On one hand, Morgan found an agreement with Nah to stop tailing her at the stables since Morgan was under Sumia's eye at all times. Morgan made a point of outright saying she didn't have any motives besides learning how to ride a pegasus. It only took a couple weeks to get Nah off her case.

The smell of the stables probably helped, but that didn't mean Morgan liked it either.

Morgan turned round and round in the field, sizing up each pegasus she walked by. "Wow," she said. "It's really easy to forget how huge these are. I could probably walk right under a few of them!"

Sumia laughed softly. She watched the excitable girl wander from horse to horse with her own pegasus at her side. Watching their own mounts, some of the other pegasus knights paused to wave hello. Sumia said, "Aren't they wonderful?"

"For sure," chirped Morgan. "Thanks for taking the time to help out!"

"It's really nothing to worry about—I love spending time in the stables! I'd be here one way or another, and it's great to have such an invested student. Have you finished your reading?"

Morgan whipped out her assigned books on pegasus care and maneuvering. "Cover to cover! So I can pick out my ride today, right? Like you promised?"

"Not if you call them your ride," said Sumia, still smiling. "I think it's time you found a pegasus to really bond with." She reached up and stroked the mane of her own steed. "This girl's a sweetheart, but we can hardly both ride her into battle all the time. Over here, Morgan—none of these pegasi have a rider yet."

Morgan rushed into the stables first with a wide grin, followed shortly by Sumia. The two of them made their slow, gradual way along the stables. Sumia chattered at length about each pegasus they passed, rattling off cute quirks she happened to pick up on or things they liked. Morgan nodded along attentively, staring intently at what could become her new long-term pegasus.

But only one really spoke to her.

It was a dark gray mare, just a few shades short of total black. The pegasus paced in restless circles in its stable until they approached. Morgan locked eyes with it, and it stared straight at her with ears pinned back. Its tail swished quickly. The huge wings immediately opened, spread as wide as the confined space would allow.

"Morgan…" Sumia floundered for how to phrase it. "Do you remember pegasus body language?"

"Yeah." Morgan stepped a little closer. She glanced along the stables. "Not that many dark horses… Pretty sure Flavia's division captured this one at the Border Wastes."

"Pegasi form very close emotional bonds with their riders," said Sumia. "Most pegasi transition to the family members of their original riders, and that's if they ever choose another rider at all. Are you sure you don't want another pegasus? She's unclaimed for a reason…"

"Nope!" Morgan walked back and forth. The pegasus stared at her no matter where she moved. "It's gotta be her. C'mon, you can feel it too!"

"Feel like we're about to get trampled," mumbled Sumia. She took a breath. "We'll try, but you must have Cordelia or me watching you around her. Okay?"

"Okay!"

Morgan nearly got her nose nipped off the second she stepped into the stable. The pegasus earned itself a sharp rebuke from Sumia in the process while Morgan got a stern reminder not to lag behind. She noticed Sumia subtly crossing in front of the pegasus' shoulder, keeping it from speeding up. For all of the pegasus' huffing and pulling and posturing, Sumia managed to get it to the riding hall.

"Come closer," said Sumia, saddling the pegasus as quickly as possible. "Near the front—you don't want to be in the way if she opens her wings."

Morgan did as ordered. "How are you doing that?" she asked.

"She's only been here a few months, so she's testing the limits." Sumia pursed her lips. "War pegasi should be bred and conditioned to be calm in the thick of battle. I hope they didn't treat you badly, dear…"

Morgan tilted her head, watching Sumia whisper soft encouragements to the pegasus. "I know you don't like using the whip, but no treats either?"

"Not when it doesn't work." Sumia stepped back with her hands on her hips. The pegasus' tail swished from side to side, but it didn't move. "Seems like she calmed down. Morgan…" She looked at the girl's sparkling eyes and smiled a bit. "I was about to say you shouldn't be afraid, but that's not a problem for you."

"Just be alert, right?" chirped Morgan. She climbed into the saddle.

The pegasus dropped to the floor and Morgan instantly jumped out before it could finish rolling and crush her under its weight. It got right back up, those giant wings flaring on either side as it reared up on its hind legs. Morgan yelped and scrambled to the side, and those mighty hooves pounded the earth where her chest was a split second ago.

"Morgan!" Sumia had the pegasus by the bridle before it could continue. "Are you okay?!"

Morgan got up with a laugh and dusted herself off. "All fine!"

Sumia hustled away the dark pegasus back to its stable. "You've been a bad pegasus! No more riding today for you!"

Morgan whistled a low note at the much sharper tone of the pegasus knight. She always seemed gentle and demure, but Morgan never really gave much thought to the part where she also handled behemoths that could overpower any human on a regular basis. It was the sort of thing that was just tied to someone like Sully in her mind instead. Morgan giggled at the thought of Chrom and Lucina earning that side of Sumia.

The pegasus knight returned a few minutes later with her own white steed. "I'm really sorry about that," she said. "I've never seen her do that before. If I knew—"

"It's okay, really!" Morgan twisted from side to side. "See? Not a scratch! Well, maybe a bruise or two, but I'll live. But wow, how did you get control over that pegasus? That was amazing!"

