, making sure to take time to separate them by color before giving the two another glance. Chast looked far from forgiving the blacksmith, but her expression of rage had abated slightly.

Dom seemed to find himself tongue tied. He turned to Valkus, all while silently praying for backup, but the armor clad general quickly reimmersed herself in tile counting. The blacksmith gave a heavy sigh before attempting reigniting the conversation.

"Erm… it's as I thought. I've got what you're lookin' for. A set of military-grade Ylissean Falcon Knight gear, imported directly from Ylisse before the shutdown, complete with a lance and everything. The bust—" his voice noticeably faltered for a moment as he began treading on thin ice, "—might be a size too big, but I think you're set otherwise."

"Military-grade?" Chast balked, as her expression of primal fury quickly shifted into that of bewilderment. "That simply can't be possible…"

"Ain't never told a lie in my life," the blacksmith said, moving back behind the counter, where he must have thought himself safe from a potential brawl, "Military-grade, good as gold. Lookin' to buy?"

"Depends if the price is right," Valkus interjected, tearing herself away from her tiles. She laid a heavy pouch of gold on the counter, which landed with an audible thump. "This is all we can spend."

Dom emptied the pouch on the wooden counter and sifted through the coinage.

"Damn, you've got some big coin here." He quickly counted the glittering gold coins, moving them from one side of the counter to the other as he recited the value aloud for each. He found himself momentarily lost as he stared a bullion in the face before moving it to the side along with the others.

"Worth 3793 in all," Dom concluded, brushing the coins off the table and back into Valkus' pouch. He paused yet again, counting with his fingers as he scratched the short-cropped black hair underneath his headband. After a moment, insight crossed his face, and he beamed, "Normally the armor and the accompanying weapon would run you 4500… But I can't say no to those pretty faces. We've got a deal."

He reached over the counter and shook Valkus' hand firmly before retreating through a set of doors to what was presumably the storage area with three of his workers in tow. Out of the corner of her eye, Valkus noticed Chast turn to her with an unreadable expression.

The two shared both words, but came to a mutual understanding with each other. Neither of them were terribly fond of the blacksmith. But at the same time, neither were keen to argue with the eccentric man. After all, he a set of armor that none would see the likes of outside of Ylisstol itself readily in stock. Military grade, to boot.

Before Valkus had a chance to open her mouth, Dom and his workers burst from the doors. In their hands was the most beautiful set of armor Valkus had ever laid her eyes on. And judging by Chast's expression, she was completely floored as well.

The armor heavily featured a white metal plating, which covered the majority of the shoulderpads, cuirass, tasset, and boots. They seemed to have a glow of their own, even in the absence of strong, natural sunlight. Regal gold trim outlined the white metal on slightly raised strips of metal, providing an elegant, yet clean look to the set. To complete the look, one of the assistants carried a royal blue scarf and an intricate, four-pronged gilded lance.

"Alright," Dom called, lifting the Falcon Knight headdress above his head for emphasis, "Let's get you suited up."


With the midmorning sun beating down on their backs, the dark-cloaked Chris led Marius and Hunter through the winding, dusty streets of Abnorun. The town's populace was active, as many Abnorun citizens meandered through the streets to unknown destinations. Others were selling their goods in stalls dotted around on the sides of the main street. Both makeshift and permanent setups shared the roadway.

The town had always struck a certain chord with Chris. Those who lived in Abnorun all carried themselves with a purpose and a sense of belonging. It always appeared to be more than just a place to live. It was a real, full-fledged community. A community that Chris was proud to be a member of, despite his lower status.

At the same time, however, the town seemed as if it was innocent. Despite its close proximity to the Ylissean border, the town had nary an invasion or attack from the ever-present Sons of Naga. He knew that visage would come undone sooner or later, but he knew he had the chance to prevent disaster if he could execute his plan perfectly.

Chris let his thoughts dance idly through his mind as he continued the conversation the three had started in a favorite eatery of his.

"That meal was excellent, Marius. Thank you," Chris said as he wiped the remnants of his breakfast from his lips. It had been some time since he had a real hot meal, and the nostalgic feeling made him miss his life before he turned the streets.

"No problemo, friend of mine!" Marius returned with a smile. Chris couldn't help but smile at the Dread Fighter's upbeat personality and tone of voice. For someone dressed so menacingly, he had turned out to be quite the kind character.

For the first time in quite long time, Chris' first impression about someone had been completely incorrect. He expected essentially what he expected from Hunter: the quiet yet selfless type. If the two hadn't had completely different hairstyles and hair colors, he would have assumed the two to be brothers.

