Genres/Rating: War, Mystery, History. (T)

Characters: Ignatz, Flayn, Raphael, Raine, Dimitri, Warin, Seteth, Claude.

Summary: It wasn't meant to be like this. The war was meant to be over... and yet, what was it that he was seeing from astride his mount, hidden in the forest as the village ahead burnt down to the ground in front of him? He did not know this army, did not know the flag they carried, even if the Brand that was emblazoned upon it was indeed familiar to him. They were not soldiers of the Empire that they had been fighting for the past several years. Nor were they the Agarthans that the rebellion had warned him and the Alliance of. No, they were something else entirely, something more terrifying, more brutal, more bloodthirsty... and his blood froze in his veins as he checked his horse, turning due east for the fortress of Garreg Mach. He had to warn them, before these strangers crashed upon them like a wave of flame and death, and hopefully put an end to it before more innocents were slain.


Horsebow Moon

Garreg Mach (Infirmary)

Early Morning

For the first time in what felt like hours, Flayn allowed herself to take a long, deep, relieving breath as she finally withdrew her hands from the prone woman laying at her knees in the infirmary cot. Her clothes and armour had long since been stripped away for healing, but now that her wounds had been bandaged, she was now wearing a hastily borrowed pair of undergarments and a sheer nightgown. Her belongings would be washed and returned to her promptly after they were repaired, but Flayn doubted the pink-haired axe-woman would be capable of bearing her armour anytime soon. The wounds she had taken were grievous, and when she had been brought into the marketplace at the brink of dawn atop Ignatz' stallion, there had been a momentary fear that they had arrived too late.

It was not so, but that was only a stroke of luck that Dorothea had postponed her leave for the Empire by another two weeks, and had been up early to help her favourite merchants prepare their stands for the returning civilians in the lower villages. Dorothea had leapt immediately into action when Ignatz had breached the gates, begging and yelling for help for the woman who was slumped over in his arms, and her quick-thinking and superb skills had stabilized Hilda enough to have her moved to the infirmary for the intensive treatment her wounds required.

She was a mess of them, and Flayn had been forced to swallow down bile when her newest patient had all but been dumped in front of her. An arrow had been sticking out of her mid-section, but there were lacerations, bruises, and burns covering almost everywhere else. Her armour had saved her from deeper blows, the long gashes and deep dents in the thick metal bodice she wore were proof that she had been saved only by an expert smith's ingenuity and craftsmanship. It had been a heavenly few weeks since she had been forced to treat such wounds, as the fighting about the monastery had come to almost a complete halt once the hostilities in Enbarr were over, but her body did not forget even if her mind wished to.

So she had toiled, pushing all thoughts of worry and weariness out of her mind so she could focus solely on healing. Hilda had responded well to her magic, proving that even in the worst condition that her will to live was spectacular, and Flayn wondered if it was due to the fact that her lover had gone to such lengths to get her to Garreg Mach in the first place. Both of them had looked terrible, and though she had only caught the barest glimpse of the green-garbed Golden Deer, she could tell he had spent the last twenty-four hours riding through nothing short of hell. His clothes were soiled with mud, blood, and dirt, and he had been wounded as well. Hilda, however, had proved more unfortunate in her luck against her opponents, and Ignatz had ridden without pause or delay for them to save her life... His speed had likely saved her just as much as Dorothea's did, and Flayn intended to tell him so when she had a chance to leave her workplace.

For the moment, however, she was far too drained to even move from the seat she had slumped down into. Her reserves of magic were almost empty, and the exhaustion she currently was experiencing was deeper than she could ever remember it being. She had been attending to Rhea almost daily since her return to the monastery, as the other healers who had been summoned to attend to her had proved almost useless in restoring her power. In her years of torture, Rhea had turned to her own innate powers to keep herself alive, and had drained much of her own reserves. Human magic, no matter how well supplemented, simply was not enough for one of the most ancient of her kind, and Flayn had pushed herself nearly to the limits to aid her kin in her recovery.

Only Raphael's stern warning had pulled her back from pouring out all she had to give, and she was glad of it as she looked down at the calm face of the sleeping woman beside her. Had she not heeded his advice two days earlier, when she had nearly collapsed on the stairwell while walking down with him to the mess hall, she would have been completely incapable of aiding Hilda now. Raphael had been gentle in his scolding, knowing full well her devotion to her family was not something to ever be punished for, but she needed to be as attentive to her own needs as much as their own if she wished to be of any use to them. He had carried her back to her quarters, not permitting an argument, and had spent the evening dining with her there instead, ensuring she would rest, and reminding her with that sweet, sweet smile of his that he was not angry with her, and one single moment of well-placed frustration would never rob her of his love.

Another sigh left her as her cold hands rubbed at her shoulders, trying to ease out tension and return warmth back to her body simultaneously. She could not keep those outside waiting forever in a panic, but her body was sluggish, and her mind even moreso. She had caught hurried words, snippets of conversations that she knew boded terribly ill, but those, too, she had pushed from her mind in an effort to hone her focus. Now, the voices outside were filtering in through the door, muffled as they were, and her head turned tiredly in its direction as she wondered morbidly what had come to their doorstep now? The wounds on her former schoolmates were too terrible to be anything but a sign of a fierce and deadly battle, but she could not imagine how such a thing could have taken place in Alliance territory. The last she had heard was that Lorenz had successfully locked down the borders, sweeping away the remnants of the Imperial army that had refused to surrender with their emperor's death, and that reconstruction was finally beginning in numerous cities and villages.

This, however... This spoke of war anew, and it made Flayn tremble with trepidation. The Agarthans were not wholly defeated... and House Goneril and their own scouts had yet to return with information of the hideout that Claude had discovered from Hubert's letter. They had not been estimated to return for another fortnight, but now with Hilda and Ignatz' arrival, everyone had begun to murmur and worry... She guessed that the concern for privacy was pushed aside due to the urgency of the situation, as there were a multitude of voices speaking outside rather than having moved to the war room, and among them she could hear Raphael's gruff baritone urging for calm. She supposed Ignatz was still there, refusing to be budged, but she supposed she could not blame him... She only hoped someone had attended to his wounds while she had been occupied, and that there would not be a mess of blood all over the floor for poor Cyril to likely clean later.

Flayn reached out, carefully pressing her palm to Hilda's forehead to check her temperature one last time, and she pulled back as she was satisfied by the familiar heat. No fever meant no infection, and that had been her biggest fear when she had seen how absolutely filthy the poor woman had been on top of her injuries. She would likely be just fine so long as she was attended to properly, and Flayn was gladdened by the thought. She had seen far too many familiar faces pass by in the infirmary, and too many had found their final rest in her care from their wounds. But to save one life made up for all the grief and pain of the lives that were simply too far gone for her skills, and with a little grunt, she pushed herself to her feet and began the slow walk back to the doors.