She blushed and rubbed the back of her neck. "It wasn't really anything special… I'm around the stables a lot, so I got to know her." Sumia looked at her and patted the saddle. "Let's put off choosing a pegasus. You'll practise flying on mine for today, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Two parallel beds with identical royal blue sheets and covers with nightstands on either side for both. They took up their fair share of the room on their own. A single large window occupied most of one wall. The long table in front of it had been rotated from flush with the window to perpendicular, allowing Morgan and her father to face each other properly as they broke out the chess boards and theory exercises. Unlit candles, piles of textbooks, quills and inkpots lay scattered on it—some neatly organized, others casually left wherever they happened to end up. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, filled with texts on everything from war tactics, history, and army management to law, architecture, and medicine to the principles of magic, weapon care, and even knitting and sewing. The owner of the room used the majority of his pay as Shepherd and tactician (and a few bonuses as the right hand of the acting exalt in all but official title) to stock his personal quarters with endless subjects of study to peruse deep into the night.

And Nah was standing in the middle of the room clapping her hands over her head for some reason.

She stopped when she noticed the other girl return. "Morgan?" She wrinkled her nose.

"Don't say it." Morgan went straight to the shower to get the smell of the stables out. She bounded back out in no time with a fresh identical set of her usual clothes and her coat scrubbed clean and quick-dried with Elfire. "Heya, Nah! What were you doing?"

"I was… hoping you wouldn't return before I finished practising." Nah sat on the edge of her bed, hesitant to make eye contact. "I'm training in secret to overcome my one critical weakness."

"You have a weakness? Seriously?" Morgan frowned a bit over the top of her notebook, but shrugged and went right back to scribbling in it. "But we're dragons! How can you have a weakness? One you have to clap to beat?"

"I really shouldn't tell…" Nah trailed off. She deliberated a moment longer before sighing. "The bane of our kind, Wyrmslayers."

"Oh, right! The swords said to cleave even the mighty scales of a manakete."

"Correct. So to defend against it, I'm training in the art of blade grasping."

"Blade what-ing?"

"Grasping. It's a foreign technique used by the greatest of swordmasters. You stop the opponent's sword midswing by clasping it between your open palms."

"That seems really hard. Like impossible hard. Still, I guess it'd be a pretty good way to stop a Wyrmslayer, if you could." Morgan looked back up with sparkling eyes. "Ooh, we could ask Father! He's gotta know how to do that!"

Nah looked like she just inhaled a lemon. "He's the most likely to take a Wyrmslayer to me."

"But Lucina's Falchion is like a Wyrmslayer to him! He—hmm." Morgan stopped scribbling for a moment, tickling her chin with the end of her feather. "I guess he'd probably just let Falchion stab him without slowing down, now that I think about it."

"That too," sighed Nah. "But I'm having a difficult time figuring out blade grasping. Maybe I just don't have what it takes…"

"No, Nah! It's way too early to give up on something so completely awesome!" Morgan snapped her book shut and puffed up. "In fact, I'm gonna help you train!"

"Huh?" Nah drew back slightly. "Really?"

The girl's nodding was excited enough to get Nah wondering why she couldn't hear anything rattling about. "Two heads are better than one, right?" said Morgan. "Just let me know what I can do!"

Nah was surprised by how honest the offer was. "Even though it'll just make me stronger?"

"Oh, well!" Morgan glanced out the window and gasped. "The Shepherds are gathering! We gotta be there for the big meeting!" As they left the room on a brisk pace through the castle, Morgan was in her book again and humming a cheery tune.

"What are you writing?" Nah peered around her shoulder. The page was filled with cute smiley faces, hasty sketches of potted plants, and crossed out design alternatives for the room, and… "Please tell me that isn't a real bear you're drawing."

Morgan finished writing "stuffed" with an arrow pointing at the bear sketch. She pointed into a corner of the room and said, "He'd go right there! If some creep comes crashing in through the window or barges through the door when we don't want them around—ROAR! Big bad bear scares them off!"

"Because shattering glass and breaking the door down wouldn't alert us?" Nah frowned at the other girl. "Because your father's not scary enough?"

"He's not always home. Like right now!"

"My sleep is bad as is," said Nah. "The last thing I need is trying to sleep around another monster!"

"All we've got in our room is tons of books," said Morgan. "Which is great and all, but sometimes I wanna wake up in a big bed of petals surrounded by flowers! Y'know, livening it up. But a big stuffed animal would be nice too! Ooh, there were these super cool dragon statues at the Ruins of Time! We could get a few for our room!"

"There was a nice painting," said Nah. The painting in question was a gorgeous scenery of rolling fields and flowers, hung up on the wall facing Morgan's bed. "Did you make it?"

"I wish I could," sighed Morgan dreamily. "Libra gave that to us. He's so pretty, it's almost unfair." She shook herself out of it and snapped her fingers. "That's right! Let's get a pond!"

"In our room?"

"With a bunch of fish!" Nodding energetically to herself, Morgan sketched it out. "And there's those really cute Plegian rain frogs Lissa told me about too! We could put the lake right here in between our beds. When we're feeling a little peckish, late night snacks are in arm's reach!"

"When did you upgrade from a pond to a lake?" said Nah. "No, that's not the important part! I'm not eating live prey!"

"More for me," shrugged Morgan.

"I can't even imagine the mess all those ideas would end up making—is that a volcano?"

