His dreams usually consisted of images he didn't know whether or not they stemmed from lost memories or interpretations of pictures and stories he read in manuscripts, of voices—incoherent beyond deciphering—and of faceless figures. Sometimes they were in colors, though most often they were not. Sometimes he could remember them after waking up, even if only in bits and pieces, but most of the time he could not.

When he did wake with some sense of remembrance, he did not think of their meanings, presuming them too wild and unpredictable. He had been curious, had consulted an old book—a rare find amidst the many scripts sharing its theme in the royal library—of what could dreams of an amnesiac person meant. It had told him nothing, since the book simply gave a few of logical speculations he had made himself. Plus, his dreams often lacked clarity, making the deciphering and interpreting much harder a task, if not altogether impossible. So he had tossed the book aside, coming to a conclusion that whatever lies in the realm of dreams should stay in that realm.

But that changed the moment he found his consciousness adrift between the two realms.

The room he was in was vividly clear; the pillars, the smooth stone floor, the alcoves, the altar… Everything was painted in detail, and as he took in his surroundings, he was made aware of the notion that somehow, in a way he could not truly explain or understand, he knew that this was not a mere memory. There were carvings on the walls, sculpted wonders which he traced with his fingers. Was this place…a hall of worship or some sort? Probably. But worship of what? The stories on the walls were written in a language he didn't understand, and the pictures drawn on them depicted no Naga or higher deities known to Ylissean culture.

Slowly, he ascended the stairs that led to the altar. The architect of the place had designed it specifically so that an abundant ray of celestial light was streaming down the altar. There was an array of stone tablets on the surface. On them was carved a picture of a flying dragon.

There was something…something other than curiosity that drew him towards the tablets. He extended a hand to stroke the rough surface of the tablets. He had expected it to be rough. He was wrong. Whoever had sculpted the dragon on these tablets must have possessed the skill of a master in his profession, for the lines were so smooth, each curve elegantly shaped, its scales detailed, and it gleamed under the touch of moonlight. The wings were especially captivating. Under the play of light, they seemed to be moving, adding to the dragon's majestic beauty an eternal flight.

The massive doors behind him creaked open, and he broke free from his trance. "Who's there?" he asked, turning around.

A lone figure, draped in a black, hooded cloak, was standing at the doorway. Robin could not see his face, since it was covered by the low hood.

The figure stepped forward, and suddenly, the temperature in the room dropped. "Who are you?" Robin asked again.

No answer came. Instead, the figure simply walked closer until he was standing at the foot of the stairs. He was standing so still, and the temperature kept dropping lower and lower until Robin could see his own breath coming out in puffs of air.

At the muteness of the figure, Robin dared a descending step towards him. He could feel his heart beating louder with each step he took, ramming against his ribcage, feeding on his apprehension. Up close, he saw that the figure was a man, a young one. Before he could think or speak, his hand move on its own.

He drew back the hood.

A pair of dark blue eyes met his. Familiar. Similar.

"You asked a question I needn't answer," he, the bearer of the face that he had seen multiple times in the reflection of mirrors and still water, said. "You know who I am."


Chapter 09

Premonition


Cordelia had gone to the address that was in Miriel's letter and found her in a small house the scholar had rented and turned into a small workshop of her own. In the abode she spent what little time she was granted by Miriel to wash the dye off her hair and readying herself for yet another journey, though this one would be on horseback, but westward still, to a fortress called Steiger.

It was clear that Miriel would spare her no rest. Before afternoon, they had already saddled their horses and off to their destination. The speed in which they went did not allow many words to be traded, aside from one-way instructions and curt explanations that Cordelia heeded to. The forged letter that Miriel had sent under Cordelia's name indicated pretty much everything that had happened after her failure in protecting the Princess and Lady Maribelle: her demotion, her banishment. Miriel told her that a gathering of information she and the others had made during the short period of time in the foreign land had been fruitful; Valmese tactician, Excellus, was renowned to welcome all who sought to serve under his lord, unruly rogues and defectors alike. Benevolent, some folks called him. Deceitful was the term Miriel had concluded out of the rumours of this Excellus person. But for one fortunate thing, it meant that her case would be heard, if not welcomed with open arms.