Her feet felt unsteady, and she was dimly aware of a strange pitching in the corners of her vision with each step she took. It was like the infirmary itself was dancing to her rhythm, and the thought did no favours to her empty stomach. It swirled viciously and somehow pounded in her temples, and she reminded herself tiredly that she really did need to heed Raphael's advice more often, no matter how much she disliked having a regular sleep schedule. A few nightmares here and there certainly had to be more preferable to this constant exhaustion and nausea, shouldn't they?

The door felt heavy as she pushed it open, heavier than usual, and as it swung outwards she wondered why the sound of the voices that had been growing louder suddenly became muted and faraway. It was as if they all were suddenly speaking from the other end of a tunnel, and her vision doubled abruptly as her legs pitched her sideways without warning. Those voices continued to speak, hurried and startled, and she felt herself being swung up off the floor with such little effort that a part of her wanted to giggle. She was carried back from where she came from with as much effort as lifting a book, and she heard herself being laid down gently in a nearby cot. She made no efforts to get up, feeling her dizziness weighing down her limbs, and the strong hand that touched her forehead was only all the more enticing to remain where she was.

Distantly, Raphael's voice filtered through the strange tunnel where all her hearing was coming through, and she could faintly hear him reassuring others that she was simply exhausted and not at all ill as she apparently looked. She wished she could grasp his hand and squeeze it appreciatively, but she didn't have the strength to do so, and could only sigh and close her eyes underneath the warmth of his callused fingers resting on her head. He was touching her gently, reassuringly, and she heard rather than felt herself murmuring as the voices continued about her in a worried little din, "Hilda will be... just fine with some... rest... as will I, I think..."

"It's all right, Flayn. You rest as much as you like. You've done more than enough." Raine's gentle voice joined Raphael's, and Flayn faintly smiled at the idea of her professor kindly reassuring her for a job well done. Strong hands pulled the sheets up, bundling her carefully in the warm material, and a heavy weight made the thin cot squeak as she felt someone sitting down next to her as she was laid out properly. The last thing she remembered was Raine chuckling softly and a warm hand fondly ruffling her hair, and she decided that when she woke, she would take all of them to task for treating her like a child... but only after she woke.

"I think I'm gonna ask her to be excused from her infirmary duties for awhile, if that's okay, Professor." Raphael sighed as he watched Flayn falling into a deep sleep almost immediately after being swaddled tightly in blankets, and he glanced up just in time to see Raine nodding in firm agreement. Her brow was furrowed, proving her concern was genuine and deep, and it heartened him to see that his worry was shared, and that Raine would back him up without hesitation in ensuring that Flayn was kept in bed for awhile. He stroked her hair again, fondly brushing back her sweat-slicked bangs from her forehead, and he shook his head as he mumbled, "She needs rest, even if she doesn't like admitting it... I wish Marianne hadn't left so soon, so she wouldn't be so busy."

"That's more than fine by me, Raphael. Professor Manuela will be here shortly to finish what she started. Give her my express permission to do what she has to to keep Flayn here." Raine dismissed the apologetic look Raphael gave her with a shake of her head, and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling at his completely unashamed show of concern for the much smaller girl beside him. He was a strange one, someone completely settled in his own skin, but Raine mused that was likely why she respected him as much as she did. No one else had ever once shown such inner peace in her all time here in Garreg Mach, and she had come to learn just as much as she had taught her student since he had joined the Blue Lions all that time ago. "I trust you don't mind holding things down here until she arrives? The war council has been called, and everyone is rushing. I can't afford to linger, as much as I'd like to."

"That's okay, Professor. Everyone's gotta do what they're good at. I can hold down the fort here until Professor Manuela comes. Just make sure that Ignatz gets sent here, too, for me?" Raphael replied with an easy nod, though he watched as Raine glanced over her shoulder to the hall where Ignatz had almost been wrestled away so his own wounds could be attended to. He had been so frantic that more than one of them had considered knocking him out for his own safety, but Raphael had managed to turn him into Lysithea's stern hands, and he had not been seen or heard from since. He was lucky, his own injuries were paltry compared to Hilda, but he would need rest, and he would only find it in the infirmary. "I think he'll feel more comfortable being with Hilda, even if he can't do much to help. Just being near is good enough sometimes."

"I'll send word as soon as I can. Thank you, Raphael." Raine nodded before turning on her heel, and though she wished she could stay, both to soothe her students and inspect Hilda herself, she knew there simply was no time for such things. The entirety of the monastery had been thrown into an uproar, with bits and pieces of the earlier incident now making its way through the halls. No one was entirely sure what was happening, but the feeling of impending doom had crashed onto everyone like the weight of a coming storm. She had barely been able to control herself in the midst of the chaos, snapping out sharp orders to bring Seteth, Claude, Warin and Dimitri to the war room the moment they could be found, and she was only glad that her students had been calm and ready to take orders even when others showed panic and fear.

The last two hours had passed in a bloody, intangible blur, but Raine was beginning to feel a sharper hold on herself returning with the knowledge that Hilda would be well. It had frightened her out of her wits, seeing Dorothea and Flayn all but dragging an unconscious Hilda up the stairs for the infirmary, and she had done her part in the move before stepping aside to let the healers do their work. Dorothea had spent most of her own energy stabilizing Hilda, and needed to rest, but Flayn had leapt into action without skipping a beat. It had left her with Ignatz, and she had been glad that Raphael had arrived right on Flayn's heels to try and talk sense into his best friend. It hadn't gone well at first, as the poor young man had been beset with panic and worry, but with Raphael's calm and her own assertions that Hilda was well out of danger, somehow they had managed to get him to check in on his own injuries before the adrenaline faded and he collapsed right in the hall.

Now, however, with Ignatz' journal clutched in hand... Raine had to turn her focus away from them as she marched her way towards the war room. She was sure that the men she needed had been summoned and were awaiting her, and she wondered what they had gathered already, or if they had only heard the fearful whispers and were heeding nothing until she arrived. It mattered little either way, she supposed, as her hand tightened down on the bloody spine of the book she was holding. What she had seen scrawled on the parchment would rock the entirety of the monastery... No rumours would compare to the truth. Not this time.

