The ground was warm and the day was bright as her mother ran a comb through her hair. It was so mild and pleasant, a perfect day, where light dripped from the sky, shivering and descending like misting rain across the field. The comb parted her hair into small sections, smooth and even, and the feeling was like fleece blankets and hot cocoa and butterfly kisses. Her mother's touch was soft and warm.
It was perfect.
Everything was perfect.
The sky crying light, pale shafts of white columns wavering through the air, and feathers fell around them, tickling her cheeks and gathering around them like soft, warm snow.
Everything was perfect.
Warm and bright and soft and perfect.
Cynthia awoke to shouting, the cold ground beneath her, straw sticking to her cheek, and the world was blackened with night. She exhaled, and her breath misted back at her. She shivered, plucking up her lance from her side and bolting upright.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her thick voice betraying her sleepiness. Brady grabbed her by the arm and rushed her from the barn.
"We're busted" he whispered fiercely, shoving her toward her Pegasus, who was curled outside the barn door, peaceful and asleep.
"Busted?" Cynthia whirled to face him, her hair whipping against her cheeks. "What does that even mean? I thought this place was safe!"
"Not anymore, it ain't!" Brady dug his staff into the ground, glowering up at the sky. "Gods… I don't even know, I guess Lucina put out a price on our heads! She really wants us dead."
Cynthia's heart sank. Luci. She doesn't, she thought desperately, backing away from Brady slowly. She doesn't want to kill us, she's just confused! She's still Luci! She's still our friend! But the words, they were so brittle and worn out, they just crumbled on her tongue. She choked on them as she turned and bolted from the barn, dropping to her knees and easing her Pegasus into rousing.
"Oi, oi," Inigo greeted brightly, appearing on the other side of her Pegasus. "You know the cover of midnight does wonders for the shade of your hair."
"Are you trying to say something about my hair?" Cynthia asked, frowning at him and tugging on a loose orange strand.
Inigo shook his head furiously, making a sharp choking noise. Cynthia sighed. "It's okay, Inigo," she said. "Just help me with this girdle, kay?"
"Certainly!" A short silence spread out between them as Cynthia saddled the Pegasus, Inigo quick to fasten the buckle, tying it off nimbly. He was very quick about things. Efficient and smart. Cynthia appreciated it a whole lot. He was brave too. Cynthia wished she were brave. Really brave. Not the pretend brave she threw out into the air, expected everyone to catch and latch onto. It always just fell to the ground and shattered.
"Do you know what's going on?" Cynthia asked. She noted the tome on the ground. Inigo had hardly parted with it since the incident that had destroyed the camp. But she didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to know the details. She didn't want to hear about how Luci had slit Yarne's throat, how Owain had cut Gerome down. She didn't want to think about it.
If she just ignored it, wouldn't it just go away?
She thought so!
"Just your run of the mill villagers come to run us out of town." Inigo shrugged, scooping up his tome. "We'll be on our way as soon as Owain returns from wherever he ran off to."
"Is he not here?" Cynthia blinked rapidly. She listened out, and she heard the shouting in the distance. "Is… is that a mob? Who's holding them off?" She looked around. "Noire? Kjelle?"
"I suppose."
"Inigo!" She whacked him with the butt of her spear, and he yelped. She then climbed up onto her Pegasus, shooting him a glower. "Get on."
"Oh." Inigo grimaced, eying her Pegasus and laughing meagerly. "I'm not really—"
"I said," Cynthia cried, raising her voice very high, "get on!"
"Okay, okay!" Inigo hesitantly neared the Pegasus, wedging his tome under his arm. Cynthia offered out a hand as he struggled with the stirrups. He took it hesitantly, and she yanked him up, pulling with all of her weight so his was distributed onto her Pegasus. He yelped, his knee digging into her side as he scrambled to find purchase, and she fastened the reins.
"Hold on!" she shrieked, clicking her stirrups and yanking on the reins. Inigo's arms flew around her, and he buried his face between her shoulder blades as the Pegasus's hooves clopped rapidly against the ground, the air slashing at her face, awakening her fully for the first time, and she grinned as the great beast's wings unfolded, long and steady, feathers gleaming in the dark, and they began to beat at the wind, soft whooshing that grew steadily louder, harsher, until the wings bore thunderclaps upon the sky.
