~ Chapter 6 ~

Owain fidgeted uncomfortably, wishing he had chosen a better hiding spot than beneath several heavy sacks of grain. The weariness inflicted by the warp powder had finally begun to wear off, but after holding still for so long, his joints were beginning to feel painfully stiff. "The lone scion can suffer inaction no longer!" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. Two of the sacks tumbled roughly to the side, where they promptly split, showering the ground noisily.

With a frown, Owain peered about the dimly lit kitchen, which remained as deserted now as it had been when he had first arrived. A single, dusty oil lantern continued to burn slowly, with enough oil remaining to last the night. "Lucina? Where are you?" Owain asked worriedly, when the silence grew stifling.

"Severa? Lucina?" Owain called, raising his voice slightly, before clapping his hands over his own mouth as he remembered he was deep within enemy territory.

He remained perfectly still for nearly a full minute, staring at the steadily burning lantern as he pondered his next move. Had the warp powder malfunctioned, taking him to the wrong kitchen? Or had the others changed their mind about their destination entirely?

Or had his friends simply set off without him?

With a frown, Owain reached for his remaining portion of warp powder. He stared at it for a few seconds before shaking his head and strapping the small drawstring pouch to his belt once more. He wasn't ready to abandon their mission quite yet, and the warp powder would still be there later if he needed it.

"The harbinger of light stands and fights alone if he must," Owain declared solemnly as he prepared to set off on his own, pausing only to pilfer a large strip of aromatic, smoked jerky from a nearby hook.

"Is Phoenicis Hall always this quiet?" Severa whispered as she glanced cautiously from side to side, searching for any signs of life.

"Morgan's diversion must be working pretty well," Lucina said optimistically.

"It's also the middle of the night," Felicia reminded.

Belle shook her head quickly. "Phoenicis Hall usually isn't very crowded, even during the day."

"Did you use to live here, Belle?" Harmony asked curiously.

"Yes. Almost immediately after King Tibarn's wedding, Aeolus, Lister's father, resigned. When he did, my father became King Tibarn's new advisor. Strife and I were only children at the time. We moved here with my father and mother. After they passed away, King Tibarn invited us to remain here with him, but Uncle Reyson brought us back to Kilvas instead," Belle explained. "Why do you ask?"

"I thought it was kind of funny how you were able to suggest half a dozen hiding places right away," Harmony said, grinning. "The closet of your old bedroom I understand, but a secret wine cellar? The tower conference room? The west wing kitchen larder?"

"Oh. I found most of those later. Even after we moved back to Kilvas, we still visited Phoenicis Hall at least once a month for many years. Celera and I would play hide-and-seek all over the castle. The two of us probably know this place better than any of the guards," Belle said, laughing lightly. "The smaller wine cellar was King Tibarn's, and hasn't been opened since my brother ascended to the throne. It would have been even safer than the closet of my old bedroom."

"But farther from the dungeon," Symphony reminded. "And your closet proved safe enough."

"Maybe Owain misheard us and warped to another one of the hiding spots you listed off instead," Severa said, trying not to sound overly concerned.

"Maybe," Lucina agreed, though she turned to Severa, wearing an amused expression. "You sound worried."

"No way," Severa denied vehemently. "I just don't want this to turn into another huge manhunt. We're in big enough of a mess already because of him."

"Uh-huh," Lucina said, clearly unconvinced. "Say, Belle, didn't you tell us that the kitchen was even closer to the dungeon?"

"Yes, but we're more likely to run into guards there if any of them stop by to grab a snack or something," Belle said with a shrug.

"Could we drop by and see if Owain is hiding there?" Lucina asked.

"We could," Belle said hesitantly. "But it's on the opposite side of the stairs leading to the dungeon. We would have to travel through the main hallways to get there."

"How far past the dungeon is? We can flatten any of Lister's guards if we have to," Severa said confidently.

"It's not worth the risk," Lucina interrupted quickly. "Owain has warp powder to get himself out if necessary. I'm worried about him too, but…"

"I'm not worried," Severa insisted.

