The dirt path leading up to the refugee camp has me shaking more than the cold winds of the frozen rift. My heart pounds relentlessly in my chest and my fingers twist into the orange material tied about my hips to hide their trembling. It's an unspoken rule that I'm not allowed here any longer. Murder generally constitutes at least a ban.

Once we break past the stone walls of the mountains towering on either side of us and enter the refuge of the holy mountain, I'm nearly drowning in nostalgia. There are far more people lying about without shoes or proper clothing or signs of happiness glistening in their eyes. The very same white tent that housed the soup pots and fresh vegetables when I stayed here is more of a market with its wooden bins and table stands. A pair of seeq stands at the side of the tent, conversing in low voices. Pilgrims stroll about in their customary robes and children run around laughing. It's a place of peace in the midst of a war. Or so they would have you think.

We head further down the path and I stick to the back, hiding behind my hair and pretending nothing's amiss all at once. Young boys run the stands of random assortments they've created to earn money. I fight a painful smile, remember the stones Dern used to carve into and polish. They were simple little things, but he enjoyed making them and the pilgrims could never get enough of the mysterious swirls and dips carved into their surfaces, reading them as religious symbols when really they were mere scribbles.

The sun peaks around a bend in the path and finally beams down fully on our heads. I close my eyes and take a deep breath of the oh-so familiar air; soon afterward, I swallow the lump in my throat and blink away the pools gathering in my eyes. As I look around all I can see is a tanned young man who could never seem to find an excuse to wear a shirt, whose thick brunette hair was pulled this way and that by the wind, and whose best friend was a simple runaway princess who wanted nothing more than to spread her wings and fly, even if it meant taking a leap of faith off the edge of the mountain. All I see is a pair of wistful children who thought they'd found the secret to happiness.

The people no doubt stare as a group of battle worn, haggard fighters drags themselves through the accumulating village. Tents stand over nearly every piece of ground, holding more than one family apiece. I doubt my old tent is there, not because it's old, but because old Malachaius would think it defiled. No, we never defiled the bloody tent. That was reserved for the Castean. I fight a bitter laugh. Too far? Though it's been four long years, I'm surprised to see no one I recognize thus far. As the temple draws closer on the horizon, however, I begin to fear that may not always be the case.

"This place is certainly impressive," Basch breathes, looking up at the towering, square buildings. I nod, ducking my head as a nu mou waddles past.

"Yeah," Vaan laughs, earning a few gentle smiles and confused stares from acolytes and pilgrims.

"Let's hope the Gran Kiltias will be prepared to speak with us," Larsa says, holding his chin high and resting the heel of his hand against the hilt of the sword sheathed at his hip.

"I promise to keep my fingers crossed," Penelo nods, her pigtails bouncing with every cheerful step she takes.

The stairs leading up to the temple's entrance have my stomach twisted in knots. Fran eyes me curiously for a split second before facing forward yet again. I huff, hugging my arms to my body anxiously and forcing my legs to continue up the steps mechanically. As Ashe's fingertips brush the surface of the door, I feel all the blood drain from my face. Suddenly wrecked with weakness and inability to face my failures, I stumble back from the group. Fran raises an eyebrow, gaining the attention of the others.

"I'm not quite feeling myself," I force out, pressing my back to the wall tightly.

"Yeah, you're looking pretty pale," Vaan points out, frowning. "Everything alright?"

"You have been acting strangely," Penelo adds.

"I'm fine," I mutter, turning my eyes to the humes wandering the upper levels of the holy mountain's grand temple. Several pairs of eyes are turned on us, even more fingers directing themselves in our direction. The acolytes and pilgrims and elders converse in low whispers and I can't help but feel overcome by nausea.

"Shae?" Ashe breaks me from my thoughts, frowning.

"On s-second thought," I reply sharply, immediately facing her upon seeing three guards in heavy armor walk past. "I'll join you. Let's get a move on! I'm feeling better already!"

"Let's," Larsa nods, motioning for Ashe to open the door. She complies slowly. Balthier does nothing to ease my suffering by leaning down toward my ear.

"You keep this up and we'll have the whole place questioning your sanity."

"They'll do more than question me," I mumble, though I do nothing to elaborate when his eyebrows furrow. My heart stops and my feet hesitate as I recognize the first two guards at the entryway. I try to drown myself out between Fran and Basch, but I suppose people shorter than two feet can easily see between legs from below.