Miriel had told her to reveal any necessary information of Ylisse that Excellus might try to dig out from her. Cordelia had been aghast at the prospect, but Miriel had brushed off her concern, saying, "The Grand Master will see to it that whatever information you disclose to the enemy will not add to their advantage in any way." But that, of course, didn't soothe Cordelia's mind. She still had her doubts, but she kept them to herself.

Their journey stretched for two days, and at night, when they made a small camp in a small forest clearing, Cordelia was left alone to her thoughts. Miriel was never one to initially strike a conversation—at least not when the other party had nothing that baited her interest. Watching the other woman scribbling down on a note and reading at the same time under the minimum lighting of a small camp fire puzzled Cordelia as to how the ever studious Miriel could be engaged to someone who was her total opposite.

"You bring books along with you all the time, Miriel?" Cordelia asked after she was done unsaddling the horses. "Don't you worry they may be damaged?"

"I monitor the sky closely all the time, especially at times when I am about to go on a lengthy travel. From my earlier observation, rain shall not pour down for the night and we will possibly enjoy a pleasant weather until late in the morrow. If the wind changes, however, a light drizzle is all we could expect early in the morn. But that is highly unlikely, judging from the temperature and humidity of the air. The bags I carry with me had also been coated, so in case that my hypotheses fail, they will still be safe." She looked up from her devices then. "Shall I explain to you the conjecture behind my reasoning?"

"No, you don't need to," Cordelia said, a little bit too hastily. She sat down beside Miriel and leaned back to a fallen tree trunk. "I trust in your abilities."

Miriel seemed to accept this. She didn't, however, return her attention to her book. Looking straight at Cordelia, she asked, "You have some other questions, perhaps?"

Cordelia blinked, not really knowing what to say. Miriel took this as a sign of confusion, and she smoothly proceeded to explain. "Do not take my words with bafflement. I saw your eyebrows creasing and your eyes going to a place not tied to the present whereupon you look unto me or my belongings, and so I simply deduced that you have something akin to a question in your mind concerning my being. I apologize in advance if it is not so."

"Actually, I do have one." She paused, but Miriel's stare silently urged her to go on. "Forgive me if I may sound rude or insulting. I'm just…confused...as to how someone like you would…"

"Ah. It is about Vaike, I presume?"

"I'm sorry—it's just I know you as someone who is deep in your studies, so I thought that marriage—"

"Has never crossed my mind?" Miriel cut in, softly. "It certainly never had before he presented me with a ring. And do not worry, I don't take your question as insulting. It is a simple curiosity. It does not do one harm to voice it aloud at times you want answers."

Yes, but if only she knew how harmful it was to do so in the presence of a certain Grand Master, Cordelia thought.

The scholar put down the book and closed it, eyes closing. "You are not the first person to ask me such a question, and so, I will give the same answer I did to all those who had asked before you." When she opened her eyes again, they glowed softly by the firelight, and a ghost of a smile danced over her lips. "I want to learn."

"You want to…learn?"

Miriel nodded. "It is precisely because we do not share any similar traits that I found him intriguing. I find him so, still. I advance my studies by broadening my knowledge to fields I have yet submerged myself into, and by being with him, I am continuously discovering something new each day."

The explanation Miriel gave suited her way of thinking and life. And behind her logical words, Cordelia could unearth another meaning: "He inspires you," she said, sharing Miriel's smile but not the happiness it reflected.

"In one way or another, yes. He is a subject of observation worthy of close inspection for a long duration of time."

Affection was strange like that. Between two of most different people it could bloom and flourish, even if the seed had been a tiny little thing such as intrigue or inspiration. Her own seed had been of the same kind to Miriel's. Except that it did not come budding the way hers did.