"But he's not in any real danger, while Prince Valent and our mission definitely are," Lucina finished, ignoring the interruption.

"Are we still headed straight for the dungeon, then?" Belle asked.

Lucina only nodded, inwardly hoping that she wasn't making a huge mistake.

"You know, Morgan, your plan really should have included a map. Or at least instructions on what to do if we got separated," Owain whispered unhappily, as he fumbled his way down the dark corridor. He stopped abruptly, though, dipping his head thoughtfully. "Were there instructions for that?" he wondered aloud.

After about a minute, he shrugged helplessly. If there had been instructions, they wouldn't do him any good if he didn't remember them. As it was, he could either bail out, hoping the others could complete the mission without him, or keep wandering through the castle alone, hoping to stumble across the dungeon randomly.

"Hey, you there!"

Startled, Owain spun to see two large men racing down the hall towards him. One of the two held up a torch, shedding light upon their brown, feathery wings. "Hi?" Owain greeted cautiously, reaching for his sword.

"What are you doing here?" the hawk Laguz carrying the torch demanded. "There's a battle going on. All of you Beorc soldiers are supposed to be at the front lines!"

"Phoenicis Hall is off-limits to the Beorc, anyways!" the other hawk Laguz reminded sternly, sounding suspicious.

"Oh… is it?" Owain said nervously, fumbling for an excuse. "Umm… I was sent here to check on the prisoners," he invented wildly.

"Prisoners?" The first hawk Laguz said doubtfully. "What prisoners?"

"The ones… uh… kept in the dungeon?" Owain stammered.

The second hawk groaned painfully, as if the remark had been stupid enough to cause him physical pain. "Not just a Beorc, but a drunk Beorc. Listen, idiot, no one's used the dungeon in Phoenicis Hall in centuries."

"And you were going the wrong way, anyways," the first hawk pointed out, sounding equally annoyed. "Now, scram! Get out of here, and be glad King Valent doesn't have time to bother with drunken Beorc cowards!"

"Okay, okay," Owain agreed hastily, inwardly thankful that the guards had chalked his erratic behavior up to drinking. He turned and began walking back the way he had come, staggering a bit on purpose.

"Not that way, you fool!" one of the hawks barked angrily, reaching out for him.

Owain had been expecting the movement, and timed his spin perfectly. In a single, fluid motion, he unsheathed his sword, Last Wish, and sent it slashing outward in a wide arc. The advancing hawk fell back, startled, but was too slow to escape Owain's reach. The sword's fine darksteel blade sliced through the Laguz's thin clothing easily, leaving a deep gash across his belly.

"What!?" the other hawk roared angrily, dropping his torch and transforming instinctively as his companion collapsed to the floor. But Owain was faster, and leapt forward, leading with the bloodstained tip of his blade. The hawk launched himself into the air, pulling away from the swordsman, only for his wings to slap painfully against the ceiling of the confined corridor. He lost his grip upon his torch, which snuffed out as it hit the stone floor below. The hawk spun around blindly, seemingly lost.

Seeing his foe distracted, Owain charged forward again, tackling his airborne foe and pinning the hawk to the ground. The hawk quickly reverted in an effort to free himself, but stopped his thrashing when he felt cold, sharp metal resting against his throat. "I yield," the prone hawk gasped.

Owain turned to the first guard he had laid low, and to his relief, the fallen hawk let out a low moan of pain. Morgan had been quite adamant that they were to minimize casualties caused during their raid. Besides, Owain had no interest in playing executioner. Still, the two guards left him in quite a predicament.

"If I tie you two up, you'll probably just transform and break free, won't you?" Owain muttered. The unwounded Laguz winced as he overheard Owain, and even in the dark, Owain could tell the hawk was staring nervously at his sword. "Why are you two here, anyways?" Owain asked conversationally, raising his voice. "If there's a huge battle, shouldn't you two be on the front lines, too?"