"Stop this very instant!" I cringe, my feet obeying immediately though my heart screams for me to run and hide. Shit. "Just what do you think you're doing here?!"

"Just… On a mission to create peace," I reply, my voice much higher pitched than usual. The others pause, turning to stare at me with deep-set confusion. "What have you been up to?"

"Don't feed me that!" I wince when the nu mou's sharp toed foot strikes against my shin. "You know you're not allowed back here. Ever!"

"It was never directly stated," I point out uneasily.

"Have you no shame?! How dare you return to this place after all you have done?!" I finally turn to fully face the robed elder.

"I assure you, Malachaius, I won't bring trouble this time. I no longer posses any… liabilities toward any choice of good will."

"Nonsense," he hisses, narrowing his dark eyes and tugging at his mustache. "You steal our sacred jewels, you defile our living spaces, and you kill our people. Leave this instant or I shall have you all removed!"

"Honestly," I sigh, dropping onto one knee to reach his level easier. "It wasn't that bad. Nothing bad will happen to you, your people, or your temple."

"Not that bad?" he repeats incredulously. He motions toward the group standing behind me. "Do you, my children, know who you associate yourselves with?!" My eyes fall to the velvety carpet and I press my lips together, frantically searching for a coverup. The nu mou bursts into wheezy laughter. "You don't! Lord Larsa, would you care to explain? No?"

"Malachaius," I snap, glaring daggers into his eyes. He scoffs, scowling right back.

"You say you participated in nothing of the rotten sort? If that is so, why not remove that armor from your wrist, puta? You're obviously not…." He scans over my outfit and crinkles his nose. "Shy to show your skin. So, puta, why hide your left arm?" I bite down on the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to stand stiffly.

"Puta?" Vaan mutters, nudging Basch. "What's that?" The knight sighs.

"I believe he means to call her a whore, Vaan."

"… Oh."

"Now, if you'll excuse us," Larsa cuts in, stepping forward and taking hold of my wrist. "We have business with the Kiltias, whether you like it or not. After this treaty is in place, the war would be settled and less would be drawn here by suffering. Is that not what you want?"

"How convenient for her lit—" Malachaius starts, eyes narrowed.

"Excuse us," Larsa repeats sharply, pulling me back toward the party.

Clenching and unclenching my fists, I take a deep breath and ignore the curious stares directed at me from all angles. Ashe especially seems utter lost and her eyes demand answers, but her lips remain sealed as she turns back to her primary focus. As per usual, I keep myself in the back.

The Gran Kiltias stands as always, eyes shut on a wrinkled plane of dark flesh and long snow-white hair. Larsa and Ashe stand before him in complete silence, and if I hadn't just been rebuked by my past, I might've found it uncomfortable. Vaan frowns, leaning over to Penelo.

"Is he sleeping?"

"Shh!" Ashe hushes him sharply.

"No, my child. I do not sleep." A deep, clear voice echoes throughout the temple. The stunned faces of the others nearly make me laugh. Only Basch and Balthier appear unaffected. "I dream. For reality and illusion are a duality, two parts of a whole. Only the mirror of dreams reflects what is true." Ashe steps forth, eager to move on with the process.

"Anastasis, Your Grace, I am Ashelia—"

"Lay down your words. Ashelia, daughter of Raminas. I have dreamt your dream. Who better to carry on the Dalmascan line than she who bears the Dawn Shard? Your dream of a kingdom restored is known to me." Larsa steps forward now, a strong determination overtaking his face.

"Gran Kiltias, then give us your blessing. Grant the Lady Ashe her ascension—"

"I do not suppose this is something you might… reconsider?" A man's voice coming from just behind me startles me. His words are laced with a thick accent, his hair as black as the night sky, tinged with violet, and his skin dark to match. Everything else about him… it's utter flamboyancy. The man weaves his way past us and stops before Larsa. "My little emperor-in-waiting. You called and I have come." Larsa reaches out his hand to shake, only to have his hair ruffled by the strange man in dark glasses.

"This is the man I wanted you to meet," Larsa says, motioning toward our guest and facing Ashe. "Believe it or not, he is a member of the noble House Margrace, rulers of the Rozzarian Empire." The man scratches at his dark chest hair and paces toward the princess.