And then they were in open air.
She laughed, her hair fluttering around her cheeks, flaccid and ugly, nothing in comparison to the perfectly coifed pallor of her mother's curls. She'd always been self-conscious about the texture and the color of her hair, the way it fell flat around her ears, how it had no sheen unless greasy, how length only added to split ends, making her look perpetually frazzled. How the color blanched her, dried her out, made her look clownish.
Severa used to mock her hair. "What a gaudy color," she'd snicker, her sharp eyes flicking from Cynthia's scalp to Cynthia's elbows, where her hair had once sat. "Really, Cynthia, it washes you out. It's not even actually red, it's that ugly orange hue that your thief of a father's got."
When Cynthia had run crying to her mother, Sumia had just hushed her, smiling and smoothing those ugly, frizzy locks of hair back. "She's just jealous, I think," Sumia said thoughtfully. "Severa has Frederick's hair, you know. That pretty chestnut brown color of his? Yes, I think Severa's just annoyed that your hair looks rather like Cordelia's. Even the texture of it, since Severa's hair naturally curls up like that… oh don't make that face, Cynthia, you'd notice these things too if you spent as much time with Cordelia as I do."
She didn't want to think about it.
"Don't tell me you're afraid of flying, Inigo!" she laughed as he clung to her. His face was still burrowed in her spine. His arms were digging into her ribs, constricting her breathing, and the winds lapped at her cheeks and chewed at her hair. There was a book pressed between his chest and her armor. It sank into the small of her back.
"I'm okay," he breathed, pulling back. "Quite alright, really, I just… ah. You smell very lovely, Cynthia, you know."
"Wow, thanks!" she chirped. "It's just a mixture of, you know, sweat, fodder, and cow shit."
"Oh. Well." Inigo cleared his throat. She laughed at him, reining her Pegasus and swerving her down below, twirling her lance in one hand. There were villagers crowded all around the shifting forms of Noire, Kjelle, and Brady. She swooped down, letting the beast crash into the circle, and she brandished her spear in a grand swoop.
"Back!" she cried. "Back, the lot of you!"
"Thank the gods," Kjelle breathed, snatching Cynthia's lance and tossing it toward Noire. "Noire, now!"
Noire took a deep breath, cautiously grasping the weapon, and Cynthia watched her body go tense. Then her muscles coiled, and she let out a high pitched cackle, lightning ripping through the air, pulsing through her and zipping through the lance, taking a life of its own as it careened through the villagers. They screamed.
"Noire!" Cynthia cried through the shrieks, the snapping of jaws, the violent sounds of bodies convulsing together, the heavy hiss of electricity going wild through the air. "That's enough!"
"No," Inigo whispered.
"No?" She twisted to face him, baring her teeth, hoping to look intimidating. "Excuse me?"
"I only mean," he said quickly, smiling at her wanly, "that we must get out of here somehow."
"By murdering countless villagers?" Cynthia snapped. She elbowed him harshly, leaping from her mount and letting her boots sink into the sand. "That makes us no better than Grima!"
Inigo said nothing.
She walked up to Noire and drop kicked her to the ground, lightning going berserk as the lance clattered at her feet. Cynthia toed it as the villagers began to drop. One stood upright, wavering as she stared, open mouthed. Cynthia kicked up her lance, whirling it in place, and she pointed at a lone woman in the crowd of limp bodies. She was not quite elderly, likely not even all that old, but her face was thoroughly lined from what Cynthia could tell were battle scars.
She knew this woman.
Cynthia lowered her lance very slowly. Her eyes moved to her limp left sleeve. A missing arm. A barrage of battle scars. A difficult face to forget.
A shadow shifted behind the woman, and Cynthia saw her eyes shift calmly as Owain's arm hooked around her neck, and the Falchion gleamed against her throat.
"Owain, no!" Cynthia gasped, stumbling forward. But before she could do a blessed thing, the woman reached back, and one handedly flipped Owain over her shoulder using the scruff of his neck. He shouted in shock, rolling onto his side and blinking rapidly up at the woman. She was peering down at the Falchion.
"I know this blade well," she said. She found Cynthia's eyes, and she smiled tightly. "Worry not, young ones. I would not dare harm you."