The war room was quiet as she opened the door, and she glanced about to take in the faces of the men who had assembled at the table. Leonie was an unexpected addition, sitting at Claude's left side, but her face was pale and she was chewing at her lower lip, and Raine was well aware she likely had forced herself in due to her concern at her classmates' conditions. If anyone was permitted to claim a right to be there, Raine supposed Leonie could make it, and she would not begrudge her for it as she quickly assessed the expressions of the remaining members with a cold, calculating glare.

Claude was coiled tightly in his seat, his hands curled into tight fists, and his lips were pursed into the deepest scowl she had ever seen him wear. Though his friendship with Hilda had become extremely tenuous, it was clear that the news of her arrival and her injuries had shaken him. Leonie was sitting close to him, her own expression a mirror of his, but there was a glitter of anger sparkling deep in Claude's eyes that Raine did not recognize. It wasn't a self-righteous sort of look, as she had come to see him wear more and more frequently. Rather it was darker, turned inwards, and Raine's fingers tightened unconsciously on her burden as she recognized it after a moment more of examination.

Guilt. The wyvern rider was in the thralls of guilt. He was uncharacteristically silent, but his expression and body language spoke for him all the same. After all, who had he abandoned in Derdriu to their own devices, while he remained in Garreg Mach in pursuit of the truth? She recognized that look, that wrathful, guilt-ridden, and self-loathing look that twisted his features and made his eyes glint like twin flames as easily as she could read any book in the library... Even if Hilda had abandoned him, he had not cut his ties quite as cleanly as he wanted to look, and his concern, and his anger, were almost palpable.

In opposition to Claude sat Warin, who was sitting at the end of the table with his arms crossed and eyes closed. For all the world he looked like he could have been asleep, but Raine knew better. He was blocking out the world around him and retreating to his thoughts, mulling over everything he had seen, heard, and experienced ever since the call had gone up for an emergency. He was not one to be swayed by small talk or gossip, and it was clear he wanted all of the facts in hand before he would even begin to try and engage. He was closed off, both to the room and to the world, but Raine was glad for his steadiness. She would need it greatly when the talks began, and she already was aware he would be one of the two she would be relying on most once she put her precious burden on the table.

Seteth sat on Warin's right, and unlike Claude and Warin, he looked up immediately when the doors opened. He almost made to rise to his feet, but he stopped himself halfway through and forced himself back into his seat with great effort. His brow was deeply furrowed, and his own hands were likewise clasped into fists on the top of the table. He was not a healer, and he had been forced to step aside when Flayn had pushed her way through the crowd to attend to the wounded duo, and it was clear his thoughts were focussed solely on his daughter. If anyone but Raphael was aware of just how harshly she was pushing herself of late it was Seteth, and Raine understood his concerns well enough.

Dimitri sat waiting by the head of the table, at what would be her right side, and for a moment, she paused before she instinctively took a step to join him there. Unlike anyone else in the room, his expression was calm, and his one good eye was clear as he exchanged a glance with her. He was waiting, waiting for an order, for a sign to follow her lead, and in the midst of the maelstrom, seeing such composure was welcome. He did not stir, only watched, and she wished she could thank him for it right then and there. However, she had to lock her emotions behind a vault for now, and she could spare him a nod before she stood at the opposite end of the table where she normally would sit.

She couldn't take a chair, not with what she had in hand, and as all eyes finally turned to her... She took in a deep, steeling breath as her stomach continued to do somersaults. What Ignatz had told her, what he had written down, almost seemed like lunacy. Yet, she could not, and would not dismiss it as she had seen others do as they tried to calm him from his panicked exclamations. He had all but shoved his journal into her chest, demanding she see for herself what he had witnessed and drew down, and she had obeyed his order once Lysithea had pulled him away. What she had seen inside had frozen her blood... and almost made her smile with bitter mirth. Now, her face was a mask of stone, and she set the book carefully on the table before she began quietly, "Forget whatever gossip you heard on your way here... You know as well as I do that most of it is nonsense. Ignatz and Hilda will recover, given more time and care. Flayn will need to be taken off rotation from any sort of healing duties for at least a week, but I'll leave the decision of timing to Professor Manuela. In the meantime... We've something very serious to discuss. The news those two arrived with isn't news we were prepared to hear."

"Did the Agarthans do this? Are they declaring open war?"

"No. The scouts Holst sent to the mountains only found rubble. Whatever base there was hiding in there is gone. There was a token force trying to move it, to see if there was still an entrance to be found, but considering the fact that it resembles what is now Fort Merceus, I doubt they'd find much." Raine answered Seteth's question calmly, though she was not surprised to hear confused and wondering murmurs. Only Warin looked to her with interest, his eyes narrowed and dark in thought, and she nodded to him before continuing once silence once more fell, "Warin confirmed that the wounds he gave to Thales were fatal. I know my brother, and I believe him. Thales is dead, and the Agarthan stronghold collapsed with him. That, however, isn't a cause to celebrate. That force I mentioned, that had been trying to dig out an entrance... All of them were slaughtered, exactly seven days ago... Not a single one of them ever returned to House Goneril territory."

"Holst personally trains his own men, and each and every one he'd have sent into the Agarthan territory would have been capable of besting any of their lingering remnants." Claude shook his head, his eyes narrowing as he looked up to meet Raine's flat gaze with sharp intent. Though he had cut his ties, his memory was still sharp, and to hear that every single man Holst would have sent into dangerous territory had ended up dead only made his body tense with fear. He had always been wary of House Goneril's military strength, of Holst's power, and he knew he had been right to. To hear that some force had laid waste to his men... He shook his head and spoke through his teeth, "Whoever attacked their men weren't Agarthans, were they? If their base is collapsed, that means that their forces are either dead or scattered. So who attacked them?"

"That question I can't definitively answer. Holst was set to investigate it personally after there was no return word, but something more pressing diverted his attention. A nearby village, directly south of the mountain, was set aflame. Holst had to turn aside to see what had happened... He and his men barely survived the encounter." Raine answered with a slow, tired shake of her head, and she wondered at the words Ignatz had spoken to her in the rush of adrenaline, pain, and fright. In any other circumstance, she might have dismissed him simply because of the state he was in... but he had provided her with irrefutable proof, and she had to take that in stride. She opened the journal, turning to the pages that Ignatz had thrust at her in the hallway before she lifted it to the show the others seated before her, "In the village was a force of roughly thirty or so men... Bearing this flag as they burnt everything to the ground, and killed everyone in their path."

"The... Crest of Flames? They were bearing a standard of the Crest of Flames?" Dimitri's eye narrowed as he looked closely to the journal, but the page had been completely dedicated to the Crest, and there was no mistaking it. Ignatz' attention to detail was immaculate, and he had drawn the whole standard as if he had was capable of picking it from his very memory and presenting it as it was on the page. His brow furrowed as he heard Warin shifting forward, likewise taking a closer look at the scrawls on the parchment, and he shook his head as he questioned, "What force has ever used the Crest of Flames as their symbol...? Were they splinters of the Imperial troops? Co-opting Edelgard's secondary Crest in an effort to rally support? Or Agarthans set out for revenge for the murder of Thales?"