"I am but one of very, very many. Try as I might, I could not stop this war alone, thus I came seeking Larsa's assistance." Dramatically, he pulls his glasses off and whips his hair out of his face. A pale-faced woman that came with him takes the glasses immediately, tucking them into the top of her laced shirt. I can't help but roll my eyes. "Al-Cid Margrace, at your service. To think I stand before the Lady Ashe. It is truly an honor." He kneels and kisses the back of Ashe's hand, Penelo gasping and clasping a hand over her mouth. "I see it is true after all. Ah, stunning is the Dalmasca's desert bloom." It's Balthier's turn to roll his eyes. Larsa sighs.

"In Archadia, Larsa. In Rozzaria, Al-Cid," the Kiltias says, his voice booming through the temple once again. "They dream not of war. Should empire join with empire, the way will open for a new Ivalice in our time."

"Hah!" Al-Cid laughs. "Gran Kiltias! You speak much of dreams. But in the real world, war is upon us." Ashe turns away from the Rozzarian to face the Kiltias.

"Gran Kiltias, I was told my coming here would prevent this war. I was to assume my father's throne and announce the restoration of Dalmasca, treat with the Empire for peace, and persuade the Resistance to stay their hand. I have not come all this way to be asked to reconsider!" I sigh, shaking my head. That girl and her obsession with reclaiming her throne.

"A word from you and the Resistance would stop cold," Al-Cid points out. "And Rozzaria's pretext for joining the war… scattered, off to the four winds. This was what we had hoped. Alas, circumstances change. A full two years have passed since your reported death. Were it to become known you were still alive, I fear it could only worsen our current situation."

"Because I am powerless to help," Ashe argues, stepping up to the Rozzarian's face.

"Nay, in fact, it has little to do with you," Al-Cid shakes his head.

"Then what?" Larsa demands. "If Lady Ashe were to extend her hand in friendship, perhaps I could then persuade the Emperor. His Excellency will solve things peacefully—"

"The Emperor Gramis is no more." My heart catches in my throat and the color drains from Larsa's face. "His life was taken."

"Father!" Larsa whispers, pale eyes wide.

My hands pull into fists so tight that my nails leave deep marks in my palms. Vayne. My younger brother's face doesn't change at all, frozen in stunned silence as his plans crash and burn before his very eyes. Swallowing hard, I brush past Fran and Basch and pull the boy into my arms, holding him to my chest tightly. His fingers barely find a hold on the back of my shirt, his eyes staring into nothing.

"Let us suppose you approach the Empire with a peaceful resolution," Al-Cid continues. "The late Emperor Gramis would have lent you his ear, that much is certain. But we are dealing with Vayne Solidor. Should the Princess return, he would claim her an imposter. All to tempt the Resistance into battle. Vayne wants war, that much is certain." Larsa's grip tightens in a sudden twitch. "As our ill luck would have it, the man is a military genius."

"A twisted bastard, more like," I snap, glaring at the Rozzarian envoy. "He wants no more suffering and bloodshed."

"The dreams have told me thus," the Kiltias cuts in. "To reveal yourself would imperil us all. I see war, and Vayne's name writ bold on history's page."

"Archadia's banners fly high. They are making ready for the coming war." The woman at Al-Cid's side hands him a folded paper. "According to our latest reports, the Western Armada prepares for war, under Vayne's command no less. The newly formed Twelfth Fleet has already been deployed. The Imperial First Fleet stands ready. They'll be underway as soon as the Odin's refit is complete." He waves the paper around as he talks, the weight of his words settling heavy over the room. "And there is more: the Second Kerwon Expeditionary Force is being called in to replace the missing Eighth, so there will be no gaps. The largest force ever seen!" He finishes his words with a shout, folding the paper back up abruptly.

"And then…" Ashe breathes. "The nethicite is the coup de grace." Al-Cd nods and the princess turns to face the Kiltias. I run a hand down Larsa's hair, smoothing it absently as the conversation blurs past at record speed. All military speech meant to drive fear into our hearts. Long story short, Vayne is not holding back this time. The world will be his.

"Gran Kiltias, Your Grace. I spoke to you of my succession. Let us put that aside. Should I become Queen of Dalmasca now, powerless as I am, I can protect nothing. With a greater power at my disposal, perhaps then."