"Who…?" Inigo asked softly, sliding off Cynthia's Pegasus.
"She owns the barn," Cynthia explained hastily, helping Owain upright.
"She's betrayed us," Kjelle hissed.
"My apologies," the woman said, bowing her head. "Someone must have seen you. I am at fault, I'll admit. I did not think to conceal you. I did not imagine you so… hated."
"Yeah, well," Brady huffed, "we ain't exactly loved in these parts!"
"We should get out of here," Kjelle suggested, scooping Noire into her arms. Cynthia realized this was probably the first real experience Noire had with using magic. And she said she hadn't the talent for it. Or, was it, she didn't have the disposition? Ah, Cynthia didn't really know for sure.
"Come," said the woman, turning her back on them. "You may use my horses to escape, if it please you."
"Who is this lady?" Brady muttered, trudging over the heap of bodies. It was difficult to resist following her. They were all curious beyond belief.
"You knew who we were when you sheltered us," Owain clarified, jogging up to the woman. She gave a curt nod. "How?"
She cracked a half smile, all her scarred face allowed, and she lifted her chin high. "I admit, I make it my business to ken your whereabouts from time to time. You are hardly stealthy. Assassin's son."
Owain straightened up, his mouth falling open. Cynthia watched him. Yes, that's right. She was a thief's daughter, he was an assassin's son, and that was the legacy gentle folk remembered. It was always the ugly things that people held on to. No one cared that Owain's father had been one of the best swordmasters in the world, and no one cared that Cynthia's father had given up his cheap tricks quickly enough. No one cared about how powerful their mothers had been.
It was just the burden of a legacy.
"Do I know you?" Owain blurted. "I mean, you act as if you know me, and I… I'm not sure. There's something familiar about the way you speak."
She led them up to the stables attached to the barn they'd slept in. Cynthia listened to the distant cry of crickets, the chilly breeze curling at her back. The woman was smiling fondly, and as she lifted the hatch on the stable door, she chuckled softly.
"Aye," she said, an almost boastful syllable bursting from her lips. "It would sound familiar to you, my lord. I hail from the land of your father."
"Ferox?" Owain said faintly.
"Fie!" she barked, sounding vaguely offended. "Valm. Chon'sin, to be precise." As she walked, her empty sleeve swung at her side. Cynthia noted how her friends seemed to freeze, and for a moment she was very confused. She nudged Brady, whose eyes shot down at her. He was gaping.
"I don't get it," Cynthia announced. "Did you know Lon'qu, or something, miss?"
"Dummy," Brady hissed. "That's Say'ri!"
"Say…ri…?" Cynthia had to think about it. Then she jolted, feeling electrified. "Wait, that Say'ri?"
"I cannot imagine any other willing to save your hides," Say'ri said. Cynthia remembered her vaguely. A tall, beautiful woman, a princess with the elegance and the grace to prove it. Cynthia remembered how star struck she'd been with her mother had introduced her. But now that beautiful woman was scarred and crippled, and Cynthia could not even remember how or why. It must have been late in the war. Perhaps after her parents had died.
Even so, it seemed as if her grace had not left her. She held herself proudly, her chin raised and her gait easy.
She was the last living member of Chrom's army.
Suddenly Cynthia wanted to cry.
"Well," Owain announced, his eyes very wide. "Shit."
"Can you prove you're Say'ri?" Kjelle asked, still carrying Noire carefully in her arms. Say'ri glanced at her, and Kjelle shrugged. "Look, we don't want trouble, but we all honestly thought you were dead."
"I was injured," she admitted. "Gravely. I don't recall much of it, but I was of no use when I came to." She gestured to her missing arm. Cynthia winced. "I let myself fade into the shadows, returning to Chon'sin to seek some form of refuge but… my country was in ruins… and Grima is to blame."
"But can you prove it?" Kjelle asked sharply. "Are you really the heir to Chon'sin?"
Say'ri nodded. "I will prove it," she said softly. "But I do have a condition."
"Of course you do," Brady muttered.
"What is it?" Owain asked her, undeniably awed by her presence. He'd probably kiss the ground she walked on if she would tell him a story.