"Neither. At least, not according to what Ignatz saw. There are a few Agarthans among their number, but not nearly enough to be anything more than stragglers from the mountain. And from what Ignatz reports, they aren't the ones leading. That would be this man." Raine replied with another shake of her head, and she turned the pages before stopping on a quick, but still relatively detailed sketch of a heavily scarred man with dark eyes, and a thick, white/grey beard. He wore no armour, save for massive shoulder guards that likewise bore the Crest of Flames, but his great stature alone seemed to mock the idea of a chest-plate. Even from the parchment there was a radiation of calm, gigantic strength in those bulging muscles, but it was the eyes, the cold, empty and red-tinged eyes that seemed to draw the most attention in his scarred face.

There was a clatter as Seteth abruptly shot to his feet, and most eyes in the room turned to look at him in alarm and surprise. Only Raine was watching him with a measured, and blank expression, and Seteth faintly was aware that she had been awaiting his reaction in particular. She had held up that journal to show the room what Ignatz had seen, but it was his response that she had been waiting for, and not the response of anyone else sitting at the table. His skin was cold and clammy, and his chest suddenly felt as if it had been tightened in a vice, but he fought back the instinctive fear as he held tightly to what he had seen so many, many long years ago, "No... No, that cannot be correct. He is dead. Long, long dead. I saw that creature's corpse myself that day. He cannot be alive. He cannot be alive! How is it that he walks again all this time later?! It is impossible!"

"I was hoping you could tell me that, Seteth." Raine's reply was smooth, but there was a cold, bitter undercurrent as she understood that all Ignatz had told her was the truth. She had been desperate to call him a liar, to call him mad, but Seteth's reaction proved he had been right. No one else in the monastery, save for Rhea, could have given her the evidence she needed to know that the man Ignatz had seen, and had barely escaped from, was exactly the man that had been worshipped as a hero for long centuries, despite the truth that had been so cleverly buried by the Nabateans. It made her ill to think of just what else was being hidden, what was being done, but she swallowed that down for another time as she questioned him bluntly, flatly, "Clearly, his death didn't take. Have the Agarthans mastered the magic of turning the dead into the living, Seteth? Have they the ability to make the once dead King of Liberation alive again?"

"No. There is no such magic. Even the Goddess herself could not turn back the hands of time to resurrect the dead. What is lost must remain lost. That is... the law of the world." Seteth felt himself repeating words he had spoken so many times that they had been engrained into his very spirit, and yet somehow those crimson eyes flickered back from the pages as if to mock him. He was abruptly very glad that Rhea was bedridden, that she did not see what he was seeing, as he could only imagine how such a thing would shock her into madness. It had nearly undid him, and he had not been the one working for so long, with such passion and desperation... He shook his head, fighting the instinctive surging of panic as he met Raine's cruel seafoam-coloured stare and reaffirmed himself, "The dead cannot come back to life. The Nabateans do not possess such skills. The Goddess herself could only create anew, not return what was originally gone... The Agarthans cannot have brought Nemesis back from the dead... If he indeed walks again, it is as a corpse, not as the man he once was in days long gone. A twisted facsimile of what he used to be... To frighten and make a world unknown of his true nature submit to him, and to his former masters."

"Nemesis? That is Nemesis?" Claude likewise stood, reaching for the journal, and Raine handed it over willingly enough. His eyes narrowed as he stared down at the unfamiliar visage, but he knew Ignatz' talent. Whatever the bespectacled man had seen was exactly what he had drawn on the page, and he shook his head slowly as h fought back an appreciative whistle. Even in the midst of panic, in the midst of an escape, Ignatz had had the wherewithal and the time to make sure to take down all of the pertinent details that his friends would need when he returned to Garreg Mach. He let out a long breath as those crimson eyes glared back at him from the page, and he slowly pushed the book back to the table's middle as he muttered, "I never had a better scout than Ignatz... He was never wrong in all our time fighting together. Not even on the smallest details... How in the seven hells is this possible? How did he know?"

"He took a gamble getting close enough to the wreckage to overhear the group speaking. Though, from what he said, there wasn't much speaking done. The Agarthans are not in charge, even though their numbers are greater than Nemesis' inner circle. Ignatz counted eleven soldiers, with Nemesis included. It seems that the legends are returning to walk the earth again... Or at least, puppets of them are." Raine answered in that same calm voice that she did not whatsoever feel. Seteth's violent reaction had shaken her, had made her take pause, but she forced it down violently as she glanced about the room to take in the narrowed eyes, surprised expressions, and unsure looks that all were staring back at her. She raised a hand, quelling any speech as she admitted, "I'd have called it madness myself if I hadn't seen this book. Ignatz is and was overwhelmed and panicked, and taking what he said with a grain of salt is usually how I would have handled this... but he came with proof, and that proof came with a hefty cost. I won't do him or Hilda a disservice and dismiss this out of hand."

"As good as that is, that leaves questions to be answered. The dead cannot come back to life. How is it that Nemesis and the Ten Elites are back in the flesh, causing havoc, in this era?" Warin pointed out with a tilt of his head, and Raine shrugged her shoulders in a clear sign that she didn't know the answer any better than he did. It was small comfort, but he turned his eyes to Seteth, who was still staring down at the page as if a ghost had appeared in front of him. He snapped his fingers, and the loud noise made the much older man twitch before he slowly looked up to meet Warin's flat stare before he addressed him none too gently, "You are one of the Nabateans. You fought that battle, all those years ago. You saw his corpse personally. So how is this possible, if the dead don't come back to life?"

"There has been... many attempts at resurrection throughout the centuries. To bring the dead back to life is the ultimate goal of many mages and alchemists. It has never once been truly successful. Barring the moral qualms of such an act... It is against the will of the law of nature. Time only flows forward for those who have a mortal form... It cannot be reversed." Seteth felt the words dripping like acid from his tongue, and he physically recoiled from it as he remembered those numerous talks, those countless conversations and arguments that had left him stung, battered, and eventually completely beaten. His brothers had fled the madness, had fled humanity, but he had stayed... and he had abetted the crimes he now condemned. Had he only kept his bravery from his youth, rather than allowing his age to beat him into submission. Still, he continued slowly, "Necromancy is a dark craft, one that the Church of Seiros has suppressed, but this seems beyond even that. If that picture is accurate, which Claude claims it is, then that corpse has been carefully... perfectly... preserved. In all of my encounters with the blasphemy of puppeteering corpses, none have defied the natural cycle of decomposition. This is magic beyond my knowledge, but not magic I have not seen. Simply... elevated. The implications of such a thing... I dare not imagine."

