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An Answer in Silence

Though it had been difficult to leave Altea so soon after its liberation, the search for the Starsphere and Lightsphere was of utmost importance; for without those, Gharnef's demise would surely be naught but a pipedream. Even though the prince had done his best to mask his sadness upon leaving his homeland, Roy had been able to see the emotion as clear as day in his partner's eyes as he glanced back over his shoulder at the castle as they departed.

Roy's fists had clenched. They would certainly be able to return to Altea soon. Just after this war was over.

They had taken a northern route from Altea, towards Helena Castle—a stronghold smaller than those they had seized most recently, but full to the brim with supplies that the Akaneian League sorely needed. Though a sizable Grustian force had been stationed there, they were quickly dealt with by a split unit led by Hardin while Marth and the main force continued onward towards the strait just beyond the forests.

The unit of Sable Order knights that barred their way stood little chance against the Akaneian League, the latter having been well-rested and in high spirits since the liberation of Altea. With a skirmish that lasted for what felt like less than the blink of an eye, the bridges crossing the strait were mostly routed of enemies.

Sternlin had been their leader: he had claimed to be there in General Camus' stead. Much like Hollstadt, Sternlin fought not out of malice, but out of his sense of duty.

It only further wrenched Marth's heart that such valiant soldiers were doomed to fall by his hand, all because of those above them allying themselves with Doluna.

The Fane of Raman was only a half day's travel away, just beyond the forest ahead of them. Hardin's troops had yet to reunite with the main force, so by Marth's orders the half of the army with him waited near the strait and unloaded their gear.

A few of them—Jeorge, Xane, Roy, Merric, and Abel—had been talking amongst one another around a small fire; an event that had become commonplace throughout their long campaign.

"I honestly expected a little more from the Sable Order," Jeorge said as he thumbed at his bowstring. "Though I suppose high morale does make a difference."

Most of the others agreed in unison—though Roy was focused on the fire before him as they chatted.

It was true, the battle had been quite easy. To be completely honest, it was almost not even worthy of noting, even though Sternlin had been eliminated. By this point they had already fought much worse and even had a run-in beforehand with the Sable Order back in Altea, so they had an idea of what to expect before the battle had even begun.

However, even with the battle being as easy as it was, and with Roy's spirits being high, the difficulty he had wielding his weapon did not go unnoticed by him. It was as if his sword arm had been shackled and weighted. The fingers of his right hand tapped against the earth as he contemplated his condition.

"Hey Roy-boy," Xane suddenly chirped, which drew Roy's attention from the fire. The flame reflected in the other manaketes eyes, complementing the knowing glint that shone in his irises. "You've still got some dirt on your face from when you ate that soldier's elbow earlier."

A rumble of chuckles erupted from the others in the group, and Roy frowned as he brought his hand from the grass to rub at his face. "I guess you're right. I should probably go wash it off while I still have the time…"

With a nod, Xane's smile grew into a grin. "That's probably a good idea."

"Go on ahead, we'll make sure Cain doesn't take your spot," Abel said as he motioned towards the strait.

"Thanks," Roy said as he pushed himself up to stand. "I'm probably going to take a quick walk too while I'm at it."

"Something on your mind?" Xane questioned playfully.

"… Yeah," Roy said with a nod. "I think I just need to unwind from the fighting earlier…"

Abel waved Roy off again with a nod, encouraging him to go before Xane started asking further questions. Roy sent the cavalier a thankful smile before he turned on his heel and walked away from the group.

Xane watched him as he walked away, and the shimmer in his eyes darkened as he stared at Roy's retreating form. His eyes trailed to Roy's crystallized right arm, and after a few heavy moments of silence, he returned his own gaze back to the fire.

That was going to quickly become a problem, Xane noted.

The crunch of grass beneath Roy's boots as he walked along the edge of the strait was an almost therapeutic sound, coupled with the babbling of the water beside him. His gaze wandered from the grasslands before him up to the sky. The sun was lower in the horizon, but not quite ready to set, and clouds blanketed the amber sky. Some were billowing and tall, others were scalloped, like the scales of a fish.

A few trees and rocks blocked his way as he wandered farther from camp, though they were easily maneuvered around. One particularly large, chipped boulder had been lodged into the earth near the water's edge, surrounded by other stones and trees. There was enough of an opening between a snapped trunk and the boulder that he could climb between. That space should be easy enough to wedge through, and Roy hopped up on a smaller rock in front of him to align himself with the opening.

As he pressed his right palm into the boulder, his muscles tightened so quickly and painfully that his breath was taken from him. His eyes clenched as he immediately halted.

He was far enough away from camp that their voices were naught but muffled sounds, carried by the breeze. After the initial pain had subsided, he glanced back over his shoulder.

Though his hand was still pressed to the stone, he was completely unable to feel it. With a grunt, he pushed himself through the opening and leapt back down into the grass with a thud. His arm ached as the reverberation travelled through his body, and he grimaced.

"… This is probably far enough," he grumbled.