"It is the nethicite of which you dream?"

"I require something far greater."

The Kiltias's eyes fly open unexpectedly and his lips part for the first time since we've arrived. I take a deep breath, his deep voice rumbling through my chest.

"To wield power against power. Truly the words of a hume-child."

"I am descended from the Dynast-King himself."

"Indeed. Then you have but one choice. Seek you the other power Raithwall left."

"Does such a thing exist?" Ashe asks, frowning.

"Journey across the Paramina Rift to the Stilshrine of Miriam. There rests the gift he entrusted to the Gran Kiltias of his time. Seek it out. The Sword of Kings… can cut through nethicite. Why he would entrust the power to destroy nethicite, the instrument of his greatness, to another and not his own progeny, I cannot say. Awaken, Ashelia B'nargin, and take up your sword, or your dream will remain but a dream."

Silently, Ashe turns on her heels and moves to leave the temple. She spares Larsa one last pitiful glance before continuing on her way. Basch immediately moves to follow the princess, eyes set dead ahead. The Kiltias closes his eyes and speaks once more.

"My dream, too, fades into day. House Solidor, however…" His eyes peel open and stare not at my brother but at me, chilling me to bone. "Is far from its end."

Larsa, with a strange sound freeing from his throat, rushes past the Kiltias and behind the expansive décor behind him. I sigh, shaking my head and turning to leave the temple. Malachaius keeps his mouth shut as I walk by, stunned into silence by the events that just took place. I push past the massive doors and stop at the end of the landing, my hands resting on the edge of the railing. It feels far too constrained and I have to hide a scoff. Quickening my pace, I hurry down a hidden set of stairs and jump down to the next ledge, a small landing that hangs out far from the rest of Bur-Omisace. A place Dern and I sat every evening.

I settle on the lip of the platform, dangling my feet over the edge into the expansive sky surrounding the mountainside. The evening sun heats my face and brings back all those days I spent out here, dreaming just like the Kiltias. Dreaming not of wars and rulers and solutions, but of freedom and flying and love. I close my eyes and picture that bright smile and the starfruits we used to share and the laughs we used to have. Childhood is long past now, but I wish I could return in the blink of an eye. Even if everything remained the same, I'd make each second count far more than it did before.

I don't check to see who it is that's joined me; I can tell by the footsteps that it's two people I suppose I don't mind too much. Vaan settles on my left and Balthier stands behind me, with his arms crossed, I imagine. Sighing, I peel my eyes open and return them to the gorgeous view. The boy at my side stares out into the golden clouds.

"This place… Does it hold some sort of special meaning to you?"

"Me and my partner…" I start, tracing a finger through the soft dirt. "We used to sit out here every night and watch the sunset, dreaming of what it would be like to run away and buy an airship. We found this place in our search for freedom, but we soon realized that leaving it was the price."

"Did you know him before here?"

"No," I shake my head. "I'll just say I was in a bout of trouble in the Rift and he rescued me, brought me here to recover. One moment I was lying in the snow and the next a grinning buffoon was stealing my gil for compensation." I allow a fond smile to spread across my face.

"I can't say I'm surprised you were in trouble," Balthier comments lightly, finally moving to sit on my other side. "Nor that you've always been the damsel."

"Not always," I scoff, shoving my shoulder against his. Vaan laughs, running his hands through his hair and falling back on them to use them as a pillow on the hard ground.

"I believe you told me you and Larsa were merely business partners. So why the bond?" Balthier inquires, raising an eyebrow. I sigh, tugging at my pants uncomfortably as I form a quick sob story off the top of my head. "I… Once had a little brother. A witty little boy, to be sure, but smart as ever. When I met Larsa, all I could think of was that smiling child I'd lost all those years before…" I shake my head. "That's why. He accepts it either way, perhaps even sees me as a close friend of his, at best."

"I'll say," Vaan scoffs, crossing one ankle over his lifted knee. "You two are both pretty tough nuts to crack." Restless, he sits up and lets his feet dangle over the edge. "Y'know, I hate to keep bringing this up, but you still haven't told me what happened to your partner."

"That's a story for another day," I murmur, resting my head on his shoulder. "Until then, you and Balthier can try to piece me together."

"Oh, trust me," Balthier yawns, stretching his arms over his head. "I'm only one step away, darling."