"Hubert mentioned an unfathomable devilry that the Agarthans had ready for us, in our last clash. Something that we couldn't ever hope to defeat. He may well have been speaking of this. If true, then he was right, in a sense. The dead walking the continent will ruin the Church. Ingenious, really... Even after death, Thales is still struggling for a victory." Warin mused with a detached calm, and though he felt the harsh stares on him, he didn't mind the judgement. It was all true. He continued on thoughtfully, ignoring the holes being bored into him by the glares of others, "If we assume then that these creatures are being moved by magic, it means that they are still ruled by the laws of nature. They can be killed again. As problematic as it seems, the solution is simple enough. We bury the King of Liberation and his Ten Elites, just as you and yours did, once upon a time."

"Geez, Warin... Is it truly that simple for you?" Leonie spoke first, unable to help herself as she saw the startled gazes of the others at the table at Warin's carefree words. It truly seemed like nothing could shake him, like nothing could even surprise him, and she wasn't sure if that surprised or scared her more. She had always known that Jeralt's eldest child was more than deserving of his title as "lieutenant", and yet this was something else. The legends and myths of their oldest histories were being resurrected, to put horror and death to those now in the present, but Warin saw them only as mere opponents to slay, as every other soldier put in front of him had been. "Legends are walking again. The history we learned from birth is being unravelled, and you aren't shaken a whit. Doesn't any of this scare you at all?"

"Fright equals death in our occupation... and truthfully, none of this scares me. None of this surprises me, either, for that matter." Warin's answer was almost blasé, but there was a cold sort of ferocity, of certainty, that turned the dark navy of his eyes into chips of ice. His voice remained clam and placid, but there was no denying the confidence that dripped from his every word. He did not know any kind of fear of battle, or of death. It had been beaten out of him as a child, and his life thereafter had only further numbed him from the horrors of a life of blood, steel, and death. He was not just a mercenary in trade, but a mercenary in soul, and it showed as he continued flatly, factually, "Anything that bleeds can also die. Be that humans, Demonic Beasts, dragons, or even the raised dead. If it can die, that means I have a fighting chance of winning. That's all I need to know. That's all I care about. History is written by the winners, therefore none of it can be trusted. But put a foe in front of me, and then I am the one writing history. I can be content with that."

"Those are brave words, Warin... but they are also foolish. I was there that day, when the war was won... The cost we paid to find victory was high. The corpses that were buried, foe and friend alike, were uncountable. To this day, all these centuries later, it is still enough to put the chill of fear into me." Seteth shook his head slowly, folding his hands tightly to disguise the slight tremble that had begun to shake its way through his body. How many nightmares had he woke from, since those bloody days? How many nights had he comforted his daughter, who had nearly spent all she had to give, from the nightmares and the guilt of those she could not save? Too many. Simply too many. "Nemesis, and those who followed him, those who stood in the shadows to guide him... are not to be taken lightly. Even moreso if it is true that the Ten Elites of old have been resurrected alongside him."

"This really is history repeating itself, then... Thales struck heavily at old wounds with this scheme of his." Raine mused with a low sigh, and she flipped the page from Nemesis' visage to instead one that was full of hastily jotted down notes. Blood had splattered these pages, smudging the ink and the parchment, and it was clear that in the midst of his writing that he had been ambushed, but Ignatz had not allowed for it to stop him. He had been committed to putting everything to words for those who would need them, and she quoted his speech now with quiet, bitter mirth, "'The one they call Nemesis speaks of Seiros, and his revenge upon her. He carries a blade, much alike the one that the Professor carries. It is black, with two Crest Stones that I cannot see, but it seems to be a mirror image of the Sword of the Creator. Upon closer inspection, the other ten soldiers likewise are carrying weapons similar to the Relics of old. Are they new magical works of the Agarthans? I must return to Garreg Mach to warn our friends.' Even the Relics have been recreated for this theatre. Amyr was a weapon twisted into the shape of a Relic akin to the kind that the Ten Elites bore, and passed down their bloodlines. It seems they want a re-enactment of that final battle. They'll have what they want."

Seteth closed his eyes, drinking in the tone of her voice, as well as the calm certainty of her words. She sounded too much like her father, like his mother, and it made every inch of him twinge with pain and longing. Was she even aware of how much she had changed, how deeply, or was she simply finally at peace with herself? It was difficult for him to guess, and he would not dare to ask, but he supposed in the end it did not matter. She was going to put herself to the task ahead of her as she always had done, because she did not know of any other way to live. He took in a breath, beginning slowly, purposefully, as he lifted his gaze to meet her own, "Professor... Raine. You do not know the whole truth of the Relics... or of Nemesis, or of Seiros. If you wish to truly ride out to meet Nemesis... then there is much you need to learn. To do so now, without understanding the truth, would surely mean your death."

"Then tell me what you think I must know. But I warn you, nothing that you say will sway me from my current course. Regardless of the "truth" there are several facts already at hand that cannot be dismissed." Raine took the response in stride, knowing full well that the secrets that were still being kept from her were only being offered to be divulged because of the seriousness of the situation. There was no other way that Seteth would dare to breach the unspoken trust and silence between himself and the other Nabateans unless there was great need. Still, she admittedly wondered just how much it mattered when the reality of the situation was as grave as it was.

Raine lifted a finger for each of the facts she was listing, and she stood tall and proud, stubborn and almost defiant as she watched Seteth, and the others, watching her for her lead. She could feel the weight again placing itself firmly on her shoulders, but she refused to buckle. There was no time for self-indulgence, for petty worries and concerns. Not yet. She would address them in time, when she had no audience and others to consult with, and so she spoke in a brisk but cold tone as she listed the problems that currently were facing the lot of them,"Firstly, Nemesis is walking again, alongside his comrades of old. Second, they are bearing strange but powerful weapons, and have already killed too many to ignore. Third, we're rather effectively cut off from any sort of reinforcements arriving at our call. Anyone we can reach out to is simply too far away to answer us, and will not arrive in time to offer aid, even if they did receive a summons... and that's putting aside the fact that those we sent away in the first place weren't capable of fighting any longer. Our options are slim. We either bring the fight to them, with what numbers we have at our disposal, or we admit defeat here and now."