"That's none of your business, traitor," the wounded hawk snarled, finding his voice at last as he crawled to a sitting position. He lost his bluster a second later, as Owain brandished his sword once more.

"Owain is no traitor! He fights on behalf of the rightful king and for the life of the imprisoned prince!" Owain proclaimed dramatically.

"You're daft, boy," the first Laguz proclaimed, after several seconds of stunned silence. "There is no imprisoned prince. There's no imprisoned anyone. The throne rightfully belongs to King Valent, who is battling against the armies of his traitorous, former friend this very minute!"

Owain frowned, wondering if perhaps Morgan had made a miscalculation. He could see the wounded Laguz nodding feebly in the darkness, corroborating his friend's seemingly sincere claim. But if Prince Valent wasn't being held here, where could the captured prince be?

Then another possibility occurred to Owain. "Wait a moment. If King Valent isn't here, and there aren't any prisoners being held here… what exactly are you two supposed to be guarding?"

"Phoenicis Hall, of course," came the automatic, if meaningless answer.

"From who?" Owain pointed out. "No one cares about an empty castle."

"How should we know?" the uninjured Laguz complained. "The king told us to patrol the castle, so that's what we're doing. We don't waste his time with stupid questions."

"Where are you patrolling?" Owain demanded. When neither of the Laguz answered, Owain jabbed his sword forward menacingly.

"Everywhere!" the wounded hawk cried out in a panic. "All the main hallways of the ground floor, and every floor above it!"

"Quiet!" Owain hissed, not wanting their cries to attract more guards. "And what about the dungeon?" he prompted, when the two guards fell silent.

"Of course not. I told you, the dungeon hasn't been used in hundreds of years," the same hawk said again.

Owain frowned thoughtfully. It made sense, in a way. If Lister was disguising himself as Valent to find support from his allies, then he couldn't afford to let on that he was holding the real Prince Valent captive. At the same time, it explained the guards stationed within Phoenicis Hall, despite there being nothing else of apparent value within the castle.

Of course, there was no way he was going to convince these two guards, but he was more determined than ever to leave the two guards alive if possible. That left him only one option.

"Resist, and I will no longer be able to suppress the unbridled rage of my demonic nature," Owain warned grimly, relighting the torch once more and setting it in a bracket on a nearby wall.

Both guards stared at him as if he was crazy, but as he was still holding his sword, neither resisted as Owain bound their wrists and wings together roughly. The young swordsman led the two guards back to the kitchen, where he pinned them to the ground beneath heavy sacks of grain. After extracting directions to reach the dungeon from his two captives, he set off with one final warning. "You will not leave this room until sunrise," Owain demanded.

He then set off with all haste, expecting the two stubborn Laguz to free themselves within a few minutes. "The sands of time shall not undo my endeavors today," Owain solemnly swore.

Harmony was the first to hear the soft footfalls of the approaching Laguz. "Someone's coming," she whispered, tugging firmly at the soft sleeve of Belle's dress.

Belle's eyes widened and she spun around, looking for somewhere to hide. "In here," she instructed quickly, rushing for the nearest doorway.

Just as her hand closed around the doorknob, a band of eight hawk Laguz turned the corner ahead of them.

"Intruders!" one of them cried out. As one, all eight of the Laguz guards transformed.

"Get behind us!" Lucina ordered. She and Severa pushed forward past Belle, drawing their weapons as they went.

But Harmony was the first to strike. The agile assassin nimbly rolled to the side, opening a clear line of fire between her and the hawk Laguz, and conjured a magical gale from her new tome. The spell caught the foremost of the hawks just as he transformed, ripping several feathers loose as it hurled him into one of his companions.

Undaunted, the remaining hawks surged forth, hoping to overwhelm their Beorc foes with their natural speed. Their plan hit a slight snag; neither Lucina nor Severa were intimidated, and simply matched their flying foes blow for blow. The two women were just as fast as the Laguz, and with the longer reach of their weapons, they were able to keep the hawks at bay with relative ease.