Hunter, on the other hand, was as true to his appearance as most others were. Chris thought the swordmaster to be the quiet, withdrawn type, while carrying a heart of gold. Hunter was quite skilled at concealing his emotions, but Chris had a sneaking suspicion that Hunter was enjoying the moment to an equal extent as he and Marius were.

As the three approached the bustling center of commerce, Chris was quick to notice a large mass of people were congregating around a spot he knew very well through his time in Abnorun: the crier podium. The offshoot from the center of town was normally deserted on days with no royal missive. Today was one of those days.

Chris shoved his way to the front of the crowd, ignoring protests and roars of anger from the massive swarm of people in front of the podium. Standing atop the raised platform was a female crier, a complete stranger to Chris. Judging by the puzzled murmurs from the crowd, Chris assumed nary a soul was able to recognize the visitor either.

Instead of the memorable ash-colored male noble vestments that the usual crier was donned in, this woman wore a hooded, black royal dress that cascaded down like a waterfall of regal black cloth. Purple eyes of Grima adorned the sleeves while a queenly gold trim shone magnificently on the sleeve cuffs. Chris was quick to connect the attire with high-ranking Plegian court nobles. But what reason would a court noble have to visit Abnorun?

Before Chris could ponder any further as to why the mysterious, black-haired stranger was standing upon the podium, she rang the Mark of Grima-endorned ebony bell that she held in her thin, ashy-brown fingers. The instrument produced a harrowing clang, silencing the majority of the crowd instantly. It was truly a far cry from the gentle tinkling of the gilded bell the typical crier was known for ringing.

"Ayez, ayez, Abnorun citizens, and listen well," the stranger spoke, her dominating voice echoing through the crowd and stifling the few remaining citizens who were still muttering in low voices, "I carry a message from the Autumn Queen."

The stranger paused briefly before retrieving a scroll tucked away within her dress. She held the parchment forward as the scroll unrolled itself, and began to read aloud.

"Your noble Queen Meliora has arrived in Abnorun, and is now occupying the royal palace. Some of you may remember that the Queen has scheduled a public oration in three days' time. But due to an unforeseen complication, the Autumn Queen will be delivering her missive within the hour above the palace steps."

Chris' heart fell into his stomach. The stranger continued to read from the scroll, but her words were lost upon him.

"Today?! And so soon…" Chris thought as he shoved his way through the crowd, "Everything is falling apart!"

The dark mage surfaced from the sea of people, and spotted Hunter and Marius listening patiently at the edge of the crowd. He approached the two frantically, unable to hold back his panic. The two noticed his expression and immediately donned faces of concern.

"Christopher?" Marius implored, his normally cheerful persona vanishing in an instant, "What's eating at you?"

"No time. We need to find the others immediately," Chris blurted, his eyes darting back and forth between the Dread Fighter and the swordmaster.

"Give us the situation," Hunter urged with a surprisingly emotionally expressive voice. Chris briefly wondered if he had ever heard Hunter's voice before that moment, but he quickly cast the thought aside.

"We need to track down the others as soon as we can. Find them and bring them to the royal palace steps on the west side of town. I'll explain everything there."

The two men nodded before dashing off in opposite directions. Hunter bolted down the street they had originally come from to the east, while Marius took to the north. Chris briefly pondered between the south and west before deciding to take the path towards the palace steps and the upper-class shops.

A noticeable chill beckoned through the air, one that Chris suspected only he could feel. He was keenly aware of what was coming, but how much time he had to avert the seemingly inevitable was a mystery.


A rough set of hands shaking his shoulders was enough to force Nila awake. As his eyes ripped open, he found himself face to face with none other than Hunter, whose typical neutral expression seemed to be tinged with concern. After a moment, Nila lurched back in surprise. Just how long had he been sleeping?

"Get up," Hunter barked firmly, "Christopher needs us."

Nila chose not to respond, instead analyzing his surroundings. He was still in the side street he and Grace wandered into earlier that morning, sitting atop the same wooden crate. However, the sun had climbed much higher into the sky from the horizon, beating down intensely. Judging from its position, Nila figured that it definitely was not afternoon yet, but the hour was fast approaching.

He turned to his left, noticing that Grace herself was still present and slowly rousing in response to the commotion. Nila felt a quick shove to his front, forcing him from the crate. His head struck against the cold stone wall behind him, and he sprawled out on the ground in pain.