"Teach has a solid point. Holst escaped with his life, and he likely sent messengers to Lorenz already, but he drew his men back for reconstruction. He'd have to recall them, re-arm them, and then send them out here, and we simply don't have the time to wait for that." Claude brought a hand to his chin, glaring down at the map that was still spread across the war table as the calculations of movement and speed ran through his head at lightning speed. Travel across the Alliance was smoother than Faerghus or Andrestia, but the massive territory, as well as the splitting of the lords, meant that the very idea of reinforcements arriving to their aid was laughable. He spoke slowly, pointing to each area on the map as he did so to both help himself keep his thoughts in order as well as give his audience the cues they needed to follow along with him, "They appeared at the northern most edge of House Goneril's territory, slew the search party, and then moved forward to assault the local village here... Ignatz then found them gathered here, encamping for a short while, before he was caught... Accounting for their small size, they'll be within marching distance of the monastery by the end of the moon."

"We have no time to prepare. The men in Faerghus will not even likely receive the missive of their need by the time this force arrives upon our doorsteps... and those who were sent back to the Kingdom were those unable to fight, regardless." Dimitri agreed sombrely, though he admitted there was a small part of him that rankled at the thought. Had he only allowed Rodrigue to remain, had he only obliged his father's old friend for a few more weeks... but it was too late for that, and he knew his choice had been the right one. Rodrigue, more than any of their allies, had spent the most in terms of men and coin to aid the rebellion. He had exhausted himself and his territory. He, more than anyone, had earned his right to go home. "There is simply no time. I agree with Raine. There is only one recourse, and that is to meet them where they are, and bury them before they can wreak more havoc. We have faced worse odds. We came out victorious. I have no reason to believe we will not prevail again."

Seteth was silent, both somehow admiring their youthful confidence, and despairing at it. They had won the war with the Empire, but that had only been a precursor to what they were facing now. He had seen it firsthand, all those years ago... They could not imagine. Their war had lasted little over six years. His had been for almost a hundred. He shook his head slowly, reminding himself that it was not arrogance, it was pragmatism, and yet he could not find the hope, or the belief, that was spurring them on. They only saw the path forward, and were not permitting any other thoughts of a different turn. He did not understand where they found such strength of will... but, of course, they were still so young... Still so untouched by the horrors of the centuries that had driven his brothers mad, and left him alone.

"Spill your secrets, Seteth. That look on your face is enough to make me want to reach over this table and throttle you. You know full well we have limited options. It isn't as if we want to be marching off into another battle, and putting more lives on the line."

Warin's rough remark snapped Seteth back to attention, and he gritted his teeth as he fought an instinctive bite back in response. Warin was no longer wearing that casual mask, and his eyes had once again turned into dagger points. He had crossed his arms over his chest, unconsciously flexing those strong muscles that bore those deadly gauntlets he never removed, even the on monastery grounds, and Seteth matched his glare tit for tat. He forced his voice to be level, straining for control as he admitted somewhat painfully, "The secrets you demand... are not solely mine to share. You already are aware of the fact that I am a Nabatean. One of the few that remain... and now, you are also aware that the War of Heroes was something I experienced firsthand. Yet, you must also understand that in those days, I did not lead... Though it was my family, my people, who were slaughtered, I still did not spear the charge, even in my youth. I was led... and the one who led me, the one who brought the scattered remnants of our people together and waged war on our oppressors, is the one who should be divulging this information to you. Much of what happened after was not my doing, and even at times, against my counsel. But who was I to argue with them?"

"So, Rhea really is Seiros... I'm somehow not surprised, and yet somehow I'm still irritated with you." Raine muttered under her breath, and even the startled look that Seteth gave her did nothing to ease her unrest, or her anger. Leonie looked as if someone had just jolted her with a spell, while Claude blinked his eyes, but Warin and Dimitri did not react whatsoever. They, of course, had already led themselves to such a theory not long after Flayn had announced her lineage, but they had known better than to push at the time. Rhea was unwell, and clearly in no position to give them the aid they needed. Seteth, however, was not, and Raine was no longer interested in hanging onto the small vestiges of mercy she still was capable of summoning.

"I wonder why I am somehow surprised... You have an uncanny knack of knowing things you should not. Yet, perhaps, that is my own fault... It is a logical conclusion to reach, after all you have learned in the past moon." Seteth remarked with a low chuckle, but there was no mirth in the sound. Rather, there was simply exhaustion. His eyes flicked to the doorway, following an invisible path that would take him to the bedroom where she was still laying in slumber, her face pinched with pain and her skin pale and clammy... and he let out a long, slow breath before looking back up at Raine. "Yes... For a time, Rhea abandoned her name, and wandered the world as Seiros. It was as Seiros that she summoned an army, brought together the few ragged remnants of her family, and waged war against Nemesis. When all was said and done, "Seiros" was no longer needed, and history, for the betterment of humanity, was rewritten according to her will. The horrors of the war... Of the massacre, and the creation of the Relics... How could she permit that knowledge to remain? It would only put herself, and her kin, at risk, if it were to be known. We were all that remained of the children of the Progenitor God... and that risk follows us, still, today. After all, the Empire now chose to use her, just as the Agarthans of the past used Sothis, to create tools of war."

"What?! They did what to Sothis?!"

"... Not only to Sothis, Raine. But to my entire people." Seteth felt her outrage deep in his bones, and some dark, twisted part of him was glad to see the wrath in her eyes as she looked to him. It was proof, more proof upon proof, that what Rhea had attempted had not entirely failed, and yet it was also something more painful to admit. There was a connection between the woman who stood before him and the woman he could only picture faintly in his mind's eye after so many long and painful years, and to hear that hurt had been put upon her ignited the same anger, the same wrath, that it had in him and his kin when he had been told of it all, too. His eyes however drifted to Warin, and he remarked tiredly, almost wanly, "If your enemy can bleed, they can also be killed... Is that what you said? There is truth in that statement... But there is a much, much darker truth to it than you can ever imagine. The Nabateans are not human, but we are mortal... We bleed, and we die, in time... but humanity feared us for what we were. Different than they, with powers they could not comprehend, as we were sprung from the Goddess herself... How else were they to kill those they feared, if not by using our own powers against us? Our blood, our bones, to make weapons of war that would slay the monsters they feared, and give them power beyond their wildest reckoning, and our own understanding?"

"Wait, wait, wait! Slow down a second here!" Claude's voice rose before anyone else could react, and he stood up, hands resting on the table as he leaned forward helplessly in Seteth's direction. His eyes were wide, shining with both surprise and revulsion all at once, and he shook his head, disbelieving, even as the logic of Seteth's words wormed their way deep into his brain. There was no lie in what he said, but in his meaning... Claude could see the veil falling away, the curtains parting, and it shocked him deep to his bones as he began again, voice almost tremulous in his realization, "Are you saying... Do you truly mean that... The Crest system... The Relics... They all spawned from the genocide of the Nabateans? They killed the Goddess, and used her blood, her bones, to slay the rest of your kind? That's how this entire system began? That's the truth behind everything?"