"You betcha! We could put all our swords in it and have this little hole here. Shoot a Fire into the hole, and fwoosh!" Morgan flung her arms out with a huge grin.

"Swords fly out and we all become pincushions," said Nah. "Let's stick to sane ideas—like those statues. You said they were at the Ruins of Time?"

"Tons of them on the fifth floor! Then the Risen got mad at me so I squished them with the statues."

"You defiled the resting place of Naga?!"

"It is? Oh yeah, it is." Morgan laughed. "I didn't know at the time. Always thought about it as Father's hometown, anyway! I wonder if that makes him Feroxi?"

Nah was so baffled by that casual revelation, she walked into the frame of the door to the meeting room. "Ow!" Rubbing her forehead, she corrected course—

"There you are!" Nowi nearly knocked Nah off her feet with a flying hug. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Nah's heart jumped up in her throat. "H-huh?"

Nowi removed herself, holding the other girl by the shoulders and beaming ear to ear. "Another dragonkin friend! We got Chrom's letter and came running as fast as we could!"

"Provide the space, yes?" Gregor pried Nowi off Nah. "This is Nowi. Always a handful for Gregor!"

"What's your name?" said Nowi.

"Nah," she muttered.

"Eh?" Gregor said to Nowi, "See what I am meaning about the intercept… intervention? Introductions!"

"No, I mean my name is Nah!" said Nah. "N-A-H. Gods, it goes like this every single time…"

"That's a weird name," said Nowi.

"And whose fault is that?!"

"How the heck should I know?"

"Nah!" called Chrom. He was seated at the far end of the long table with Kjelle and Owain to his right and Sumia to his left. Conspicuously, Sumia sat right beside him while his immediate right was left empty. "Would you join us over here?"

"We will make more of the talking soon," Gregor said to Nah. "Best not to keep employer waiting!"

"Right," said Nah. "It's been… nice to meet you." She dallied on the spot a moment longer before giving a quick bow and running to join her friends at the prince's side.

"I see you've met Nowi," said Chrom. "She's very energetic."

Reminds me of another dragon that needs to act her age, thought Nah. Morgan had taken to pulling books from the shelves and piling them as high as she could. Nah said aloud, "You seem tired, sir."

Faint bags rested under his eyes. "It's nothing to worry about," he said.

"I'm keeping an eye on him," said Sumia. "But it's true that we've had a lot on our plate."

"Isn't Robin supposed to be helping you?" asked Nah.

"I'd likely be six feet under a mountain of parchment already if not for him," said Chrom. "Even then, between running Ylisse, preparing for war again, and…" He laughed and shook his head. When he drew himself up, it was with a breath of fresh life. "Look at me ready to start rambling! Old age hasn't gotten to me that quickly. Rest assured I'm well within my limits." The prince cleared his throat and cast his gaze over the three future children. "Your future is the crux of this meeting, so I'd like you four at my side. We'll begin when everyone is here."

"You." Tharja emerged from a dark corner of the room with her eyes set on Kjelle. "…How do you feel today?"

Kjelle frowned at the stranger. "Normal?"

"Strange," muttered the dark mage. Her eyes roamed over Owain and Nah, and then she slinked back off into the corner.

"So your blood has drawn you to your progenitors," Owain whispered to Nah. "How'd it go?"

"I didn't see a ring," she whispered back. "But they seem close. How do you do it—talking to your parents?"

He looked confused. "Like I always do?"

"Right. Can't ask you for help there."

They started as the door slammed open and a bizarre four-man procession marched in. "TEACH IS BACK, AND CLASS IS IN SESSION!"

"And did not a single person teach you proper manners?" said Maribelle, following him in.

"Chrom! We've returned from the Farfort!" Stahl called across the room. "Another one for the Shepherds!" He nudged the newcomer forward. "Don't worry about it. Chrom's not as stuffy as Maribelle about etiquette and the like."

"Excuse me?!" said the troubadour in question. She rolled her eyes and went to check in with Lissa.

Stahl approached the prince with the newcomer. "It was the first time he fought, but he stood his ground in the fight with the bandits," said Stahl. "He asked us to take him to Ylisstol."

Chrom stood to greet the latest recruit—a short boy with plain clothes and his unruly hair stuffed under an upside-down cooking pot on his head. "Hello," said the prince, extending his hand. "We can dispense with the titles. Feel free to call me Chrom."

The jittery boy immediately dropped into a deep bow. "Er, greetings, milord! Th' name's Donny. I mean, Donnel! I gots a big debt to ya and yer men fer helpin' my village, Your Graciousness. I want to repay that however I can, and I want to be a Shepherd like you lot! Er, if Your Princeliness would permit it!"

"Really, we can dispense with the titles…" Chrom returned to his seat and gestured to the empty chair beside Nah. "We'd be thrilled to have you, Donnel. We were just about to hold a meeting, so it's as good a time as any for all the Shepherds to meet its newcomers."

"You're Donnel?" asked Kjelle skeptically as he dropped into the seat wringing his hands.

"That's right, sir!" he said. "Er, ma'am. Sorry, it's just…" Donnel looked around uneasily. "I'm right stoked to be here but I ain't never been 'round so many warriors 'n' the like in one place. And on top o' that, stories of the Shepherds were flyin' every which way since the war. Ain't y'all the sort of folk what get called heroes?"