Felicia eyed the melee calculatingly for several seconds, searching for the best opening. Finally, as a pair of the hawks were forced back, she joined the fray herself, drawing her slender, curved blade and striking even faster than Lucina and Severa. The retreating Laguz were too slow to follow her dance, and only saw a brief, silvery flash before keeling beneath waves of crippling pain.

Taking advantage of the thorough distraction, Symphony pressed himself against the left wall, sliding past the other combatants. The Laguz guards only noticed his presence when he spun into their midst like a deadly whirlwind, his scythe broken out into two razor sharp sickles. Thrown into disarray, even the normally fearless hawk warriors found themselves in full retreat, trying to escape the deadly arcs of Symphony's unusual weapons.

One unfortunate hawk put his back to Severa and tried to soar upward. The lancer thrust Passion upward, impaling the hawk's right wing and eliciting an agonized scream. Severa then pivoted quickly, swinging the lance overhead and slamming the wounded hawk into the ground, knocking him out cold.

A few steps ahead, Symphony pulled back before the rest of the Laguz could regroup, knowing that his momentum was spent. Harmony, too, dealt one last blow to the nearest hawk with her own blade before retreating. In the span of less than a minute, three of the Laguz had been dispatched, and two of the remaining five bore at least one visible wound.

"Go get help!" one of the surviving Laguz, evidently the leader, ordered.

And then a hauntingly melodic voice filled the air, softly singing a song in a language that none of the combatants on either side understood. The hypnotic voice seemed to steal the strength from the hawk guards; one hawk turned to flee, possibly following his leader's instructions, but his movements were strangely sluggish, and Harmony was quick to strike him down.

The battle was over soon after, with Lucina leading the charge as soon as she saw her opponents incapacitated by the hypnotic noise. When the last hawk crumpled to the floor, knocked out by the shaft of Severa's lance, all four of Belle's companions turned to her and stared, entranced, as she finished her mysterious song.

"What did you do to them?" Severa asked, impressed.

"Galdr," Harmony whispered in awe.

Belle only stared at the fallen Laguz, some of who were clearly dead, or at least dying. "Galdr, yes," she said, sounding distant. "Though I've never used one in battle before… I've never been in a battle before."

"If this goes well, maybe you'll never have to be in a battle again," Lucina offered sympathetically.

"Yeah. It looks like Morgan was right," Severa said. "The rebels have less than a thousand soldiers. Eight guards milling around an empty castle is eight guards too many when their home is under attack, and I don't think we were unlucky enough to run straight into the only guards here."

"If you're right, then there are still more guards hanging around here. We should get moving," Symphony urged impatiently, as he nudged one of the fallen Laguz lightly with his boot. "Some of them are still alive. Unless we're finishing them off, they'll come around sooner or later. Besides, if there are other patrols, these guys will be missed pretty quickly."

As if to confirm their fears, a loud, metallic clattering noise rang out suddenly, echoing down the long hallways.

Without another word, Belle set off once more in the direction of the dungeon, her companions following close behind.

Owain grimaced as carefully swept the pieces of the shattered lock aside. He had been fortunate enough to avoid any other guards on his way to the end of the disused hallway, but his luck ran dry when he found the small, yet heavy door locked. If there were other guards patrolling the castle's corridors, there was no way the racket he had made could have gone unnoticed.

Reasoning that it was too late to worry, Owain tugged the door open, revealing a narrow stone staircase. The thick dust lying atop the steps appeared to have been recently disturbed, confirming his suspicions that the guards had either been lying to him, or deceived themselves. "Hello?" Owain called out. "Is anyone down there?"

When no one answered, Owain shrugged and made his way down the precarious steps with his torch held high, doing his best to ignore the stale and musty scent that greeted him.

When he reached the bottom, he moved his torch steadily in a wide arc, shining a light upon cells lined with rusty metal bars. "Empty… empty… empty…" Owain whispered to himself, as he checked cell after cell.

Then the torchlight glinted off of something far shinier, catching Owain's attention. Something in the shape of an armored man, standing twenty paces away.

"Hello?" Owain called out again.