"I should like to accompany you on your journey. If only for a short while." The way she spoke was even, as though she'd regulated her voice to sound perfectly level and calm. Cynthia couldn't understand it.
"Are you certain?" Inigo asked, his voice heightening a bit in surprise. "It's rather dangerous with us. Plenty have died on our journey."
"You need not prattle me with talk of death, child," Say'ri said sharply. "I am no stranger to it."
"I can't put you in danger," Owain said quickly. "I'm honored, but…"
"Let me serve you," Say'ri said, blinking at him. "I am not so senile as you think me. Fie, hardly old, either. You must think so little of me, for all my disability, for all my scars. But I am strong still, young lord, and it would be my honor to protect you with my life."
Owain stared at her, his eyes wide and his expression falling flat in shock. He stood for a moment, utterly baffled, and then he let his shoulders drop. "If you can prove you're the real Say'ri," he said softly, "then who am I to object?"
Say'ri whirled about, brushing past them and marching toward the door. "I'll be right back," she said. "I only need one thing, and then we can leave this wretched place."
"Why live here if you hate it?" Cynthia murmured confusedly.
But she'd already disappeared.
"What do we do?" Inigo asked. "We can't just leave her."
"Give me a good reason why not," Kjelle said.
"Um, she's Say'ri!" Cynthia cried, throwing her hands up. "What other reason do you need?"
"It's not like any of us actually knew her," Kjelle responded stiffly. "We're just running off assumptions!"
"Regardless," Owain cut in, swiping his hand through the air to break the tension, "we should allow her to ride with us. At least until we find a safe place."
No one objected this time. Inigo wandered to a horse. There were three of them. So Noire could go with Kjelle, Inigo with Owain, and Brady with Say'ri. Unless someone wanted to hop onto her Pegasus.
"Of all the things," Owain said, breaking the heavy silence, "I honestly did not expect this."
"Well, yeah." Brady shrugged. "We all thought she died with the rest."
"Could it be there were more survivors than we thought?" Cynthia asked eagerly.
"It's plausible," Inigo said, blinking at Owain. "After all, we weren't well acquainted with those in the army who did not have children. Like Say'ri. We didn't know for sure that she died. We just stopped hearing about her."
"Yes!" Cynthia bounced on her feet. "Yes, exactly! So there could be more!"
"Hold on, hold on," Kjelle gasped. "Don't get your hopes up. We don't even know if she's the real deal. This could be a trap."
"Fie," scoffed a gravelly voice from behind them. They turned to see Say'ri standing in the entrance, her shadow yawning across the floor of the barn. "A trap? I could do far better than lock you in a stable."
"Comforting," Brady remarked dryly. "So, what'd ya get?"
"Tend to the horses as I show you," she said, clenching a fat, ratty bundle of cloth to her chest. "The villagers are rousing. It won't be long now until they realize where you are."
"I'll do it," Inigo said. He hurried toward a stall, and Cynthia watched him curiously. He was good with animals. Why did he hate flying so much?
"What is that?" Owain asked, pointing to the bundle in Say'ri's arms. Cynthia could tell he was excited by the way his entire body shifted forward, slumped and on edge, his eyes large and his lips parted into a perfect O. It looked as though he already knew, which made Cynthia anxious, because she wanted to know too, immediately, as in, right that very moment.
Say'ri unwound the cloth carefully, a spotted grayish fabric worn down from what was likely years of storage. Cynthia saw the gleam of metal in the dim light, prongs peaking out from the folds of the stained, frayed covering, and for a moment she thought she was staring upon the Levin Sword, its mighty zig-zagging shape branded into her vision. But she saw quickly she'd been mistaken, and the cover slipped away to reveal an entirely different weapon. The prongs were plentiful, branching off the blade sharply, and the entirety of the sword's appearance seemed so surreal and mystic that Cynthia could hardly stop staring.
"Is that supposed to impress us?" Kjelle asked flatly. Owain, however, had his hands over his mouth, his shoulders shaking as he bounced excitedly in place.
"Amatsu," he shrieked, his voice muffled into his hands. "Oh gods, that's Amatsu! Inigo, that's Amatsu! Brady, that's—!"
"I heard," Brady cut in.
"Can I touch it?" Owain gasped, lowering his hands and taking a few quick strides toward Say'ri. "I won't smudge it or anything, I promise!"