"You should relax," said Nah. "They're all good people. Nobody here is out to get you." With one or two exceptions, she thought to herself.

"I'm tryin' to loosen up, I really am." Donnel shifted uncomfortably in the seat. "Real sorry, but I don't think I got yer names."

"Kjelle." She sat back with folded arms and stared at him intently.

"I am he known as Owain Dark, noble avenger of—"

"Nah." She hastily added, "It's N-A-H."

"Real pleasure to meet y'all," said Donnel.

"We're sparring the second this meeting's over," said Kjelle.

"Say what now?!"

As Kjelle continued hazing the newbie, Nah's ears twitched. She picked up a very distinctive voice, perpetually furious yet deathly calm at once—and an even more distinctive stench of murderous desire.

"…verse is to be interpreted in iambic pentameter. Do you know nothing of light magic?"

"On the contrary, the system you speak of was obsoleted two centuries ago. Under the modern interpretation, these runes ought be read according to the rules established for the reading of anima magic."

"It's exactly because the system was used in the past that it's relevant to this case. These are light runes. I have seen a copy of the Anima Solaris in the castle study. Refer to it and you'll see I'm correct."

"You are bold to put forth the notion that you, specifically, would have any grasp of light magic. Any historian would agree that this section would be categorized as anima. If the majority of the incantation is undeniably of one magic type, there is no reason three verses intended for reading as another would exist."

"You damned humans force your pointless laws on everything. Exceptions exist and this is one of them!" Grima swept into the room with Laurent at his heels and a growl of severe aggravation. Storming down the table, he threw the relevant tome into the air and spat, "Foul the incantation and kill yourself. I won't be held responsible."

"Father!" said Morgan lying atop a bookshelf, but it was too late. The tome hit her precarious ceiling-high tower of books and brought it all crashing down on her father.

Once they finished extracting him from the pile and he finished forcing Morgan not only to put every book back but also perfectly organize them, all of the Shepherds had arrived. Nah kept shooting glances at Grima in the corner of her eye. The fell dragon and his daughter occupied a single seat at Chrom's right. It probably wasn't a coincidence that Frederick stood by his liege on the same side. Grima waited with notebook open and quill ready, fingers twitching and scarlet eyes all but burning holes through the paper over Morgan's shoulder.

"I am not sleeping with you tonight," said Grima.

Chrom hastily cleared his throat and got up. "Welcome back, my Shepherds. It does my heart well to see you all in good health. As you may have noticed, we have many new faces with us today."

Frederick exchanged a look with him and nodded. He said to Donnel, "My name is Frederick."

The urge for Grima to declare himself the wings of despair was powerful. "I am the tactician of the Shepherds… among other things. I am Robin." He exhaled and let the rest of his anger escape with it. Grima glued a smile on his face. "This is my daughter, Morgan."

"That's me!" chirped Morgan, adjusting herself in his lap. "Let's get along!"

The introductions proceeded down and around the table at a brisk pace before returning to the prince. He locked eyes with his tactician and asked, "Would you like to do the honours?"

"Foisting work on me again," scoffed Grima. "But if you insist, I'll break their morale for you."

"Remind me to stop offering you anything," chuckled Chrom. As Robin and Morgan unrolled maps across the table, the prince addressed the table at large, "Four of our men have come from the future."

A ripple of stirring, exchanged looks, and shocked mutters passed over the Shepherds. Chrom shot a look at Robin to stop him before he drew Mjölnir and got their attention back with extreme prejudice.

Grima scowled and waited for the others to settle. "I imagine many of you were skeptical about Morgan. Your suspicions are founded. She is mine from a time yet to come."

"Couldn't you choose better wording than suspicions?" said Morgan. "I don't remember too much about the future though!"

"Some of you may have heard of the masked mercenary who calls herself Marth," said Chrom. "Falchion is a unique blade of which only one exists in the world."

Grima coughed.

"She carries her own Falchion, a mirror image of my own because they are one and the same."

"That's what was going on in the arena?" said Vaike.

"But… from the future?" said Stahl. "That's pretty unbelievable."

"What, I'm not proof enough?" said Morgan from her father's lap.

"He said he ages gracefully."

"I would hope a soldier under my command has some amount of healthy skepticism," muttered Grima.

"Owain?" prompted Chrom.

"Got it, Uncle Chrom." Owain rose to his feet and struck a fabulous pose with his hand hovering over his face. "Bear witness!" He drew back his sleeve with an exultant cry and spun into another pose with arm extended towards the heavens. "'Tis the noble inheritance of my bloodline, carried aloft into the new world upon my blazing sword hand and engraved into my very being!"

"Use human words, please." Lissa pushed him back into his chair. She said to the others, "He's got the Brand and my ring—take a look! No differences."

Maribelle got up, glaring daggers at Lon'qu. "YOU—"

Lon'qu was out the door in an instant with the enraged troubadour in hot pursuit.

"Frederick," sighed Chrom.

"Yes, milord." Frederick left to retrieve the two of them.

"You asked about my ring," Sully said to Kjelle across the table. "Looking for your parents, was it? Hahaha! C'mon, you can spill the beans now. Who are they?"

Kjelle exchanged a look with the other future children. Grima was right there, watching them with those hateful scarlet eyes and listening to every word they said. "Better we not say it," said Kjelle.