"We don't have much time. You're either coming or you're not, and I'm happy to leave you here."

"No, no," Nila assured, still shaking stars out of his vision, "I'm coming, let me just—"

"Nila? What's going on…?"

A voice spoke softly from his left side, belonging to none other than Grace. She was awake, that much was true, but she was still squinting heavily from drowsiness. A moment passed where all was quiet. Hunter appeared momentarily baffled before returning to a stern expression, while Grace was still trying to interpret her surroundings. Eventually realization crossed her face, and her eyes shot open widely.

"Gah! We fell asleep, didn't we? Gods, this is embarrassing…"

"You did," Hunter stated plainly, his expression unchanging, "And you're lucky that your things weren't pinched like Chast's were this morning. Nila and I are leaving."

The swordsman grabbed Nila firmly by the shoulders, hoisting him up from the dusty ground and into a standing position. He clutched the dazed tactician by the collar of his white undershirt, and began to drag him away. Grace grabbed him by the wrist and pulled the swordsman toward her so they were face to face.

"I'm coming too," she vowed, placing her free hand on her steel blade's hilt.

"If you're a friend of Nila's, I have no good reason to trust you. And judging by your looks, you'd only get in the way."

"Why, you—"

"I said, get lost," Hunter spat, struggling against the myrmidon's surprisingly ironclad grip, "This is not up for debate."

Hunter's words only caused the persistent Grace to tighten her grip as she glared daggers into Hunter's eyes.

"I can tell there's a problem, and you need swords to solve it. You're not stopping me."

The dark-robed swordmaster sighed, releasing his grip on Nila and prying himself free from Grace's.

"Fine. Let's get moving."


By the time Chris arrived at the steps below the Abnorun Palace, an innumerably large crowd had already formed around its base. He was hardly prepared for the whole of Abnorun to arrive, let alone on short notice. However, try as he may, he could find none of his new companions milling about the scene.

Atop the high balcony overlooking the steps stood a lone figure, clothed in a dark violet dress plated with gilded armor. Chris could just barely make out a heavily stylized Mark of Grima emblazoned on the woman's gilded breastplate. At points, it was difficult to tell where the armor ended and the dress began, as the cloth stood firm in spite of the ever-increasing wind speed. Her off-white hair, braided behind her head as to provide the facade of a short crop, contrasted heavily against her undoubtedly Plegian ashy-brown skin tone.

And while she wore no crown, there was little doubt in Chris' mind that she was none other than Meliora, the Autumn Queen of Plegia.

Very few could claim to have met the Queen in person. She was typically fond of making herself scarce in her reign, both for protection of herself and her ever-persecuted people. For her to conduct such a large-scale public appearance was nigh unheard of.

She raised her arms to either side and her gauntleted hands to the sky, as if to embrace the whole of the Abnorun populace. In that moment, she was joined by a familiar black haired woman sporting a hooded, jet-black dress with gilded sleeve cuffs. Chris recognized the newcomer as the mysterious stranger who had replaced the crier on the podium earlier in the day, but what purpose would she serve at the Queen's side?

Upon lowering her arms back to her sides, Queen Meliora began, "Brothers, sisters, citizens… lend me your ears. Today, we stand together as a nation. We are but one of three on this continent, but it is with little doubt that Plegia is the most united of all."

As she spoke, the majority of the congregation of Abnorun citizens erupted in cheer. Despite her distance from the crowd of people far below her, the gentle winds seemed to carry her booming words through the air and over the steps.

The Queen continued her speech, but a commotion from behind him jarred Chris' attention away from her powerful words. Three figures were clambering up the steps, one dark robed, another sporting a Grima-embossed hooded coat, and the third wearing a blue cloak over a scarlet, belted tunic, tan shorts, and dark brown combat boots. The first two were undoubtedly Hunter and Nila, but the maroon-haired female accompanying the two was a stranger to him.

Nila was quick to spot the dark mage hovering behind the majority of the crowd, and beckoned his two companions to fall in next to him.

"Two return in the company of a stranger," Chris riddled, "Yet we are still missing four. No matter, we must simply begin without them. Now—"

"Stop," Hunter interrupted, pointing a stiff finger into the startled dark mage's face, "I want to know what exactly is going on here. You never explained anything, and now danger is supposedly right on our doorstep. So you're going to explain everything. Right. Now."

"Ah, yes, right," Chris said, wearing a sheepish expression. He pushed the swordmaster's extended finger away before turning his gaze back to the crowd gathered on the palace steps. "Do you see the people wearing the teal-hooded cloaks?"