"Ironic, is it not? The system that Edelgard so railed against was not, in fact, a system created by these so-called "false gods", but rather by humans... Humans like her own ancestor, who happily accepted Rhea's favour, if it meant the safety of his people, and newly formed homeland. The sheer arrogance of that child, who ignored the truth of the Empire's founding, of Wilhelm's involvement, to find enemies in a world that would not exist had the Nabateans not turned to humanity for aid." Seteth chuckled wryly, but the words were dark, and his smile was cold and cruel. He had nearly torn the manifesto into shreds then and there when he had found and read it for the first time, feeling a rage he had not known for many a year blooming in his chest, before he had managed to get himself back under control. "Those who had drank of the blood of the Nabateans gained the use of what was eventually called Crests, whether through force, or trickery, or the gift of Seiros... and those who had participated in the slaughter used the bones of the dead to create the Relics that you now all wield. Torn from the corpses of those who would make corpses their weapons... She knew nothing, in the end. Less than nothing."

Dimitri felt his hand pulling back almost instinctively from Areadbhar at such words, and he watched as Claude likewise glanced sidelong at Failnaught, hanging so innocuously across the back of his chair as if his weapon was something completely strange to him. Even Raine had loosened her grip on her blade for a moment, before a black look crossed her face and her hand grasped down all the harder on the hilt of the sword. Her knuckles whitened in testament to the strength in her grip, and he wondered painfully just how much she was trying to process, and how much it had to be hurting her to do so. He knew her attachment to the blade. To know that it had come from a corpse, a corpse of someone she had held dear to her, too...

Even Leonie and Warin looked perturbed, and the two had no Relics to their names. Their eyes drifted of their own accord to the trio of weapons in the room, studying them with new eyes, but Warin's expression was careful, calculating, while Leonie was staring in outright horror. There was a black silence that filled the room as the weapons that had carried them to victory now were examined with new, disgusted eyes, and there could be no blame as the knowledge sunk in like a stone in water. All of their work, all of their desperation, cleaved with the bones of innocent victims of a genocide that had taken place long before their time. Was their victory worth the price that had been paid to have such weapons in their hands?

"Enough. What's done is done. We can't change where the Relics came from, or how the Crest system began. Those aren't our sins to bear." Raine's voice coldly cut through the tension, and her hand was heavy on the hilt of the Sword of the Creator even as she spoke. A cold current of rage was washing through her veins, making her wish she was on the field to exert every last ounce of her strength to dispel it, but that would have to wait. She turned to Seteth, her expression a mask of calculating neutrality, and she continued as he looked to her with a calm she knew he was not feeling, "I will assume there are still more details you've yet to tell us of the War of Heroes, but I doubt any of it really concerns the problem at hand. While I'm grateful you've shared your history, it only really tells us that Nemesis will stop at nothing to gain Garreg Mach, and another chance at Rhea. We all can agree that cannot happen. Our plan remains the same... Unless you still wish to argue we shouldn't take to the field?"

"No. I know that your path is the wisest one to take... My only plea would be that news of this endeavour not be shared with Rhea until the last possible moment. If she were to know that Nemesis is once again in search of her... I do not wish to imagine the havoc it would wreak on her fragile body and mind." Seteth answered slowly, and he folded his hands tightly in front of him as he imagined the sheer look of panic that would cross her face if she was to know all that had been shared inside of the war room. Too much, he knew she would say, but it was growing more and more difficult for him to justify the secrecy. Soon, all would be in the light, whether she wished it or no, and he was painfully aware that she was coming to terms with that truth, too. Her painfully slow recovery was proof of it. She did not wish to heal. She did not wish to face the consequences of her actions... and he could not entirely blame her. "She is healing, but slowly... and I do not see her recovery hastening. She is one of the oldest of us... One of the most powerful. But even she has reached her limits. There is only so much human magic can do for her. Time is the only cure for our kin... Time, and deep, long sleep. A kind of which she has not taken in many a century."

Claude's eyes narrowed, watching the way Seteth's gaze flickered over to Raine meaningfully. For the professor's part, her back straightened and her eyes narrowed in stern rebuke, but she said nothing despite the bait that had been laid out so cleanly before them. It made him wonder just what Seteth was hinting at, if he was calling her disappearance a sleep that his kin needed to refresh themselves, but it was obvious that Raine did not agree with such an assumption. She had been clear, icy and sharp in her belief that her disappearance had been no such thing as a "sleep", and Claude knew better than to question her. Seteth however was still holding back, still safeguarding Rhea's secrets, at least those that were between her and the Eisner family, but it made him curious despite himself. He was reeling with knowledge, reeling with realization, but still he was hungry for more as he questioned, "Your kind sleep for years on end? Are you saying Rhea may need decades of rest before she is fully recovered from her ordeal?"

"It may be possible. I truthfully cannot tell. She was always different from my other siblings. Stronger, even if she was the youngest of us four." Seteth admitted with a slow, tired, shrug of his shoulders. He wished he could answer them honestly, but the idea was well beyond him. She was not like them. She never truly had been, even if they all shared the blood of the Progenitor God flowing through their veins. Her temper, her ferocity, her devotion and her strength... It had always been different, and even after so many years, when his brothers had abandoned humanity, and their former shells of their human forms... Rhea had remained as she was, seemingly untouched, while even he and Flayn had grown weary and lost. "After the war, the injuries Flayn had taken... The amount of power she spent, healing her allies... She had no choice but to choose a long sleep, lest she risk death for all she had done. We hid away, her and I, not long after, and slept for many a year. When we awoke, the world was changed... as were we. Our powers had healed us in our sleep, but in exchange, we lost our true forms. A price had to be paid, I believe. Yet, Rhea is not like us. She, still, is capable of transforming, as you all witnessed in the siege."

"So that picture... You've been hiding away the truth of the Nabateans, of the Immaculate One, for centuries, then?" Claude's eyes remained fixed on Seteth, feeling that familiar bristling on the back of his neck as the much older man watched him without a flicker of guilt crossing his expression. He seemed calm and composed, though there was an ancient sort of pain darkening his eyes, which Claude admitted he almost felt for. Years upon years of hiding, of covering the truth and protecting his child after such a ferocious war would steel anyone's resolve. "Hiding and pretending to be something you're not, and pulling strings from the shadows to ensure you're never found out... In a way, the princess wasn't entirely wrong about you all, was she? Even Saint Seiros wasn't who she appeared to be. Her mantra about false gods wasn't that far off the mark."

