Woo, sorry it took so long to get this one up! I've been busy with college, and for the past 3 days have been at my orientation (which was dreadful lol). But, this chapter is a bit longer to make up for the wait, and hopefully cliff-hangery enough to light some excitement until I can get the next chapter up. Thanks for those who stuck around to read!

Morning seemed normal enough, and Morgan was glad for it. Her newfound ring began the excuse for keeping herself warm; this ever present chill around her was starting to infect her very mind it seemed. Like she was being watched. But upon leaving her room, Laurent standing across the hall in wait for her appearance, it was gone in an instant. She clung around his waist, resting her head against his chest.

"Well, good morning," he commented dryly, shifting his arm to make room for her tiny body up close.

"Mornin," she muttered.

"If someone sees, this might raise suspicions," he reminded, yet did not move to pry her arms off of him. Instead, he began a difficult trek down the hallway. She trudged along with him, not making the trip easy.

"Fie, you worry too much. I'm cold, and I don't care," she decided. She did care, really. The consequences for their secrecy were unknown, and therefore could range from nonexistent to horrifyingly harsh. Morgan didn't want to find out, but she also wanted to remain warm. As long as she could just pretend there was some semblance of a relationship between them, her mind was distracted.

"Then here," Laurent finally decided to unwind her arms, but only to step away for a brief moment. He undid the strap about his shoulders which held his cape on, only to redo it again having draped the material around Morgan's shoulders instead. She blinked, shocked at the kind gesture. But nonetheless, she thanked him.

For the rest of the normal, dull day, Morgan did not remove the cape. Laurent did not ask for it back, and no one else questioned it. She received glances from aside, gentle murmurs from the eating hall, but no questions directly. And she was glad for it; it meant she could wear it longer. It was rather comfortable, even if she wore it over her coat as well as her clothes. Aside from the glances, the day was as she expected. And even on the side of the Risen problem, there was no news. Nothing new, no urgent attacks, no rushing to the battle field. And she was glad for it. By the end of the day, she was still just as tired as any other day, and her bed seemed all the more comfortable when she laid down. And she was glad for it.

But such complacency had no business in a world on the brink if ending. Even now, where Morgan lay still wrapped tightly in Laurent's cape, did she feel unknown glares digging into her back. Something felt off, and though the idea of sleep seemed pleasant, even preferred, she could not bring herself to close her eyes. Before long, the pressure was all too much. She threw back the covers, crawled out of bed, and turned headway around the bed and towards the door. But a figure stopped her in her tracks. A man, she figured, tall, and covered by a hood, a coat that looked painfully similar to the one she had discarded onto a hook for the night.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Morgan," the man's dull voice rang out in the darkness. He removed his hood then, revealing someone who seemed more than familiar. His eyes were a darkened green, his hair a light auburn slicked back along his skull. Longer hairs fell down over his left shoulder, and stray shorter ones lifted away like pulled back antennae. Just as Say'ri had described.

"Do you not recognize me?" he seemed wounded at the implication. Even if he was, it didn't show on his face as he approached Morgan. He took her hands in his, allowing some semblance of warmth to flood through her yet again.

"I…" she started, but she couldn't form any words. She knew who he was, though there was the obvious disconnect. She had never actually seen her father. As far as she had been told, he had died before she was old enough to remember. Died.

"My name is Kilian, but you may know me better as Father," he raised up her chin to look him in the eye. On his face was a gentle smile. "How you've grown, Morgan."

"How are you…? What are you doing here?" she finally bit out. Without thinking, she reached up to take his hand within her own. She hadn't been expecting him to be so warm, like this was all some dream.

"I've always been here," Kilian assured, "watching over you, looking for you. I made a mistake when I left your mother's side all those years ago, but I want to fix what I did. I want you to come back with me."

"Back…with you?" she blinked, her eyes glancing down to her hand.

"You don't belong here with these people. You belong with me, your father. Please, Morgan," something in his voice changed to desperation, though his facial expression didn't read it. Morgan didn't notice, she was still in shock.