Grima narrowed his eyes. He began writing furiously.

Owain paled.

Nah's heart exploded into overdrive.

Morgan hummed a cheery tune to herself. A nudge from her father got her to quiet down.

"It's sensitive information!" blurted Owain.

"We shouldn't influence how people get married," said Nah. "That'd be, um, wrong."

Grima's hand flew faster across the page. Nah dared to peek. It was almost entirely senseless lines and squiggles with a single sane sentence in the middle: Look before you panic.

He shot the most infuriating smirk at her. Grima tore out the page and gave it to Morgan to play with, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Nah didn't even know she had the willpower to hold herself back from transforming and tearing into him right then and there.

Frederick returned, carrying Lon'qu and Maribelle by the scruffs of their necks like squabbling cats. He dropped each in their respective seats and resumed his post at Chrom's side.

"I see," said Chrom. "So not all your parents are—?"

"We came back because Grima returns in the future!" said Owain hastily. "I-I mean, we crossed the tides of time to stem the flow of evil at its wicked root. The dead overrun the earth and the fell dragon's shadow leaves naught but death and destruction in its wake. Humanity is all but wiped out. By the blessing of Naga, we have returned to the past to alter events once written."

Chrom nodded, and addressed the rest of the Shepherds, "A fight to defy our destiny is at hand! We will defeat him as the First Exalt did before us. But before even that, war will arrive on our shores soon."

"You speak of Valm, if I am not mistaken?" Everyone turned to look at Virion. He stood with a confident grin. "Allow me the great pleasure, and indeed honour, of introducing myself!"

"We all know who you are, Virion."

"Hmph! You know nothing! Prepare for my great unmasking! Long have I posed as archest of archers! Yet that was but a ruse! Yea, an artifice, to disguise myself as a mere above-average man. In truth, I am Duke Virion of Rosanne!"

The Shepherds stared at him blankly. Virion's face grew more and more crestfallen the longer he waited.

"So?" said Morgan. Grima nudged her, and she returned to quiet whispers with him as they shared the notebook on drafting up plans for the imminent war. His free hand drew meaningless shapes on the back of hers with one finger.

"I am wounded!" gasped Virion. "Cherche wasn't even here to steal my moment… but yes, I am the head of House Virion and the rightful ruler of Rosanne."

"Rosanne," repeated Chrom. "I was never the sharpest student in geography, but I believe that's one of the territories of Valm."

"Indeed," said Virion. "That is, until the Valmese struck. Theirs was an unremarkable nation once. Tiny, almost pitifully so. Had our continent not shared its name, you might almost have forgotten it existed. And so Valm might have remained, if not for Walhart the Conqueror. One by one, he has taken the surrounding realms into his growing empire. I had no choice but to ru—ahem! Er, that is, to recruit new allies to aid my people. That's why I've come."

"You fled for your life," deadpanned the prince.

"I assure you, I am no craven! You see, though I may seem to flee with my tail between my legs, I—"

"Walhart will come for Ylisse within a matter of years," said Grima. "This is all highly confidential information and not to be discussed with outsiders."

"Sirs," started Donnel. "I ain't sure I should really be hearin' all this for my first meeting."

"Donnel, was it?" Razor-sharp scarlet eyes locked the boy in place. "You have a long road ahead of you before you're up to par with the rest of the Shepherds, but you are a Shepherd. I'll work you over after the meeting."

"The peace we fought for is under threat," said Chrom. "But we have earned it once. My friends, my loyal allies—we will protect our peace now, even if the fell dragon himself stands against us!"

The Shepherds responded with a cheer of fierce determination. It quickly turned into surprise and several of them hastily looking at their laps as a stiff breeze rushed about under the table.

"Whoops!" Morgan blushed and snapped her Elwind shut. "Didn't mean to do that."

"Virion," said Grima. "I'll have your input on preparing for the enemy forces and drafting exercises for Morgan. Send for that Cherche of yours as well. I want her under my regimen." The pages of the notebook flipped. "Donnel, speak to Miriel about running the usual tests. I need them to prepare your training sessions as well. Risen and bandits remain an issue, so in addition to training, the lot of you will see regular field deployment. Ricken, Panne, Libra. Next week, you will be…"

And so the meeting continued—working out the details of their schedules, laying the foundation for the war, sharing what the others had been up to in their time away from Ylisse, and more than a few reminders from Chrom not to grill the future children too hard about the world they came from. Chrom couldn't help the smile on his face as he watched his Shepherds discuss among themselves. Though war and the end of all loomed over their heads, he had them at his side to face it without fear.

"Here's what I'm thinking!" said Morgan, tapping her quill on the page as they walked. "We put the frog in this box, load it in the catapult, and then instant frogging for the poor schmuck who forgot to close their window!"

"Don't ya reckon yer going to have a rough time luggin' that big ol' thing around?" said Donnel. They were walking through the courtyard at the tail end of the newcomer's tour with Robin leading them. "I wager some o' that fancy magicks ya got goin' on would do yer plan a world o' good."

"That's true!" she gasped. "I could use Elwind here too! Maybe if I got it just right, I could fly the box in there!"

"Still gots to figure out how to get the lil' bugger out of the box when it gets where ya want it. Let it out after but don't drop it before, ya get me? And how fast do them spells go?"