Hunter, Nila, and the stranger gazed into the crowd, each returning with a nod. Scattered throughout the gathering of people were figures, all donned in a hooded, teal cloak that covered the entirety of their body. They did not move, and they did not respond to the Queen's words the way the rest of the Abnorun populace did. They seemed as if they were specters from another world, sent to reclaim something lost. Even though Chris had seen the figures floating throughout the down in days prior, they still invoked an ominous sense of dread within him.

"We have been infiltrated by none other than the Sons. And we have little time to act before they make their move."

The dark mage turned to Nila, handing him a carefully sealed gilded envelope, emblazoned with a Mark of Grima-embossed wax seal.

"This is your ticket in," Chris murmured, pressing the document into Nila's outstretched hands, "Your coat matches the style of high-ranking court officials, does it not?"

Nila nodded, yet wore expression of uncertainty as he responded, "It belonged to my mother, who once served the court in Meliora's early days, but—"

"No time for doubts, Nila," Chris interrupted, giving the tactician a firm yet gentle shove, "It is vital for you to make your way to the palace balcony to sure the Queen is safe. If my suspicions are correct, she may be in grave danger."

Nila glanced back and forth once with pursed lips, his face riddled with uncertainty. He seemed to be trying to think of something to refute Chris, and place someone else in charge of the task. Eventually, however, Nila gave a defeated sigh before working his way through the massive congregation of Abnorun citizens and towards the two lance-wielding guards at the top of the palace steps. With Nila in the process of fulfilling his mission, Chris turned to Hunter and the blue-cloaked stranger.

"You two will wait with me until the inevitable occurs. We're not going to be leaving this place without a fight."

Chris turned his gaze back to the crowd, his eyes falling upon each of the ghastly robed figures. So many had worked their way into the congregation that it was nigh impossible to count each individual.

"We are sorely outnumbered and outmatched by the Sons," he observed, "But we must work to reduce civilian casualties until Marius returns with the others."

The two sword-wielders nodded, their hands slowly creeping down to their bladed weapons in unison. Despite their stoicism, Chris was apt to notice that the two seemed to be tense in light of the situation, without even knowing the full extent of the storm to come.

Now that the few pieces he could play were in place, he turned his attention back to the ever-present Queen Meliora. In the heat of the situation at hand, however, Chris was quick to notice that he had missed the Queen's speech almost in its entirety.

"Plegia's despair will most certainly be solved with time," Queen Meliora affirmed, "But if we are to consider ourselves a free nation, we must fight. I am not blind to the threats posed to us from the outside. And rest assured, we are fully prepared to engage our most prominent of enemies."

The Autumn Queen turned from the crowd, her dark violet cape billowing out behind her. As she removed herself from the attention of the crowd, the winds seemed to lose their energy and die down, as if afflicted with great melancholy.

She drew in a deep breath, and returned her gaze to the crowd as the wind grew ever stronger.

"For Plegia! For victory!"

The crowd burst into applause, their clamors and shouts drowning out all other sources of sound. The green cloaks seemed to turn to each other with mutual understanding, their disembodied hoods giving quick nods to each other.

Like the falling of autumn leaves, the green cloaks were thrown into the air, riding the gentle current of wind down to the ground. From underneath the spectre-like cloaks were armed figures, each donned in various shades of white and gold. Their swords shone in the midafternoon light, but their luminesce was more akin to the shining of pointed beast canines.

Screams of panic rose from the crowd as the sword-wielding figures swung their swords wildly, slicing civilians indiscriminately. As waves of frightened civilians ran past Chris and his two companions, he unclipped his Mark of Grima-embossed spellbook from his belt. As his allies unsheathed their weapons, Chris allowed the flow of dark magic to run down his left, tome-holding arm to his outstretched right arm. Crackles of dark energy danced across his fingertips.

He would not allow Abnorun to fall.


Chast studied herself closely in the small, cracked mirror placed in a dark corner of Dominic's Armory. Despite the dim lighting, the Falcon Knight was positively glowing. The pristine white Ylissean armor set seemed to cling to her like a second skin, while providing a little more substance to her normally frail visage. Her vibrant red eyes heavily contrasted the royal blue scarf draped around her neck.

She felt as if she could take the whole of the world on, just like she had the day she received her violet set. Valkus appeared pleased as well, complete with a huge grin across her face. She grabbed Chast by the shoulders and shook her with delight.