Jealously, unbidden and unwanted, seeped into her heart. "You are lucky."

"You have a person who sparks a similar curiosity within you?"

Cordelia drew her knees close to her chest and hugged them. Lying wouldn't do anything much at this point. Lying would only scar her more. "Yes," she whispered.

"And does he not share the same fascination?"

"No. He never did notice, and so he never will." Thinking of it now was like opening an old wound and smearing salt upon it. She had tried hard not to imagine what it would be like to meet Chrom again after all this was over. In more than one occasion Robin had implied that if the plan succeeded, then there would be a huge chance that she could cleanse her name and restore her honor. But the prospect seemed dull. She had failed the royal family, after all. Even if she did have a chance of winning back her post and knighthood, she was doubtful that she would ever have the courage and heart to see him—and Sumia—again.

"You never have the intention of ever telling him?"

"It will simply never happen, Miriel. Some things are just…not meant to be."

"That is one most dubious statement. Nevertheless, one is free to draw one's conclusions to one's own wants and quests."

The silence that fell was not unwelcome. The campfire crackled and accompanying it were distant hoots of owls. Eventually, Cordelia stirred. "Look at what I've done. I have sunken your mood. I'm very sorry."

Miriel put her book, quill, and papers into her bag. "A needless apology. I did not intend to further my reading for the night, if that is your concern. I learned valuable things from our talk as well."

"Oh?"

"I may be prompted to pursue a better understanding in human emotions and differing concepts of bond. It is clear to me now that what I currently know is but a fragment of the whole truth. And… Why is it that you are stifling a laughter?"

"I'm sorry—" Cordelia tried to straighten her tone but failed. "It's just… How to put it… I envy you, Miriel. I truly do."

The other woman's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Envy is what you say, but I suspect 'amused' is more like it."

"That, too."

"Well, I deem a thorough elaboration."

Cordelia breathed deeply. "The way you see the world… The way you percept things, the way you enjoy your pursuits. They are all admirable qualities to me. Vaike must have seen them endearing as well."

"Endearing is a term I do not comprehend, but I am simply being myself when I theorize and apply all that I know into my words and actions. What is so 'admirable' about it?"

"And that is what I meant." She looked into Miriel's hazel eyes and smiled. "You being yourself." She managed a shrug. "It's very brave."

Miriel tilted her head to one side. "I find your words…puzzling."

"Perhaps you will understand in time. When you do further your research into human emotions, that is."

"Hmm. Acceptable."

Miriel produced from her bag small candle sticks and handed them to Cordelia.

"What are these?"

"Explosives. Light them and toss them to the air before three seconds elapse."

Cordelia almost dropped the candles to the ground. "They what?!"

"They explode, as the name suggests. I have thought of a better name, but I think being practical is the best. Descriptive and simple. I have made them look like normal candles so their nature might not be revealed. You need only to light the wick—please be careful not to let fire ignite the bodies instead, or they will blow in your face—and toss them. They shall prove to be useful as signaling devices to let people know of your position should you aim to fool enemies or drawing allies to you. Throw them to hostile forces, and one stick should provide to be a tool of enough destructive force to stun—and burn—a man."

As carefully as she could, Cordelia put them in a leather pouch and double knotted the mouth. "Your inventions are always so surprising."

"Not as surprising as the Grand Master's in this field of pyromancy."

Surprised that she would hear a reference to Robin in the dead of the night—and by Miriel, no less—she asked, "What exactly did he do?"

Miriel untied her sleep roll and lay it on the ground, smoothing the surface methodically, then removing her glasses before snugging inside. "He's made a daring, unprecedented move with his research of fire magic that I have never even thought of possible. Revolutionary. A bit too risky. But he thrived."

By now Cordelia was beyond baffled. "Wait. What is this about?"

"Pyromancy… Fire magic without tomes," Miriel answered with a weakening voice.

"What? How is that even possible?!"