Morgan whipped out her tome and launched a high-speed flurry of razor wind into the air.

"Bet yer gonna be sendin' 'em a frog in pieces if ya go fer that," said Donnel. "Add cushionin' fer sure on the inside. Nah, what do ya think?"

"I think I really need to learn how to sleep with one eye open," muttered Nah.

"You remember the way to the barracks," Grima said to Donnel. "I'll see you on the training grounds tomorrow."

"Got me in a right stir about facin' down that Kjelle gal… but, um, you got it, sir!"

Grima's eye twitched. The list of acceptable titles included great one, fell dragon, and God, but not sir. "Robin," he corrected. "Speak to me regarding any concerns you may have. You need a great deal of training and I won't have it bogged down. Get some rest."

As Donnel left them, Morgan rushed to Grima's side with sparkling eyes. "Father! How can I improve this froggy airlift box?"

"I don't see why you need a froggy airlift box at all," he said. "Break into their room. Gaius can teach you how to pick locks." Grima's eyes scanned the hallways as they made their way through the castle. "Chrom."

"Robin," said Chrom. "I was just about to go looking for you."

"I acquired a particularly rare wine a few days ago. It'd be a waste to drink it alone."

After stopping by the cellar, prince and tactician seated themselves in one of the castle lounges. Large chandeliers cast a warm orange glow over the carpeted room. The bottle and a bowl of fruit rested on a low table between their plush chairs, its dark mahogany expertly carved into patterns as ornate as the architecture of the ceiling. Morgan quickly pushed immensely expensive tables and chairs aside to make room so she and Nah could finally get to… whatever Morgan was trying to achieve by repeatedly chopping Nah with her hand while Nah clapped over her head.

Grima raised an eyebrow at the mural over the fireplace. "That's…"

Chrom nodded. "The Hero-King triumphing over the earth dragons. I never paid it much attention before. Looking at it again, I wonder if Lucina chose to style herself in his likeness due to this?"

The Hero-King stood tall in the middle of the work with his legendary blade held aloft, casting rays of golden light across the sky as if it were the sun itself. Soldiers clashed, tiny and insignificant to his sides. Wicked-looking dragons writhed along the bottom half of the piece as they tumbled into darkness below. Grima tried not to curl his lip at the visage of a divine dragon watching on from the summit. Those comets streaking the sky were surely the gemstones.

"Hmph." Grima took a small sip of wine. "All these legends and paintings, yet not one book on his ancient tactics."

"I'd imagine the tales of dashing heroism and hope in the face of adversity had broader appeal," said Chrom. "This wine is remarkable. I've never tasted anything like it. Where did you get it?"

"Plegia," said Grima. "Exceptional not only for coming from the desert nation, but having survived since the age of the Schism. The Grimleal have long preserved such immaculate treasures. They're meant for imbibing on the day of the fell dragon's return to welcome him with a feast of flesh and wine as he consumes his worshipers alive."

"It'd make for a fine last meal before we deal with him." Chrom laughed, not knowing exactly who was laughing with him. "How in the world did you get your hands on such a valuable commodity?"

"I have my ways," he said cryptically.

"Should we truly be opening it so soon?"

"We'll save the rest for when everything is over." Grima himself swirled his glass and tasted it again. "You seem tired as of late."

"I've heard that more times than I'd like. I feel as if I might drown at any second if I would only allow it to happen." Chrom sat back and let his gaze wander to the ceiling. "I can't imagine how Emm could brave it all and still smile so brightly."

"Not this again," muttered Grima under his breath. "Then it's good we found time to speak together. Remember that yours is a heavy burden. Anyone would struggle under its weight, including her. It's because she had people she believed in that she could continue onwards—as you do now. Where is Sumia?"

"She wanted to stop by the stables before turning in for the night." Chrom looked at Robin. The tactician seemed lost in the mural of the Hero-King. Chrom chuckled and said, "She's the biggest part of my worries."

"Difficulties with her?"

"Not like that. We need to distribute invitations to the royal wedding very soon. But it's certainly worth the effort. It's because of you and Sumia and all of the Shepherds that I've made it this far. I simply have to grow into a man worthy of your faith."

They continued chatting for some time and drinking lightly. Morgan continued thumping Nah on the head with her hand in the background.

Eventually, Chrom turned to Robin. "Have you considered looking for a partner as well?"

"No." The response was instant.

The prince didn't falter. He knew Robin to be exceptionally guarded at all times no matter the situation. "You can trust me. Who is it? For a time, I was concerned you might be interested in Lissa."

"I'm surprised you didn't murder Lon'qu for that," scoffed Grima.

"I didn't need to," shrugged Chrom. "Maribelle handled it for me." He watched Robin smirk before adding, "In all seriousness, he spoke to me before his deployment and I gave him my blessing."

Grima took a long, hard look at him. "Is that all you have to say on the matter?"

"…Small gap or no, I would've preferred he waited a few more years before asking me," admitted Chrom. "But she has taken to acting as Owain's mother with her usual energy. I'll count my blessings." He set down his glass before he finished it too quickly and went for the bowl of fruit. "Maribelle took a shine to you very quickly."

Grima frowned. "Disagreed. I would've expected her to go after you if Sumia didn't get there first. She spends a great deal of time with Lissa, but it could easily be interpreted as seeking a way to spend time with you."