"You look great!" she gushed, letting go of the disoriented Chast, "But the picture still isn't complete. We need to find you an artificer."

Chast nodded, before tightly gripping her new lance and following in step behind the heavily-armored general. She offered the eccentric Dom one final glance, and he beamed as he returned with a wave.

Before Valkus had a chance to push open the wrought-iron door and exit the building, the door nearly burst off its hinges as a black-dressed form tumbled through and landed face-first with an unceremonious thud. The entirety of the blacksmith seemed to halt completely, and Dom himself stared at the crumpled form with concern.

The white wolf mask attached to his right shoulder gave away his identity. It was none other than Marius.

The Dread Fighter picked himself up off the ground, dusting his black-plated armor off as if nothing had happened. He rubbed his head, but whether it was out of confusion or pain was a mystery to Chast. He shifted his gaze slowly across the dim interior of the blacksmith, halting immediately as his eyes landed upon Chast and Valkus.

"OhthankthegodsImanagedtofindyouhere," Marius began, panting heavily. Despite his breathlessness, his thoughts tumbled out of his mind akin to a pot of boiling-over water. "Youwouldn'tbelievehowharditwastofindablacksmithouthere—Oh, nice new look, Chast! Did you get a haircut?—butChristopherisintroubleandweneedtogettotheAbnorunPalacefastorelse—"

The sound of metal striking skin echoed out through the blacksmith interior as Valkus struck the panicked Marius across the face with the back of her metal-gauntleted hand. The Dread Fighter recoiled in pain, clinging to the ajar, yet slightly lopsided, door to balance himself.

"Get ahold of yourself, Marius!" Valkus cried, pulling the disoriented Marius away from the door frame by the shoulders, "Now, slow down and tell us what's going on."

"I would if I knew," Marius grunted, still rubbing the raw wound soothingly as he pulled himself away from the metal door, "But Christopher isn't exactly the best at explaining things! He's been giving all of us the runaround for the entire day. That's why we need to get to the palace, and quickly. He can tell us more there."

Valkus gave a quick nod and beckoned Chast to fall in behind the Dread Fighter. With some effort, Valkus managed to pry the damaged metal door open which had since eased shut. As the three made their way outside, Chast was quick to notice that the once lively streets had since tapered down into nothingness. Not a soul treaded upon the cracked brick pavement of the Abnorun streets. The three were utterly alone.

The three Brigadiers found themselves rooted to the spot, not entirely sure how to grasp the situation. Chast glanced around nervously, noticing a tangible increase in pressure. Her breaths were labored, and her hands shook dreadfully. Something was definitely amiss.

Just as Chast seemed to overcome her overwhelming feeling of dread, the hurried shuffling of feet tore the silence open like a brittle sheet of paper. From the alleyway to her left, three sea-green cloaked figures emerged, blocking off the road to the front. She glanced backwards, desperately clinging to hope that an alternative route of exit would be open. But her hopes were dashed as three identically-cloaked figures emerged from another dark corner, taking defensive stances as they blocked the road behind her.

All at once, the six threw their cloaks behind them, which tumbled to the ground uselessly. Underneath were unmistakably Ylissean uniforms, which bore so close a resemblance to Chast's new armor. There was no doubt about their identity.

The Sons of Naga had come.

Chast instinctively unsheathed her new lance and held it in front of her defensively, as Marius drew his snakebound sword and Valkus her black-tipped lance. Chast understood what was coming, but desperately wished for Owar's help. It had been far too long since she battled without the mare's assistance. But she knew that there would be no escape. No alternate path, no means of exit. Only her, her two friends, and the enemy.


Roster

No.001 Nila

A resident of Plegia and descendent of one of the famous time travelers of Ylissean past, Morgan. Although weakly, he carries the same blood of Grima used to revive the fell dragon generations ago. He was a tactician for the Plegian Mercenaries in the past, who eventually dissolved under his leadership.

The most likely fall asleep while reading.

Born on December 20th, age 24.

Class: Tactician (Sword|Anima, Dark from Shadowgift)

No.002 Matthew

The leader of a group of fighters known as the Justice Brigade, who prefers the name Matt. He brought the group together after he and Hunter fled a devastated city in Western Ferox, one of the first Western settlements destroyed by the marauding nation. His confident personality is what the Justice Brigade's foundation stands upon, yet he harbors doubts of his own sometimes.

The one who slouches the most.

Born on January 2nd, age 21.