At the sound of his voice, the armored silhouette began moving towards him with a loud clanking noise.

"Uh… are you Prince Valent?" Owain stammered, as he tried to get a clear look at the approaching figure's face. "If you are, then know that I am Owain, a hero of a distant land, come to your aid!"

Only then did Owain catch a glimpse of the phantom's skull-like visage.

"Uh oh."

The silvery phantom lunged at Owain with both hands outstretched. In a panic, Owain stumbled away, slapping at one of the phantom's gauntlets with his sword, but losing his grip on his torch in the process. "Back, you villainous emissary of the false sovereign! Back, I say!" Owain cried out.

His meager attack proved grossly insufficient, and the phantom didn't as much as slow its advance. The silver fists hammered downward just as Owain skittered aside, causing the entire floor to vibrate. Seeing the opportunity, the young swordsman leapt to his feet gracefully and slashed his sword overhead, grasping the hilt tightly in both hands.

The phantom was already rising once more, and Owain's sword struck against the back of the phantom's breastplate instead of its neck, deflecting wide after leaving a large dent. Owain was quick to strike again, this time sending his blade thrusting low.

And once again, the phantom simply ignored the blow. Its gauntlets surged with shimmering sapphire flames. It punched forward with its right gauntlet, before following through with a quick step forward and a clean uppercut. Though Owain managed to step aside in time, the flames flared outward, igniting the collar of Owain's shirt. As he stumbled back once more, he bumped into the wall and realized he had been cornered. Desperately, Owain sprinted past the phantom, narrowly avoiding another blow, before batting furiously at the flames. Distracted, and with his torch lying a fair distance away, he did not notice the approaching bars of the nearest cell until he slammed into them, face first. "Ouch!"

A weary groan from the farthest corner of the dungeon answered his pained outburst, distracting him from his the pain. But before he could say anything, a heavy gauntlet caught him in the back, hurling him painfully into the cell bars once more.

Ignoring the pain coursing through him, Owain reached up with his left hand, grasping one of the cell bars as he retrieved his weapon in his sword hand. "Repent, foul abomination of the dark arts!" Owain roared at the top of his lungs, pulling himself up suddenly and kicking off the iron bar.

The rusted metal caved behind him as Owain pushed off of the bar with his foot, hurling himself into the air. He turned as he fell upon the phantom, his blade slicing into, and through, the phantom's neck. Both combatants tumbled to the ground, though Owain was quick to hop to his feet. "Hah!" he proclaimed triumphantly, as he eyed the phantom's remains.

In answer, sapphire flames surged forth once more, enveloping the fallen pieces of armor. "Whoa!" Owain exclaimed, backing away hurriedly.

A second later, the phantom's fragments exploded outright, sending waves of sparking blue fire rippling outward. Owain tumbled backward to the ground, shielding his face with both arms, as the metal bars of the nearby prison cells groaned in protest and melted under the heat of the flames.

When the flames died away at last, a severely singed Owain staggered to his feet, dazed. He would've stood there for several seconds longer had a voice not called out to him then.

"Come on, Lister! Did you really think depriving me of sleep would get you anywhere when starving me didn't? Maybe you should have asked that damnable mage to give you a new brain to go with your new face!" someone jeered from the corner cell.

"Prince Valent?" Owain asked in a hopeful tone.

The prisoner remained silent for several seconds.

"Who are you? You're not Lister," the prisoner finally said.

Ignoring his charred clothing, Owain hastily reclaimed his torch and raised it in the direction of the voice.

"Hey!" the prisoner protested, as the light shined directly into his eyes. "That stings!"

"Sorry," Owain apologized, as he lowered the torch a bit. Still, the light was enough to reveal a man with long, messy dark hair, clothed in a ragged green shirt. The man's complexion seemed unnaturally pale, and between that and the rather gaunt face, the captive appeared deathly ill. "Prince Valent?" Owain asked hesitantly.

"A Beorc?" Valent asked, startled. Then his eyes narrowed. "Are you one of those mercenaries Lister was gloating about?"