"But," she looked up at him now, "but Laurent."

Kilian's lips twitched into an understanding smile, "For now, at least. Haven't you heard how the Risen are looking for you? Do you think the others won't find out soon enough? When they find out that you're the cause of this…"

Morgan's breath hitched. She couldn't deny that. If she was the reason the Risen were attacking so prevalently now, would they really still want her amongst their ranks? She wouldn't want herself there, not if she was putting them in danger. With the thoughts whirling around in her head, she was starting to feel dizzy from it all. One last look into Kilian's eyes, and she couldn't quite resist it. This was her father, one she thought she lost, and everything he said made so much sense.

"Father…" her small hands trembled as she took them back to herself, keeping a strained eye contact with Kilian. If she had been in her right mind, she might have noticed the strange glint in his eyes, something just as cold as the chill following her shoulders all this time. But she looked right past that to the warmth of a father who cared. She was helpless to the idea of a family.

Laurent considered himself patient, but having stood outside Morgan's door for ten minutes with absolutely no indication that she would be joining him, anxiousness arose in his chest. Eleven minutes, then thirteen, fifteen; Laurent drew the line then and stepped across the hallway to her door. He knocked, but the sound died away as the door creaked open on its hinges. It was like a desolate wasteland inside, bear of any sign of life. As he stepped across into the room, it became clear something was off. Even the bright golden sword what had rested against the wall not three steps from the end of her bed was gone. The lights were blown out, no trace left of the books which had been stacked along the wall, the patched up coat she wore was all but gone, along with whatever had remained of her mother.

In a moment he dashed from the room, taking the sharp turn down the hallway. He kept a light jog, his eyes searching, as he moved quickly through the path the walked every morning. He checked the rooms on the way, even taking a step outside to check the stables. Cynthia was there, and though she didn't catch on to Laurent's worry, she confirmed that she hadn't seen Morgan either that morning. And she wasn't the only one who attested to Morgan's disappearance. No one had seen her. When his latch ditch effort came at lunch time, to hunt her down in the meal hall, where he was sure he would find her chowing down and talking incessantly just like he always had: he was more sorely disappointed than he'd been for the entire morning.

"Lucina," Laurent's sudden call jerked the girl from her book, seated comfortably at a desk.

"Oh—yes?" she immediately smiled, but Laurent was beyond reciprocating the gesture.

"Where's Morgan?" She was the only one he hadn't asked yet, and the only one who caught on immediately.

"I haven't seen her, why do you ask?"

"I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I believe she's gone. When I went to retrieve her for our morning rounds, she didn't appear. When I went to knock, the door was already open. Inside—everything was gone, right down to what she had taken of her mother's," Laurent informed.

"You think she...left?" Lucina immediately pushed away from the table, standing up. "Why would she just leave? She's been such an asset, and I thought we had treated her hospitably—"

Laurent shook his head, "I don't know. She never showed any sign of displeasure being here—there has to be a reason, I'm sure of it. But I just don't know what it is or where I could find it…"

Lucina's brow scrunched, "We need to revisit your earlier idea then, about a missing link?"

"We searched the entire palace and there was nothing," Laurent rebutted. And he'd thought the plan had been ingenious at the time.

"Maybe we missed something? You said that this Kilian worked alongside my father, so isn't it strange that there's no record of him?"

Questions they'd asked before, both had no answer. It was useless to revisit them, so Laurent got to thinking. The ring on his finger felt like it was burning beneath his gloves, but he tried to ignore it as his eyes glanced about the shelves of books.

"All we've been able to find so far are tactical books…" he observed, "some of which didn't even include his name. They were all fairly warn down and out of the way as well…"

"What are you thinking?" Lucina wondered.

"It seems deliberate: think about it," he looked directly at her now. "Morgan was adamant that Kilian and Say'ri had fought alongside our parents, but none of us remember hearing about them. And yet, every story we were told has obvious gaps in it, ones which Morgan attempted to fill with what she had heard as a child. Even his tactical books mirror some of the battles we were told of perfectly—like he had been the one to write them. And yet none of us have ever heard of them?"