"It was not a matter of control... It was a matter of survival. Something I believe you can understand more than you wish to appear." Seteth's answer came coolly, though his eyes flashed with a warning glint that made Claude wonder just how much truth there actually was to the idea of his "true form" being long gone from him. There was that same sort of calm confidence, that strong ferocity, that he had seen in wyverns, that he had seen in the so-called Immaculate One, when she had taken to the field in Garreg Mach so long ago. They were creatures of legend and fable, horrifying to witness and even moreso to fight against, and he did not wish to put his bow against Seteth's lance. Seteth continued as he sensed Claude's faltering will, his voice calculatingly cold, "When your back, the backs of your kin, are put to a wall with no sign of escape, or mercy... The things one will do to survive become immaterial. Thievery, falsehoods, even the taking of others' lives... There can be no quarter given if you wish to live. For a supposed outsider, you are quick to deal out judgement... You do not know of how the Nabateans suffered. You can only imagine."

"That's-"

"Claude. Don't argue with him. He's right." Leonie spoke quietly but gently, and she reached to carefully place her hand on his arm as she watched him tense in anger. She could understand, after hearing his many stories of his childhood, and she ached with sympathy for him... but if what Seteth had said was true, and she believed it was, she couldn't permit Claude to continue to needle at him so cruelly. It simply wasn't fair. Claude's eyes flickered to her, annoyed, but she held his stare fearlessly before explaining herself calmly, "It was a genocide, Claude. An entire people were slaughtered... And what was done to them after... It's unspeakable. I'll agree that what happened after, the lies and the Crest system, and the Relics, none of that was right, either, but... In a way, we owe them for how things are now, just as much as we should condemn them for it. Human history should be for humans to shape... but we aren't the only ones living in Fódlan. They aren't false gods. They're as mortal as we are. And every mortal is capable of screwing up. It's on us to change things now. All of us. And so long as they're willing to help with that... We shouldn't be at each other's throats over the state of the world."

Dimitri cleared his throat, bringing all eyes to him as he watched the others at the table with his one narrowed eye. His expression was almost neutral even though his gaze was as sharp as a blade, and he looked over at each person who had come to attend this meeting with careful scrutiny. Claude's intensity was so hot that it was almost burning, while Leonie's soft compassion was reaching out into the fire to soothe him. Seteth was composed, but Dimitri knew it to be a facade. Inside there was a roaring in him, something primal and pained and furious, and he understood full well why he hid it rather than permitting it to show. Then there was Warin, cold and unemotional, refusing to allow any of what had been said to impact him even on a superficial level.

Raine was the only one who refused to make eye-contact, as she had been ever since the truth had been revealed in the small, closed-off room. Her hand was on the hilt her blade, still white-knuckled and tense, and her jaw was set in a dark, fierce frown. Her eyes were distant, already on the battlefield and far away from where she was standing, and he wished he was capable of giving her the comfort she needed. He knew what it was she wanted, but still it was being kept from her reaching hands no matter how desperately she craved the resolution. He forced himself to once again address the table, straightening his spine as he spoke quietly, factually, "I thank you, Seteth, for shedding light on the things we did not know... but as Raine said, it unfortunately does not change the path before us. If anything, now knowing who Nemesis was, and how the world changed because of the genocide of your people... Putting a stop to him here and now, before he can reach Garreg Mach, is our only course of action. We will assemble what men we have left, and by the moon's end, we will march out to meet him and those who follow him. Are we all in agreement?"

The answering replies of affirmation came slowly but surely, and Dimitri was relieved to hear them even if the expressions that accompanied them were less than eager. He understood the reservations. Their men's morale was low, they were tired, and they were few. Too few, perhaps, for what was ahead... but that did not matter. They had faced worse odds before, and had triumphed. This time would be no different. His expression was fierce, and he laid his hands flat on the table as he stood up to command the attention of everyone in the room when he spoke, "There will be no defeat after we have come this far. Together, we will prevail. Nemesis and the Ten Elites were defeated once before. They shall be defeated once again. We have the strength and the will to do so against these puppets of the Agarthans. They are not myth and legend as they once were. And even if they are... We, ourselves, have done enough to earn our names in the annals of history right alongside them in this war. Let us end it, once and for all."

AN:

This one also wasn't the fic I intended to write, yet as I finish it up, I find myself relatively happy with it. It was supposed to be more Ignatz/Hilda centric, but as I dove deeper, I understood it couldn't be that way with all the news and the history that was going to eventually be revealed. This really wasn't meant to be an info-dump of a chapter, though is became that way as it progressed. Mostly because I refuse to believe Seteth would ever allow the students and Byleth go into the upcoming battle blind. Mind you, all that he shared likely wouldn't have been shared without pressure, hence Warin and Raine all but threatening him for it, but he said what he felt was permissible in the current moment.

Seteth is rather difficult for me to write for. Both him and Rhea are. I really do feel for the Nabateans, as much as I lay a lot of blame at their feet for the current state of the world. But the world they lived in, all those centuries ago, was a lot harsher, and a lot more fearsome than the world as it is now. For the Nabateans, being hunted, being made into weapons, being the ones indirectly responsible for the murder of their own kin, and then slaying those responsible in a giant war (and manhunt) afterwards... It's hard to imagine what kind of mental toll that took on the characters, even though we do see glimpses into it, every so often.

Indech and Macuil straight up abandoned humanity, while Seteth and Flayn had little choice but to sleep off their wounds. For a long time, Rhea was alone, balancing a new weight on her head that she probably wasn't happy to be bearing. Of course, does that excuse her actions, and the manipulation of history? Or her delving into the more darker aspects of her actions? I don't believe so, but there is a good argument to be had that these poor bastards have been through the wringer, and are definitely not the people they probably used to be once upon a time. But, this is also the present, and their actions have impacted many, and they need to be taken to task for it. Balancing those things is pretty difficult, but also fun, in it's own way.

I've been sore, since winter has been up and down since the weather started to change. I wish that the temperature would just pick a goddamn place to stay, rather than bouncing between two sets of ten degrees. It's killing my body slowly from the inside. And my back is still quite sensitive, so I feel rather crippled and slow these days. But I have not forgotten this story, and intend to finish it! So, as always, thank you for reading, and should you feel the need, please drop me a review. I love your feedback! Everyone have a great time, and please stay safe and healthy!

Mood: Focussed.

Listening To: "She Talks To Angels" - Black Crowes

~ Sky