"Mercenary? Bah! Owain stands for honor and justice alone! The weight of coin alone will not swing my blade!" Owain stated proudly.

Valent only stared at him blankly.

Owain sighed. "You are Prince Valent, right? King Phoenicis sent us to rescue you."

"Strife sent you?" Valent said excitedly, hopping to his feet immediately. "Wait… us?"

"I was separated from my friends," Owain admitted. "But never mind that, we have to get you out here."

"No arguments there," Valent agreed. "Do you have the key?"

Owain shook his head. "There is no need for that. Far too many foes remain between us and liberty, but fear not, my friend! Our omniscient tactical mastermind has provided us with a far safer means of egress!" Owain declared, as he drew his pouch of warp powder. He offered the small drawstring pouch to the curious hawk, but hesitated as he noticed the flaw in his plan.

"What is it?" Valent said, eyeing the pouch suspiciously.

"Warp powder," Owain replied, making his decision quickly and dropping the pouch into Valent's palm. "Simply focus upon the main hall of Castle Kilvas and cast the powder at your feet, and its magic shall carry you on to your waiting sanctuary!"

"This better not be a joke," Valent said, as he opened the pouch and reached for the powder within.

"There is no jest in my words, I assure you," Owain reassured. "It is with this very powder that my companions and I were able to travel here."

Valent lifted the powder, but stopped abruptly. "Wait a moment. How are you planning to get out, then?"

Owain cringed. "I… uh… don't really know," he admitted. "I'll have to search the castle for my companions, I suppose. My cousin was carrying the extra warp powder."

Valent stared at him for a moment longer before shaking his head. "Forget it. I'm not leaving someone here to be captured in my stead," he said.

"What!? No! We have to get you out of here! That is our mission, the objective lying behind strenuous trials and grueling challenges!" Owain argued. "You have to go, now, before the guards find us!"

"And what happens when the guards find you?" Valent pointed out stubbornly. "I've got an idea. Get me out of this cell," he demanded when Owain couldn't find a suitable response.

Obediently, Owain drew his sword and began hacking at the lock, trying to ignore the awful din. "What now?" he asked, as the cell door swung open and Valent stepped out, flexing his feathery wings.

"Now we search for your companions together," Valent said with a cocky grin.

"I have no idea where they are, only that they are searching for you, too," Owain pointed out.

"Fine. Then we wait for them to get here and leave together," Valent said with a yawn.

Owain frowned, pondering his options. "Fine, but if the guards show up first, you have to use the warp powder to escape," Owain said.

"No thanks," Valent said, grinning broadly. "If the guards show up, either they'll know Lister's a fraud and help us find your friends, or I'll wring their scrawny, treacherous necks."

Owain began to protest again, but found himself unable to argue with Valent's confident smile. "Very well," Owain said dramatically. "Together, you and I shall stand against the endless tides of the ruthless tyrant's army!"

"That's the spirit," Valent nodded approvingly.

Flying a few hundred feet off the southern Phoenician coastline, Morgan continued to study the rebel soldiers carefully, watching as they huddled defensively around their ballistae. Half an hour earlier, they had fired off the remaining siege weapons defiantly. Futilely, as Morgan had already estimated their range accurately, and positioned her small band just beyond their reach. The rest of the Phoenician defensive line had settled, too, with the attacking forces in the north and east sections falling back and holding their positions a safe distance away. "This is just a glorified staring contest now," she muttered, growing bored.

"It's what you planned for," Soren reminded.

"I know, but it's still boring," Morgan said with a sigh. Her gaze swept the Phoenician lines once more, before locking onto one of the ruined ballistae. In an effort to alleviate her boredom, she decided to take her staring contest metaphor literally, and kept her unblinking gaze fixated upon it.

"I think it's time we return to Kilvas," Soren said abruptly, breaking the silence and startling Morgan.

"Why do you say that?" Morgan asked, her teeth chattering slightly.