Lucina nodded in agreement.

"I don't think records of him would be in such an obvious place as the library, but where else to check?" Laurent let out a heavy sigh, removing his glasses to scrub them between his thumb and forefinger.

Lucina's shoulders heaved for a moment as she looked about the room, deep thought etched into her brow. Yet another question they had no answer to.

"Let's try to take it easy for now, maybe let the others know?" Lucina tried, an uneasy smile on her lips.

Laurent only let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples now before replacing his glasses.

"I'll think of somewhere we haven't looked," Lucina assured, "find something to take your mind off this for now, Princess's orders," she beamed. She pushed him from the library then and closed the door behind him, moving back to the table to continue her own work.

Whatever it was she was working on, Laurent didn't know, and that's what he chose to forget about as he fled from the door. He would not forget about Morgan's disappearance: she was more than just a missing friend. Maybe now it was his own happiness that depended on finding her, or his own sanity. Whichever it was, he wasn't sure, nor did he care to find out. His actions, his thoughts, were all out of place, but he was glad there was no one around to see the way he acted. He figured it must've been akin to whatever had ensnared his own mother to a man so unlike her. A silly four letter word he really wished to forget, it had caused this stress on him.

He tried to set it aside, stopping at the corner of a wall to brace himself and just breathe. Each emotion coursing through him, he pushed it aside and tried to drop it, replace it all with logic and reason. He had to think this through or he would never find the answers. This whole thing, secrets and gaps in the truth, it was deliberate. Something had happened back before any of this had begun, before any of them were even born—something had to have happened. Laurent was sure of that much, but what would possibly lead him to the truth.

Questions began to flood his mind as he thought things through. They had all been together since the beginning, he and Lucina and the others, just as their parents had been. Morgan was assured that her parents had been in the same, so why hadn't she been there too? Why hadn't any of them been there? Deliberate, deliberate, deliberate. Someone had made it this way, someone had purposefully done this; Laurent had an inkling that it was Kilian himself who did it, whoever the man may have been.

Kilian had left things behind, though. Was that a mistake? Or a subtle attempt to reach whoever may stumble across it? Laurent pushed away from the wall then as it dawned on him: there was one place they hadn't checked. A place they hadn't thought to check, as it seemed too farfetched an idea to even bother. The castle had a basement, small as it was and full of stored boxes, but there was a chance. If Kilian wanted to stay hidden, he wouldn't have left everything behind. But none of it had been easy to find.

Might as well see for myself, then, Laurent let out a heavy sigh and continued down the corridor. The door at the end would lead him to where he needed to go, the dark under the castle. There was an oil lamp sitting beside the door for any who might wish to venture down, a convenient addition to Laurent's expedition. He leaned down to lift it up, lighting it quickly. He moved to open the door, and as he turned the handle a sound caught his attention for a brief moment. Whirling around to investigate proved useless: nothing was there. Sure as he was that he'd heard footsteps, there was nothing there. With a gentle shrug of his shoulders, he pressed forward through the door and down the steps.

Cynthia, who had not been ten strides behind him, was breathing heavily now as she grasped at the wall behind her. She had only wanted to see what he was doing, and wasn't sure why she had felt it so necessary to hide. But the way Laurent looked worried her, the way she saw him leaning against this very wall. He looked pained, and she was only concerned. But now, she wasn't sure if going directly to him was the best answer. Instead, she ran off down the hallway to find the others.

The stairs were stone and quiet beneath Laurent's feet. His own haste caused his step to be light, leaving him with no solace in sounds to distract him from his thoughts. The darkness proved to cloud them some, narrowing everything to the only thought that he needed to find something. Some kind of clue, any kind of clue, scattered around these boxes and musty smell. There were old bookshelves stacked to the brim, old broken weapons, and so many nooks and crannies that Laurent wasn't sure where to begin. So he began right where he was, at the first crate he came to.