"I wasn't sure you could perform such an analysis," laughed Chrom. "She's too forward to play such games, but I'll admit that's one of her charms."

"I can apply myself," deadpanned the fell dragon. "It was a common plot point in the books Sumia loaned me."

"There's your books again. How is it that you and Miriel don't speak more often?"

"She and her son are insuff—" Grima realized he was sneering and reset his face to a blank neutral expression. "…Not of interest to me."

"Hah! Spoken like a true politician." Chrom bit into his orange.

Grima hesitated. Finally, he let a bit of frustration slip through the cracks and threw his arm in the air. "I wield the ancient tome of Jugdrali legend and yet that child has the gall to challenge me on the reading of tomes written in the old tongue?!" A low growl rumbled from the fell dragon as he sat back with a resentful sip. "And the woman isn't much better. Possessing the ability to speak on her terms has no correlation with enjoyment."

"I suppose you have similar complaints about the other Shepherds?"

"This isn't a topic you should press," muttered Grima.

"I won't be offended. I think you have a sharp and critical eye. It'd serve excellently in helping them improve."

Grima was already working on that. He didn't have much use for the Shepherds if they weren't effective tools. "I use it on my terms."

"And what of me, Robin?"

"A reckless buffoon of a prince that will meet a messy end after charging into the umpteenth mess without thinking."

"Bold words from the violent excuse for a tactician that can't go a day without trying to dismember someone."

Grima glowered at him. "I still disagree with your policy of full disclosure. Tongues will wag and rumours will slip regardless of discipline."

"So long as word doesn't reach the court in full," laughed Chrom. "Nah and the others are living in our midst. They deserve the freedom not to hide from us at every hour of the day."

Grima had nothing to say to that. Only a cool, piercing stare as he drank deep of the wine.

A yelp turned their heads. Nah rubbed her forehead, sore after missing a particularly fast chop too many. Morgan laughed with the same bright smile she always wore and offered a few minutes of rest before continuing.

Chrom continued working away at his orange as he turned his eye back to his tactician. "Your daughter is certainly full of energy. She's part of the reason I'm curious if you've taken a shine to anyone." He smiled at Robin's sharp glare. Already, the tactician saw the next shot coming. "A father that could raise a girl with a spirit like hers can't replace you fast enough."

Grima looked ready to shatter the glass in his hand. "Maybe I should've engineered you into pairing with Cordelia."

The prince waved it off. "She's a true ace among the pegasus knights, but she doesn't have the slightest interest in me. I would've liked to see you try."

"Is that how you see it?" But Grima didn't bother to correct him. He was too busy scanning his vessel's memories into the future of the Shepherds. Even if Grima ignored the glaring point of Morgan's species, the idea of procreating with any of these insects garnered nothing but repulsion from the fell dragon. Had Morgan come from some world gone to hell where he lost his mind entirely?

"Ahh, I understand." Chrom grinned at his tactician. "I should've expected you to find common ground with your fellow Plegian."

Grima made a complicated series of hand gestures that Chrom understood to be heavily veiled code for "NO."

"You should be careful around her," said Chrom. "Now that she knows there isn't another woman out there waiting for you."

Grima made even more motions that Chrom couldn't understand, but the volume and speed told him enough. His face remained expressionless the whole way through.

"Next you'll ask me if I'm holding a torch for Nowi," grumbled the fell dragon.

"I would very much hope you're not," said Chrom, finishing his unpeeled orange. "What's the matter, Robin? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"There's an issue with Nowi in particular?"

"You don't—" Chrom blanched. "Gods, please don't make me explain this. Wait! Is that why…" He grimaced in severe pain. "I did say I would try not to judge…"

"What now?" droned Grima.

"Robin," he said as patiently as he could. "I know you had a difficult upbringing, but it's simply not an acceptable thing to do."

"What are you talking about?"

"You and Nah—"

Grima and Nah both turned away retching. Not paying attention to the conversation of her father and the prince, Morgan stopped mid-chop, confused.

"You think I have the slightest interest in that pathetic whelp?!" snarled Grima.

"That THING is a monster in the skin of a human!" yelled Nah.

"Good night, Chrom." Grima got up. "I'll murder you tomorrow. Come, Morgan."

"Wait!" said Chrom. "You haven't finished your glass."

"What, that swill?" Grima didn't look back as his daughter wrapped herself around his arm. "Check the bottle."

Nah followed them out at a generous distance. Chrom peeled off the ornate label and found a second label underneath—poisonous wine, antidote sold separately.

He frowned and peeled that off too. The third label was a mundane, miserably cheap brand. Virion's name was written in the margins in Morgan's hasty scribble, but crossed out. Below it, Robin's neat cursive formed Chrom's own name.

Chrom confirmed there wasn't yet another hidden label and reassured himself that the bottle certainly started unopened before he disposed of it.

"Nah, I found you!" Nowi ran up to them. "I've been looking everywhere for you, this castle is so big! We didn't get a chance to talk at all today!"

Nah stumbled as Nowi grabbed her wrist and started pulling her away. "What's going on?"

"We're gonna play, duh!" Nowi tugged her along. "I'll bet you were just gonna do something boring like reading if I didn't come get you. Now come on!"