"Our strike force should have recovered and come out of hiding over an hour ago," Soren reasoned. "They may have already returned to Kilvas, even. Our presence here no longer has any bearing upon our mission."

"I don't know," Morgan said, sounding unsure. "Maybe they had to travel farther than we estimated, and needed more time to recuperate. Maybe we should wait for another hour, just to be safe."

Soren sighed, and looked to be annoyed by something. "You're shivering," he stated flatly.

"I am?" Morgan asked, sounding surprised. She looked down at her hands instinctively, and only then realized how cold she felt. "Oh. I guess it is kind of cold out here. I'll be alright, though," she insisted.

"It's time to turn back, Morgan," Soren said, ignoring her protests. "Even late in the summer, the night can grow cold, especially high in the sky and near the coast. Your Pegasus can weather the cold thanks to her fur, but our soldiers remain susceptible to the chill."

Morgan glanced back at her soldiers, and for the first time, she noticed that they were in perpetual motion, flying back and forth to keep their blood pumping. Morgan knew Soren was right – sooner or later, fatigue would set in.

"I guess you're right," she finally admitted, with a fleeting glance in the direction of Phoenicis Hall.

With another sigh, Soren reached into his pack and extracted a thick quilt. Ignoring the younger tactician's protests, he draped it around her shoulders. "I'd rather not assume responsibility for this army on account of my predecessor freezing to death," he explained sourly.

"How much farther?" Severa demanded, panting slightly, as she and her companions raced down the tunnels. There was no longer any pretense of stealth. With the lone exception of Belle, who remained airborne, flying a few paces in front of her companions, their footsteps thundered loudly against the stone floor.

Loud wingbeats echoed down the halls behind them as the Laguz guards following them continued their relentless pursuit.

"Not far," Belle promised, as she led them around another corner.

"How long will you need to pick the lock?" Symphony asked, glancing behind him as he spoke. "We have maybe a thirty second lead on our pursuers, at best."

"Thirty seconds is more than enough," Harmony assured, as she passed their torch to her brother.

They turned another corner and spotted the prison door at the end of the hall, left ajar. "Never mind that, Lister must have left it unlocked," Belle said, sounding relieved.

They stormed down the final hallway and through the door. Lucina slammed the door shut behind them, but there was no way to bar it, and neither she nor her companions had noticed the broken lock lying on the floor on the other side. "Hurry," Lucina urged, as they sprinted down the steps. A muffled, incensed cry reached them even through the heavy barrier.

"They went into the dungeon! Hurry!"

"I hope your guess was right, Morgan," Severa whispered, as she slid past Belle and raced ahead, lance drawn. "If Valent isn't here, this was all just a huge waste of…"

Before she could finish her sentence, a torch flared brightly, blinding her.

"Yield, in the name of the true prince of Phoenicis and his humble protector, who wields a shard of midnight's darkness itself!" Owain proclaimed loudly. Only then did he realize who he was accosting. With a loud gulp, he retracted his blade and quickly fell silent.

"Not one of my people. No wings," Valent pointed out, as he leaned against one of the few undamaged cells, gnawing on the strip of jerky that Owain had pilfered from the kitchen larder earlier. "Is she one of your friends?"

"Umm… yes… friends… maybe?" Owain stammered, retreating several steps. "Hi, Severa," he managed meekly.

"Owain!? Why are you still here? You were supposed to warp back to Kilvas if we got separated!" Severa said, glowering fiercely at the young swordsman.

"Not now, we've got every guard in the castle on our tail," Lucina insisted, pushing past her best friend. She grabbed the large pouch of warp powder Morgan had given her and quickly extracted a small handful. "Prince Valent, this is for you," she said, offering the warp powder to Valent. "Just cast it down at…"

"Owain already explained it to me," Valent interrupted smoothly as he brushed off his hands. His face brightened as the rest of his rescuers arrived. "Long time no see, Felicia. Good to see you too, Belle. How's everyone doing?" he asked, waving cheerily.

"Everyone else made it to Kilvas safely," Belle replied. "Are you alright, Valent?"