Miriel was no longer listening. Her eyes were closing, and her last words before lulling fast to the realm of dreams were: "Precipitous… He would be planning a suicide with his next research…"

Her companion now sound asleep, Cordelia was left with the thoughts of just how many things about the Grand Master that she didn't know.

You are a fool for assuming to know what you see.

She didn't retaliate to her own voice of reason. It had been her own poor judgement that led her here. It had been her inexperience, and a grain of stubbornness, that plunged the whole Ylisse into a state of unrest.

It was worse. You only see what you want to see.

Memories of Phila, of her time spent with fellow Pegasus Knights, of her long forgotten childhood, resurfaced. Tears of bitterness sprang. She made no motion to wipe them off. She hated them, those memories. Whereas once they had given her hope and strength to face a new day, now they only reminded her of what a legacy she had become—of what a disappointment she was to her dead sisters.

She should have stayed with her knight-sisters on the border. She would have welcome death as it embraced. She would have died an honorable death. She would have been in a world free of pain and shame.

Yet you abandoned them; you flew away to cheat death.

Redemption was Robin's offer. Little did he know that it was something she didn't need. A part of her had died along with her sisters that day, and what remained was crushed under the burden of guilt the moment the steel armor she had clung to for years fell to the floor.

The fire licked the branches until what remained was a pile of black soot. Darkness enveloped the camp, and Cordelia drifted to a troubled sleep.


- A -


Chrom had a list of many questions and curses he would like to spit out at the same time. Since it was impossible to do so in the heat of a battle, he channeled his frustration into strength, then bashed his sword onto the nearest Risen's skull. The foul creature fell, but its brothers and sisters were ready to take its post. Chrom slashed at an attacking Risen, parried the next one's attack. "Frederick!"

The knight charged in from the side and thrust his sword into the Risen's midriff before dragging it down. "You all right, M'lord?"

"Unharmed, yes." But vexed as hell. "Is everyone already evacuating?"

"Yes. The rear is battling through, M'lord."

Chrom and Frederic impended yet another assaulters. "Can we trust that boy, milord?" asked Frederick as he fought.

"The Plegian mage says he wants to fight for our cause, and in this kind of situation"—Chrom stepped clear from a Risen's reach, and before it could right its footing, he dashed forward to hack it in two—"I don't see the hell why we should refuse him!"

In a distance, he could see purple and green lights dancing in the darkness, followed by ripples of lightning strikes and high-pitched laughter that was nearly maniacal. Magic reverberated in the air, the scent of burnt dead flesh hung in the air like a cheap perfume.

Henry could fight, that much was clear from the bodies of slain enemies that were pooling around where he stood. He might even be tied with Robin in magic.

Chrom cursed then.

The thought of Robin brought him back to the hall of Plegia's castle. The hierophant who was serving under Validar had an uncanny physical resemblance to Robin. The new King, as well, posed yet another mystery. Chrom was sure that he was the same person, the same assassin who had been sent to kill Emmeryn. The King and Aversa had avoided any questions. Before anything made any sense, the Risen had banded up and attacked his camp. Everything had since then turned into chaos.

"Damn it!" Chrom drove Falchion to a Risen's chest. "Plegian mage!"

Henry looked at Chrom and paused in mid-casting.

"There's no end to them! Can you not do something?!"

A smile, too wide for Chrom's liking, spread on the boy's face. Side-stepping a Risen's attack, Henry waved a hand. A magic circle formed, producing a surge of strong gust that blew a group of Risen back, scattering them. Frederick and Chrom jumped in to gain the momentum.

The last of the Risen was a prey of both of Chrom and Frederick's swords. It fell to the ground with a dull thud.

"That was the last of them, right…?" Chrom cracked his neck and lowered his sword arm. "Are the others safe?"

"Yes, it seems. The sounds of fighting have ended—M'lord, watch out!"

Too late. A blade was dancing close to his neck, and he was in no form to defend himself.

But the blade never met his flesh.

A sound of steel meeting steel rang instead, along with a cry of a familiar voice.