"You are more familiar with my brother's sword than I expected," Say'ri admitted, her eyes wide. "How is that?"
"My mother told me all about Yen'fay and my father about Amatsu," Owain said quickly, never tearing his eyes from the sword. "Is it an ancestral blade like the Falchion? It's so pretty. I mean—!" He straightened up, his face growing rather red, and he coughed. "It's a very handsome blade! Worthy of its wielder— and former wielder!"
Say'ri smiled her half-smile, and she looked genuinely pleased.
"You may hold it if you'd like," she said, offering the blade out by the hilt. "But bid me hold the Falchion."
"You can have it!" Owain cried, pulling the Falchion from his back and trading it off. He took care after remembering that Say'ri only had one hand, and he did not let go until she had it firmly by the grip. Even then its point fell to the stable floor. Owain gasped the grip of Amatsu carefully, fingering the pummel and the curves along the hilt, thumbing the insides of the prongs and looking beside himself with joy. "It's so light!"
"I suppose compared to this," Say'ri said, lifting the Falchion so it was upright against the ground.
"Thank you, Say'ri," Owain said, offering Amatsu back to her and bowing his head low. "You have no idea what this means to me."
"I am honestly touched by your enthusiasm," she said, trading off the Falchion for her own sword. "I feared not one of you would recognize it."
"Don't doubt Owain's knowledge of swords," Cynthia remarked. "If it's got a name, he knows it."
Owain flushed an even darker red, and he opened his mouth to object, but Say'ri cut in.
"A fine quality to have," she said, nodding in approval. "One cannot know too much about swords."
Owain beamed at her.
"Um," Inigo said, popping his head out of a stall. "If Owain is quite done, I've finished tending to the horses. As in, we can leave. Now."
"Cool," Cynthia chirped. "Let's get out of here already!"
"You take Noire," Kjelle said, resting their unconscious friend on the back of Cynthia's Pegasus. "I'm done carrying her."
"Well, fine, then," Cynthia scoffed. She mounted her Pegasus, adjusting Noire so she could wrap her arms around her and secure her safely. Her head lolled against Cynthia's breastplate. Her hair was pale and her breath was ragged, and Cynthia realized she was hurt. Whimpering. "Brady!" Brady looked at her, alarmed. "Noire's all shaky and breathing heavy and… and you should heal her!"
Brady ran to their side, but as he leaned closer to look at Noire, his frown deepened. "Ya sure?" he asked. "It looks to me like it's just a nightmare."
"Well, whatever it is!" Cynthia shook her head furiously. "Make it go away!"
"I can't do nothin' for a nightmare, Cyn'," he said softly.
Then what good are you? she wanted to snap, but she bit her tongue, and she fastened her arms tighter around Noire's middle. It wasn't fair. Noire was the gentlest of them all, regardless of her weird blood and thunder persona. They all knew it. None of that violent crap was real. The real Noire was the one who smiled shyly and stared off into space and liked cooking.
She was trembling. What was Cynthia to do?
"So you're coming with us, right?" Owain asked Say'ri eagerly.
"Aye," Say'ri said. "That was my intention."
"Well, let's hurry then."
When they headed out, the wind howled at their backs, and Cynthia hugged Noire close and prayed to Naga to give them a safe place. It seemed that no matter where they went, Lucina found them. Lucina, who had always been so strong. So kind. Luci. Luci, her friend. Luci…
Luci. Grima's daughter.
It just didn't fit!
Cynthia was preoccupied with flying. It was so easy to just forget when the open air met her cheeks, freezing all thoughts and tugging away all fears. It was nice to be washed of anxiety, to feel free for just a little while. The wind pulled her, lulling her gently, and it was all the troubles in the world just releasing like cords snapping. She was unfettered. At least for a little while.
But then she was signaled back into reality, a hand waving below, a white dot shifting on the blackened ground. The sun was just peaking over the horizon, and it gleamed in her eyes, the white circle expanding slowly as it broke ripples into the broad navy night.
She let her Pegasus glide downwards, lowering itself by swooping in a soft arc until finally its hooves collided with the earth. She yanked on the reins, and Noire fell to one side, twitching feebly.
Cynthia was scared. She was terrified of losing Noire.