"More or less, though I haven't had anything to eat in the past week, save for the bit of jerky your friend brought me," Valent said nonchalantly, accepting the warp powder Lucina was holding out to him before returning Owain's small pouch.

A loud slam echoed through the prison, stemming from the forcefully opened door.

"Time to go," Harmony interrupted quickly.

"Regroup in Castle Kilvas's main hall," Lucina instructed. Then, she, Symphony, and Harmony threw down their warp powder in unison, conjuring their escape route.

"That's the drab, gloomy castle on the other island, by the way," Severa reminded sternly, with a hard stare at Owain. "Not the one we're standing in, and not the fancy palace back in Begnion."

Owain nodded nervously. "In the main hall," he agreed, before invoking his own warp powder. Severa, Belle, and Valent followed suit.

When the guards reached the bottommost step, they caught only a fleeting glimpse of their emaciated prince before Valent disappeared into his magical rift, waving cheerfully at them.

Morgan felt slightly ridiculous with a blanket wrapped around her, but she did her best to put it out of mind as Celera finished her report. "So we eliminated two of their commanders," she said with an approving nod. "As well as about two hundred enemy soldiers, and almost half of their ballistae."

"Sustaining only about fifty casualties in total," Strife added.

"It will only take them a day or two to repair the ballistae if that is their intent," Soren warned.

Strife shrugged, unconcerned. "We did what we set out to do. Our enemies were thoroughly distracted, and our own forces remain relatively intact. You made the right call, Morgan. A few of my men were disappointed when I ordered the retreat, but there were also several who appeared visibly relieved. They may remain loyal, but doubt and confusion persists."

"That, or they were simply relieved that we weren't dooming them to be frozen to death," Soren said, rolling his eyes.

"Once they see the real Prince Valent, we'll put any remaining doubt and confusion to rest," Morgan assured, doing her best to ignore Soren.

"That's assuming your initial guess was correct," Soren reminded. "If you were wrong, and the prince was being held somewhere else, this was an exercise in futility."

"That's not true," Cordelia, who was gliding alongside them, interrupted. "Even if we weren't able to rescue the prince, this battle was a clean victory for us."

"I suppose," Soren conceded. "And it would have been cleaner still if our northern division had adhered to their orders," Soren added, staring pointedly at Celera. Nearly all of the casualties they had sustained were during the battle between Celera and the enemy hawk commander she had challenged.

"And back down from Skylar?" Celera asked incredulously.

"It's alright," Strife cut in soothingly. "The battle worked out in our favor. A few losses were inevitable, anyways, and even in the most costly battles, our enemies lost at least two soldiers for every casualty we suffered. You did well, Nighthawk. Even if we weren't able to rescue Valent tonight, we may have at least dissuaded Lister from attacking tomorrow. If he chooses to attack anyways, our advantage will be even greater now."

Morgan nodded agreeably, then looked back towards the rest of their Laguz army. Spirits seemed extraordinarily high despite the late hour, and the soldiers showed no signs of exhaustion as they swapped tales of their recently-fought skirmishes. Still, in spite of her earlier optimism, Morgan couldn't help but feel slightly guilty. If her guess was wrong, any victory they had found that night was minor at best and hardly worth the effort, no matter how cleanly executed the battle had been.

"Second guessing yourself?" Soren said quietly, interrupting her thoughts.

"Just a little bit," Morgan admitted readily.

"Don't," Soren advised. "It might be too early to celebrate while the complete outcome remains unknown, but your plan was well-conceived. It was the best course of action available based on what we knew."

"Yeah," Morgan agreed without enthusiasm. "Still…"

"Don't worry about it. Your plan worked," Strife assured. "Look."

Obediently, Morgan turned and stared in the direction the raven king was pointing, and after several seconds, she could barely make out the faint outline of Castle Kilvas, standing below them and about a mile to the east.

But Celera had seen what Morgan could not. "Look! It's Valent!" she cried ecstatically, before transforming into a hawk and soaring ahead and out of sight.