Class: Wyvern Lord (Axe|Lance)

No.003 Hunter

A Feroxian duelist with a deadly mastery of swordplay. He has lived in not one, but two villages that have been razed by magic-wielding bandits or conquesting Easterners. The loss of his sister invoked a keen sense of justice within him and a fear of magic and fire.

The least fond of parlor tricks.

Born on January 25th, age 22.

Class: Swordmaster (Sword)

No.004 Chastity

An Ylissean Falcon Knight—who prefers to go by Chast—with pale white skin and red eyes. Her albinism runs in the family, being shared with her father. She had high hopes of joining the Ylissean cavalry, yet was advised to pursue a separate line of work by her father. She instead took up work as a mercenary, and eventually met Matt after he saved her life.

The one with the scariest glare.

Born on October 29th, age 17.

Class: Falcon Knight (Lance|Staff)

No.005 Marius

A peculiar fighter hailing from Stormguard. Initially striving to be a scholar, Marius studied magic diligently throughout his childhood. However, he shifted priorities when bands of rogue dark mages attacked the settlement. With his interesting combination of swords, Anima, and throwing axes, he joined the enthusiastic Justice Brigade to put his skills to the test.

The one with the worst sense of humor.

Born on April 1st, age 20.

Class: Dread Fighter (Sword|Axe|Anima)

No.006 Valkus

A Valmese quartermaster who tolerates nonsense of no kind. After a false claim of fraudulence, Valkus chartered a ship to the Ylissean continent. She joined the Justice Brigade after falling to them in a battle to mete out justice for herself and others. How this beauty's personality meshes with the jovial brigade is a mystery.

The most likely to enjoy taking inventory.

Born on March 25th, age 28.

Class: General (Lance|Axe)

No.007 ?

No.008 Lester

A seasoned veteran and guardian of Ylissean royalty. Lester began his training for knighthood at the young age of seven. He failed to protect the lord he was sworn to from a powerful East Feroxian warlord. He formed the Ylissean Vanguard in an attempt right the mistakes that he brought upon the halidom.

The longest bather.

Born on May 15th, age 20.

Class: Paladin (Sword|Lance)

No.009 Desmond

One of the rare taguel who bounced back from the brink of extinction. Desmond is one of the few taguel who have refused to their cultural roots of warren life. He trained under a man who fought against the Gray Claw, a taguel purist society that threatened his home. He refuses to use his beaststone.

The one with the biggest rock collection.

Born on August 8th, age 19.

Class: Taguel Fighter (Axe|Beaststone)

No.010 Samuel

An Ylissean priest of minor nobility. His rigorous education led him to priesthood, where he trained in the Holy Church of Naga to heal his allies. After being denied entry to the Ylissean military, he was recruited by Lester to heal for the Ylissean Vanguard.

The best at insulting others.

Born on July 14th, age 21.

Class: Scholar (Staff|Anima)

No.011 Brooks

A mage of Ylissean background that has traveled the world across. With his traveling mage caravan, he saw the shores of Valm, the peaks of both Feroxes, the sands of Plegia, and the rolling hills of Ylisse. Longing to be greater than an entertainer, he left his caravan to create his own adventures.

The one with dirt on absolutely everyone.

Born on March 10th, age 25.

Class: Mage (Anima)

No.012 Esthara

An Ylissean tactician in training. She wields the legendary weapon Mercurius, one of the three regalia of old, given to her as a gift by her professor. Studying under the legendary tactician and professor Kairos, she aims to one day match the intellectual might of the most famous tacticians in history.

The lightest sleeper.

Born on November 19, age 19.

Class: Strategist (Sword)

*New* No.013 Christopher

A masked prodigy dark mage who shortens his name to Chris. His skill comes from necessity, having lived his most of his life around bandits and thieves. He trained under a Plegian outlaw sorcerer, partaking in both assassinations and thefts. After being conned into murdering his parents, he took up his father's mask and fled to Abnorun, a Plegian border town. He shares a proficiency in shadow with Nila.

The giddiest laugher.

Born on October 4th, age 16.

Class: Dark Mage (Dark|Anima, Dark enhanced from Shadowgift)

*New* No.014 Grace

A nimble and powerful Ylissean myrmidon. Her father and older sister served as fighters for the Plegian Mercenaries years ago, a fateful mission taking her father's life and causing her sister to vanish. At the age of only fifteen, she picked up the pieces of her shattered life and became a wanderer with her mother. Finding herself a mercenary after her mother's recent death, she will invoke any means necessary to stay on her feet.

The most sentimental.

Born on September 19, age 19.

Class: Myrmidon (Sword)