Not just to death. To magic.
She knew what Noire's talisman did to her. She saw what the magic had done to her. She could not bear to lose anyone else to the grips of darkness, and Noire… well, she was just about drenched in it.
Cynthia had hardly been exposed to real darkness.
She was a product of tricks and treats and that was fine, because that was what she knew, but she felt like she'd missed something crucial. Like her world view was narrow, and she needed to think bigger, see more, see beyond. But she couldn't.
It was easy to just pretend that Lucina hadn't changed, that something was just wrong, that she was being controlled.
Wasn't that the truth? Wasn't Lucina just being brainwashed, or something?
Could Cynthia really keep lying to herself like this?
"Are we camping?" she asked eagerly, letting her Pegasus trot up alongside Owain's horse.
"We're heading back," he said.
"Heading back where?" Cynthia asked confusedly. "The village? No way!"
"Owain," Say'ri said sharply. He would not look at her. She sat impatiently on her horse, and she turned her face forward. "I see."
"What's going on?" Cynthia was terribly out of the loop. She'd been on her own for hours, traveling at a leisurely speed with the unconscious Noire settled against her chest. Of course she hadn't heard a word of the conversation below her.
"I inquired the whereabouts of the Voice of Naga," Say'ri stated. Her words were clipped and her voice was rigid. Owain stared down at his reins. He looked a little ill.
"The… Voice…?" Cynthia sat in her saddle, thinking over this, thinking over it twice, and she couldn't wrap her head around it. "Like, Lady Tiki, you mean? But she's dead, isn't she?"
Say'ri stiffened considerably, and Cynthia winced, feeling as though she'd said the wrong thing as she hastened her horse's trot. "Aye," she spat, her voice so coarse that it tore from her throat as though a growl. "Lady Tiki perished long ago. Though, for her it would have only been a blink of an eye."
"Then I'm not sure what you mean, Say'ri," Cynthia gasped. "How could the Voice be anywhere if she's dead?"
"The Voice does not die, child," Say'ri said, calming down a bit. "Lady Tiki's death only triggered the need for a new Voice. I had assumed you knew. Did she never tell you? Naga must have spoken to her."
"Who?" Cynthia asked eagerly, aching to understand all this cryptic babbling Say'ri was doing.
"Nah," Brady said softly.
Cynthia turned to look at him. He was not looking directly at anything or anyone. Sadness crept through the air, and it stole away inside Cynthia's throat, squeezing until there was no air left inside her, just an aching emptiness.
Nah. Of course. Who else?
"Oh," Cynthia whispered.
"She was young," Say'ri said, her shoulders squaring fiercely. "That girl… I knew her. Lady Tiki used to… used to play with her, when she was just a babe. Aye, a babe she was, until her very last. She was hardly out of the cradle by manakete standard."
"Yes," Owain whispered.
"I want to understand," Say'ri hissed. "I must understand why this is. Why such a life, a life meant to span millennia, is outlived by me twice now. I must see her."
"Are ya sure of that?" Brady asked uncertainly. "We couldn't give her a burial, or nothin'. We don't know what her corpse will be like."
"I must know."
"Certainly," Inigo said, smiling at Say'ri brightly. "But I must ask… what now? You say that Nah was the Voice, but Nah is dead."
"The Voice does not die," Say'ri said firmly.
"But…" Inigo leaned back, looking alarmed.
"Say'ri," Cynthia called. "Does that mean that there's a new Voice now?"
"A new Voice." Say'ri nodded. "Aye. A new Naga, even."
"A new Naga?" Cynthia shook her head furiously. "Is that even possible?"
"I cannot say." Say'ri glanced at Cynthia, her scarred side facing her, a myriad of fleshy lines crosshatching her pretty face. "I speak only hypothetically, from only partial knowledge bestowed upon me by Tiki herself. But, if I am recalling correctly, should the Voice die, a new Voice will take her place. This was a contingency plan for Naga herself, in case her own mortality be jeopardized."
"So…" Cynthia nearly stopped her Pegasus. "Who is the new Voice?"
"I wish I could say," Say'ri murmured.
"More importantly," Owain said vacantly, "who is the new Naga if the old Naga dies?"
No one could speak up. No one knew the answer.