From there, it was a matter of diligence and perseverance. He went through every crate, every empty room, every bottle, nook, and shelf, before something finally caught his eye. At the end of the long room, just past an open door, there was a table bare of all things. Save one. Laurent pushed aside what stood in his way and moved to the back room, pushing the door open the rest of the way. He set the lamp down on the table and picked up the only other thing before him. From the looks of it, it was a ratty old journal, bound and leather and tied shut. It was worn with age, positively old enough to belong to someone's parent. Someone Morgan's age.

Laurent shuffled around until he found an old chair to sit in, then pulled that up to the edge of the table and seated himself. He glanced over the journal, running his fingers over the engraved letters on the front. It read "K&S", which he assumed was for Kilian and Say'ri. He'd never seen a shared journal before, but shrugged the idea off as he untied the small knot. Once the lamp was close enough to make reading easy, Laurent straightened his glasses and opened the book.

The handwriting matched Kilian's from his tactical books; Laurent knew he was on the right track. He took a deep breath and began to read the first entry.

All my time in the army has certainly paid off. Today, the Exalt decided that she had a better idea for where I could be stationed, and that's when I met Prince Chrom. He's a little scatterbrained, and prefers I just call him Chrom, but dignified all the same. They were in need of a tactician, someone to plan for them, with the threat of Plegia rising. Apparently, I was just the break they needed. Not that I mind, training all the time was dull. I much prefer reading where it's quiet; though Vaike is a bit torn up about my leaving. Seems to be the only one though. Regardless, I hope Chrom and I can get along.

Laurent had to pause out of near shock. What Morgan had said was true: his father and Kilian knew each other. And even from such a short fragment, they appeared to be just as close as she described. Again, he had to question why he had never heard of Kilian before if he had been his father's closest friends. None of it was adding up, but this first entry was proof enough as it was. He turned the page and continued reading.

Mother isn't too excited about me moving permanently into the castle, but that's what seems to be needed. Plegia continues to raise threats against Ylisse, and as my home, I'm duty bound to protect it. Something seems off, like Mother is hiding something from me, but that's a question for another time. I leave for the castle tomorrow—all of my stuff is packed already. Chrom seems nice enough, so I'm sure my stay will be enjoyable.

Laurent shook his head, this was getting him nowhere. He shifted his hold on the book to thumb through a good deal of the entries, until something caught his eye. It was too late to stop immediately on it, so he diligently turned back a few pages. A brief skim told him it was just after the war with Plegia ended—King Gangrel dead, Kilian shared a short words on the matter.

Glad the war's over, nice that Chrom took the credit. I lead the assault, I landed the final blow. But that's fine, at least our countries can be at peace for now. I think I'll visit Mother for a time.

The next few entries were nothing special, just Kilian's time at home during the stretch of peace. Laurent hadn't heard many stories from there: the only detail he knew for sure is that was when he was born. It wasn't an exciting time, merely peaceful. Lucina was born as well, though they were a year at least apart in age. Laurent wasn't sure he could remember the exact number with the state he was in, but the idea of finding out again might distract him for a moment. Regardless, he took a deep sigh and flipped through a few more pages, a few more entries, until he saw the name.

Say'ri.

I met Say'ri today, and I think for a time things might be better. She'll be an asset, having lived in Valm, she'll know the layout of the land. I might seek her help while forming my strategies, she seems appreciative of my work and has already offered her help to me. I'm glad someone does. Stated earlier, even for my plan on the sea, Chrom was still given lead and credit for it all. I digress: I think I'll go speak to her now.

Laurent skimmed through the next few entries, each one about Say'ri. Kilian seemed enamored with her, and Laurent learned that she had been the princess of Valm, Yen'fay's little sister. Kilian described her in detail: brown eyes with just a hint of green, long black hair with a white band tied around her forehead, and purple clothes. She was a master with a sword, and carried two at all times on her hip for emergencies. Whenever he tried to describe her, the entries would cut off suddenly and move onto a new topic; the very idea of a love-struck tactician made Laurent crack a smile. Whoever Kilian was, he seemed quiet. Even his diary entries, where he had all the time in the world to voice his thoughts, were short and brief. A man of few words, but he always made his point.