Under the cover of the rocks and trees, he carefully proceeded to remove a few outer layers of his garments: his cape, gloves, breastplate and pauldron were removed first and carefully laid on the grass beside him. He inhaled deeply, though his breath caught short in his throat and his brows knitted in discomfort.

He had not realized just how difficult it had been getting for him to breathe. Since when was he incapable of drawing a full breath? Is this why he had been fatigued during the battle earlier?

A grumble rattled his chest as he exhaled gingerly. After a few moments of wait, he removed his tunic, though pulling it over his head took far more time and effort than it should have. Every time he moved his arm, it felt like his muscles were tearing.

In short, it was agony.

With a huff, he sat on the grass with his legs crossed and pressed his back to the boulder. His eyes trained left to the cape and armor at his side. The gold clasp holding his mother's dragonstone glinted slightly in the dimming sunlight. Carefully, he reached out his left hand to the clasp, and opened it to remove the dragonstone.

The stone itself was as cold as ice, and a shudder ran down his spine at the chill. As he brought it close to him, he stared at it, and watched the magic as it drifted beneath the clear surface of the stone.

Unlike when he first held it in Galder, where it had been opaque and lifeless, it was now as clear as water and teeming with power. It even glowed a soft teal—an effect that Roy found comforting.

His lips pursed as questions began to bubble up within his chest.

"… Mother," he mumbled as he stared at the stone, "What's happening to me?"

After a few moments of silence, more questions arose. "… Did this happen to you too? All these changes? Is any of this normal? I… don't understand it."

Still silence. A heavy sigh escaped his throat as he lowered his hand and draped his arm across his knee. His head lulled back against the boulder and he stared up at the sky.

"Still not going to answer me," he mumbled. "Why does this have to be so difficult…"

His left hand grew significantly colder, and he returned his attention to Ninian's dragonstone. It had started to glow brighter than before, and with widened eyes, he pulled it close to himself again—

However, a surge of pain stopped his movement short, and the dragonstone fell to the grass beside his leg as he lost his grip. A low groan ripped from his throat as he clutched at his chest, and the digits of his right hand twitched as agony overwhelmed him. His fingernails dug into the dirt as he clawed at the ground, and he crumpled forward; it was as if a web of fire was spreading across his body, weaving stiffness in its wake.

His eyes screwed shut as his forehead touched the grass, and he hissed between clenched teeth. His abdomen tensed and his right leg twitched as that web further spread through his body.

However, the overwhelming sensation that inundated him seemed to fade just as quickly as it came on. He gasped for breath and ripped up blades of grass as he tried to pry himself back up from the ground, though it was far too difficult to do with one arm. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead and his eyes were wide as he stared at the green beneath him. His left hand was still clutching at his chest, and with a slow, dry gulp, he lowered his arm to use both hands to push himself into a seated position once more.

It had been difficult. His muscles screamed at him as he tried to straighten his back, though he pushed beyond it as he shakily brought himself up to his feet. He wearily leaned against the boulder as his head tilted to his right.

Though his vision had been spotty, he could very clearly see the reflection of himself in the water beside him, and his breath caught.

That damned crystal—whatever it was—had spread down his side and continued beyond the hem of his trousers, along the outside of his leg. His outer thigh felt numb, going all the way down to his knee. He could tell even without removing his pants that it must have gone at least that far.

It took all the strength he had left not to scream, though he balled his right fist and slammed the side of it back into the boulder with a loud crack.

Yet even though the sound indicated a hard collision, he felt none of it. His hand was completely numb to anything outside of the constant burning between his skin and the crystal that covered it.

"This… there's no way… that this is normal…" Roy hissed. "The… scales, the ears… the claws… I can accept that now… but this…"

His eyes trailed to his right hand, and the crystal glinted sunlight back at him as if in silent mockery.

"… I can't handle much more of this," he whispered. "It… feels wrong."

The water drew his attention once again, and he studied his own reflection. The scales were still dotting his face, his ears were still pointed, and his hair was still mixed with teal. Thankfully, no one had really asked him any questions about it or treated him any differently for it yet.

Finally, he flicked his gaze up just enough to stare into his own eyes, and he tensed.

They were bright red, and his pupils were thin slits.

Before he could even comprehend his own gaze, his head throbbed; quickly he pulled his left hand to his forehead as he threaded his fingers in his hair. His eyes clenched shut as voices and dragons roared in his ears.

One particularly deep voice, unmistakably the voice of a powerful man, echoed louder than the rest:

"Humans are filthy. They are greedy and power-hungry. They will flock to those with power and betray their allies without so much as a second thought if it meant they could obtain more power."

"Jealousy. Hate. Greed…"

"… As long as humans exist, this madness will never end."

Roy groaned. That voice, again. It had been a long time since he last heard it.

Within the darkness of his eyelids, the towering figure of a man in armor stood before him. His lance was pointed in front of him, towards…

Roy?

"This world belongs to the dragons. They deserved this world; mankind is evil, and I will be the one to ensure the blight of our existence is scourged from this earth!"

"Zephiel... you couldn't be more wrong!"

Wait. That second voice—those words sounded familiar.

Was that him?