The point seemed to be that he was in love with Say'ri. One particular entry talked in depth about a painting he had seen her creating, and how he had sat down with her to learn the art. She taught him, and within hours he was painting alongside her. They shared a kiss in that entry, Laurent figured it might've been the first kiss Kilian had ever hard, the way he gushed about it in short fragmented words.

This journal had turned out far happier than Laurent had originally expected. Each new entry after that detailed more about Say'ri than battles. Several were from the same day as well. It kept up the same theme until Laurent reached the entry detailing Kilian's wedding. He and Say'ri had wed quietly, on their own, and announced it later.

Vaike was ridiculously obnoxious about the ordeal: it was just a ring. Say'ri and I had been inseparable since our first chat—nothing seemed too different. But there's something important about a ceremony, I suppose. I'm glad she is my wife, at least. She takes notice of the hard work that I put in, and has even assisted me on some previous battle strategies. With her, I think I might be able to continue.

The entry cut off there, and it left Laurent perplexed. He wasn't sure what it was Kilian meant to continue, or how he thought he would be able to with Say'ri. But, Laurent continued. Not a few entries later was the shortest one he had read so far. It was a simple statement, one sentence, but one that made Laurent smile. Say'ri was pregnant. And that was the last happy entry Laurent read.

If one more person congratulates Chrom on a victory I might kill the man myself. He's fine, I have to remind myself that he's fine. A good man, a good soldier, but he's downright stupid. I'm the genius behind these battles, behind these victories. But as long as I sit behind this desk, working far past the middle of the night—candle light is the worst when even the moon has gone to sleep—then I suppose no one will particularly care. Not even when I lead the battles myself: lest Chrom get himself killed. Then, I suppose, all of Ylisse will die. It's not as though Lissa can take over—he probably thinks that at least. I digress.

But then something was different. The next entry was written by someone else, handwriting much smoother than Kilian's. It was obviously Say'ri's work, or the initials on the front wouldn't add up. Her entries followed for a few pages, each detailing her concern for Kilian's well-being. Laurent's breath hitched in his throat when she mentioned Grima.

Mother never told me I was from Plegia, It was back to Kilian almost immediately, but I guess there's a lot I don't know. Validar, whoever he may be, claims to be my father. Claims I'm some amazing creation, that I have the capability to become a god. Grima, he said. Sounds romantic, but I have battles to plan. If I don't plan our strategies, who will? These idiots would die without my help. If I wasn't here, they'd have never made it past the first war with Plegia, Naga help them. Maybe being a god isn't the worst thing that could happen to me—but I can't think that way, not now. I worry Say'ri is over exerting herself, nearly 6 months pregnant and she continues to join me in battle. As long as she stays at my side, I can't worry too much.

Laurent knew for sure now. This was the missing link, Morgan had been right. His heart began to beat quickly, up in to his ears as he turned the page. Page after page, now, was bitterness and anger. Kilian began to damn his own shepherds to death, even Chrom. He was beyond furious, and reiterated constantly that Say'ri, and his new daughter Morgan, were all that kept him grounded and sane. The fall of Yen'fay came, and then Walhart, and Kilian only seemed to grow angrier as Chrom grew more renowned. Cursed to stand in the back row of whatever play he had found himself in, and it lit his very soul on fire at the thought. Standing in Chrom's shadow must've been cold when the man single handedly was congratulated again and again for victories won against Valm.

He hadn't even attended this battle, but he won't admit that. He takes the peoples' praise, and he eats it like it's the only sustenance left in this world. Not one single mention of me—and he claims I am his greatest friend. I've had more fun on kitchen duty—sword at your side and wind at your back. It's all fake. I can hear Validar in my head sometimes, and his offer is starting to sound wonderful.

The urge to rush this up to Lucina was growing, but Laurent swallowed it as a drop of sweat rolled down his cheek. He had to finish, he had to know what happened before he could make any assumptions. But each entry lead him to believe that Kilian was Grima, and such a fact would prove disastrous for them, even if it meant everything Morgan had said was correct. Kilian was the missing link, and now Morgan was just missing. One more time, he swallowed and continued to read, flipping through several entries made by Say'ri. He was nearing the end of the book, so unless the journal had never been finished, Laurent was nearing his answer.

Say'ri will take care of Morgan, I know she will. But she doesn't have to know what I will do. I've already apologized, I've already asked her for forgiveness. She says she forgives me, that she will support me as she always has, but I know that's a lie. She'll never forgive me for this, but I've made up my mind. I'm a shadow in this army, and maybe if I'm on the other side these imbeciles will know just what they're up against, just how powerful I am. Maybe a thank you or something along those lines, but it was silence or "is our next battle planned yet." Maybe it's all petty, but I can't handle it anymore—being worked like a horse for not even an extra bit of spending money for more tactical books. That's fine by me then.

I stay up the latest, no one will realize if I leave tonight. I know where Validar is. I'll leave the information and battle plan on my desk, just in case they want to stop me. Whatever happens, it's because I wanted it to. Another day like this and I might die myself. It's for the best.

If anyone ever reads this: Morgan, I love you. You and your mother were the only things in this world who looked at me, not at what I could do for you. I'm glad you look like Say'ri, I'm no man to take after.

The time skip between Kilian's final entry and the next entry, the last entry, was a month. Whatever happened in between, Laurent could only guess, but figured he didn't want to know. Instead, he pushed up his glasses and leaned closer to the dying light, glancing at the neatly scrawled letters once before taking them in and reading them.

I must go, and I am taking Morgan with me. Kilian—he's gone. He has lost all semblance of sanity, of humanity, of the man I loved. He is Grima now, Kilian is dead. This is the story I will tell Morgan as she grows. She will hear only the good tales of Kilian, how he was heroic and fought bravely in every battle, how he comforted me at the death of my brother, how he stood up for his brothers and sisters in arms, how he never left Chrom's side through all the heartache. She will hear of Kilian as a hero, as I chose to remember him. Fie, I dare not say he is a villain now, perhaps only a flawed man.

It is my final request that I am the only one to talk of Kilian, to my daughter. I want for none others to speak of him, nor of me. I am leaving, and I will not return unless situations become so dire that I must. No one must know the story. We are disappearing, the three of us. Grima is no man, and I shall be damned should I be the one to make it seem as such. And such as I know he was a man, my own husband, I cannot be one to strike him down eventually. I will leave that to the rest of the Shepherds, pray that Kilian's words were none but exaggerated. May they prevail, may they speak not of my husband or me. I will leave the journal behind, that someone may find and understand if such a time comes that Grima cannot be defeated. May someone free Kilian from his mistakes—he deserves better.

Laurent flipped the final page and his heart nearly stopped. On the back was taped a painting, signed Libra at the bottom. It was perhaps the most meaningful piece of art he had ever seen, and the very likeness of Kilian and Say'ri. She was just as beautiful as he had described, and he handsome beside her. His hair was a light auburn, slicked back and longer over his left shoulder. His eyes were more green than brown, while Say'ri's were more brown than green. They looked happy, both smiling and leaning into the other. He wore the same coat what Morgan had dawned nearly every day. Perhaps more important, and more deadly than all the smiles the two could've made in any painting, was the message below.

Say'ri, you are the light of my life, and I love nothing more. –Kilian.

Laurent nearly knocked the lamp over in his haste to stand up. He stole from the room, taking a blind dash for the stairs. It was luck or Naga's grace that kept him from tripping as he took the stairs two, three at a time. He burst through the door and did not bother shutting it before he took off again, heading for the library. If Lucina was not there still, he would search the castle top to bottom for her. She had to know, even if it was the most damming piece of knowledge they'd ever acquired.

Grima was human.