"Your naivety will be your undoing, child. The Kingdom of Bern will not fall to you. Dragons will regain control, and you will lose… even with the Binding Blade in your hand."

Air flooded his lungs as his mind was freed from the grip of his memories, and he fell back to one knee as he gasped for breath. His ears rang and his limbs trembled as he regained his bearings. He swallowed dryly.

The Kingdom of Bern. Zephiel.

He thought back to the time he spent in Port Warren, poring through those history books with Marth. He had not seen a single mention of a "Kingdom of Bern." He had never heard anyone talk about a "Zephiel."

And even beyond that—

What was this "Binding Blade"?

The second voice he had heard was distinctly his own, albeit younger. How long ago had this happened to him? What were the circumstances?

"What… is going on," Roy mumbled between labored breaths.

The soft glow of the dragonstone beside him pulsated, and he glanced its way. Bubbles rippled beneath its crystalline surface, and he bit the inside of his lip.

"Why won't you respond to me…" he asked the stone. He would have given up almost anything at that point to have another visit from his mother.

Alas, he still received no response. Slowly, his eyes slipped shut and his head hung in defeat.

As if he had not dealt with enough already that evening, his mind wandered back to the fight he had with Fafnir. Almost immediately, he snapped his eyes open again.

"You are as persistent as Eliwood!"

Eliwood… Who was Eliwood?

A few moments passed as he mulled over the possibilities.

"… Eliwood…" Roy said quietly. "… My father?"

Though he received no verbal response, the dragonstone behind him pulsated brightly as if to confirm his suspicion before it dimmed. Surprised, Roy sat back on his haunches as he stared at it.

"… So… that's my father's name," he said. "Eliwood…?"

His mother was Ninian—a dragon. His father was Eliwood—a human.

Though he was unable to truly remember either of them and he had only met his mother once in his dreams, he could feel in his heart that that had to be the correct answer.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he stared at the now-dim stone before him. His mother had passed away, but what about his father?

Was his father still alive?

Did his father know he was gone?

… Was his father out looking for him?

He sighed and closed his eyes as he brought his left hand back to his forehead.

"This is way too much…" he grumbled.

He dragged his hand down his face and he returned his gaze to the water again.

He was covered in sweat, his hair was out of sorts, dark bags were under his now-blue eyes, and… the smudge of dirt was still on his face that Xane had pointed out earlier. A dry laugh left him.

"You look… like a disheveled mess, Roy," he said to himself. "Pull yourself together…"

With a shaky sigh, he pushed himself to the side so he could face the water. He scooped some of the water into his hands before he splashed it onto his face.

Though the water was objectively cold, to him, it felt almost lukewarm. His body temperature was a lot colder than it used to be. On the one hand, he could find a reason to be frustrated with that, too; but at that moment, the temperature of the water was a small gripe compared to everything else.

His left hand trailed down to his chest and brushed across the rough crystal that covered his right shoulder. He stared at himself in the rippling water and frowned as his attentions were brought to one particular spot on his chest: the scar from when he had been stabbed by Marth in Pales. His fingertips carefully felt along the gnarled skin, and his eyes closed. That wound had long since healed, but that scar would certainly be an everlasting reminder of what he had done.

He vowed he would never put his comrades in danger like that again. Roy would never put Marth in such a difficult situation like that ever again, where Marth would have to turn his blade on him.

After taking a few more moments to reflect, he finished cleaning himself up and carefully began to redress. He held his cape in his hand as he reached down to the grass to gather his mother's dragonstone, and flipped the golden clasp open with his thumb before he returned the stone to its rightful place within it. After a few moments of contemplative pause, he pressed the clasp shut.

The fabric fluttered in the breeze as he swung the cape over his shoulder and wrapped it around his neck. He fastened the straps together in front and stared down at the clasp as it rested over his heart. Though the dragonstone's glow had returned to its normal faint shine, Roy found it within himself to smile at it.

"… Thanks," he said quietly. "For answering me earlier."

Thankfully, his hopes had not been very high for yet another response, for he received none.

His blade still rested against the boulder at his side, and he glanced towards it. It was ornate—far more unique than any other sword he had seen, and even Marth's rapier paled in comparison. His eyes trailed up the length of its scabbard, towards the hilt. The red gem in the center glinted in the sunlight, and his nose scrunched.

The Binding Blade…

"… Is that what you are…?" he asked the sword. "The Binding Blade?"

The breeze rustled the leaves of the trees overhead, and the damp parts of his bangs were brushed against his skin and stuck there as he stared at the sword. No matter how hard he studied it, he just could not remember anything about it—and of course, the sword spoke no answer back to him. Why would it?

A huff of breath left his nose and he took the sword in his left hand so that he could refasten it to the strap of his belt. The metal of the sheath clinked as he turned on his heel to begin the trek back towards camp.

However, before he even made his first step, he paused.

Marth.

He glanced to his right hand.

"… What do I do," Roy muttered.

The two of them had promised they would hold no secrets, but… Marth already had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"… I can't… worry him with this. Not now," he said quietly, though the guilt weighed heavily on him.

He would just have to ask Marth for his forgiveness later.