"I can't! Robin—" Nah looked over her shoulder. Grima made a point of glaring at the wall beside him with folded arms. The disgust on his face mirrored her own. She let Nowi pull her away. "…Okay, but we're going to the barracks first!"

They rounded the corner and their voices faded into the distance. Grima covered his mouth with the back of his hand and suppressed his laughter.

"Hahaha!" Morgan had no such restraint. They continued to their room at a faster pace. "Looks like it worked!"

"As I thought, there are limits to Nah's senses," said Grima. "I'm impressed you understood my intention to have you transcribe what I wrote on the back of your hand. Adding a request to speak with Nowi to the note and sending it to Tharja under the table without anyone noticing was very well done."

"Wasn't it a bit complicated? I still think just asking Tharja could've worked."

"That was the backup. It was an excellent exercise for you. Nobody could fault me for merely suggesting two of my units speak to each other when I do so regularly. Nowi was delayed, but wouldn't be able to resist the opportunity to speak with another manakete as soon as Tharja let her go."

Morgan beamed as he patted her head. "So what'll we do with this opening?"

"Testing the waters," said Grima airily. "I wanted to see if it would work. But we're not doing nothing at all."

They returned to their bedroom. Grima set to laying out chess pieces and a map of Ylisse on the table while Morgan checked the windows and the other rooms.

"They won't be hiding under the beds," said Grima.

"Never know if you don't check!" Morgan popped up with a cheery smile. She looked out the window and spotted the other two manaketes in the courtyard below. Morgan waved at Nah. She scowled back.

"Morgan, tell me." Grima beckoned her away from the window. "What are magic skills?"

"Special techniques that channel mana through the body's pathways," she recited without hesitation. "Most are best honed in the thick of combat. Skills are often suited to a specific means of execution, although practitioners can develop the ability to diverge from the foundation. This improves applicability in combat." Morgan relaxed her shoulders and grinned. "And you blew yourself up with them."

"Correct." Grima guided her by the shoulders to sit at the foot of the bed. "Such an event generates severe backlash. I lost the ability to use magic for weeks as a result. This will inflict the same on you."

"Is this a good idea with Nah and the others around?"

"It is a calculated risk," he murmured. "That is why we will avoid letting them know." He paced slowly in front of her, scarlet eyes roving her figure. "If questioned, tell them I insist you wean yourself off your reliance on tomes." He removed his glove. The Mark of Grima greeted his eye. "I will attempt to channel Pavise through you. It shares many properties with Aegis. You will need much more time to complete and trigger the skill, but this will compensate the time expended."

"It'll negate manakete breath," said Morgan quietly. "I'll be able to kill them for sure."

"This is a delicate procedure," said Grima, lowering himself to meet her eye. "Do not move. Do not speak. Do not disrupt my focus."

He placed his hand on her chest and Morgan was already screaming internally.

Grima's fingers twitched. Astonishingly, her heart answered his call. That meant his own Heart was regaining power, bit by bit.

He applied pressure. Faint tongues of violet flame danced between his fingers. A shiver ran through Morgan. She felt the texture of her own shirt under her palm and saw herself through eyes that weren't hers. There was a terrible prickling all through her body, one she was only used to feeling when she pushed her draconic transformation past its limit. Needles poked at the inside of her skin.

Morgan willed herself not to say anything. She closed her eyes and kept her breathing even and level. Maybe if she only used one set of eyes, it'd be less terrifying. It didn't really help.

"Brace yourself," said Grima. "Do not resist."

She saw through eight eyes and thrashed wings far heavier than she was used to. Rage the likes of which she never knew before ripped through her and set her ablaze. There was a blur of yelling and the pain of being torn to pieces, every limb wrenched from its socket and every ounce of flesh peeled apart.

"—gan. Morgan!"

Morgan became aware that she existed. She was curled up on her side, spluttering and gasping for air in between dry heaves. Her body was unharmed, but she felt… diminished. Something important had just been torn from her. But even more than that was the instant of hell she just saw, its ghost still clawing at her.

"Morgan!"

"F-Father…" She tried three times before she was able to sit up.

He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Who am I? Who are you? Where are we?"

"Father, Morgan, i-in Ylisstol!"

"What did we just do?"

"Aegis?!"

Grima drew back as if burned. He forced his glove back on and turned to the side, trying to pull the anger from his face. "I almost broke your memories," he growled. "I told you not to move."

"Sorry," panted Morgan. "That was… d-do we have to do it again?"

"It worked." He dropped into one seat at the table by the window, head resting on one hand with the other tapping the table irritably. "Don't attempt to probe your abilities now."

She slid off the bed and joined him on shaky feet. "I saw a buncha really weird things."

"You tried to scan me in return," snapped Grima, glaring out the window.

"Does that mean you saw my memories?"

"They weren't my focus."

"Can we do it again, Father? If you can take memories, maybe you can—"

"Were that I could." Grima furrowed his brow and flexed his fingers. "I need power… more than I have now. More power…"

"Oh…" Morgan deflated. But that just meant she'd have to find another way to get her memories back one day. She brightened up and said, "That was Ignis, wasn't it? The real one."

Grima met her gaze. "You're not aware of how it functions?"

"I dunno. It's our special skill. It just… happens when I want it to."

"…Hatred is the ideal catalyst," said the fell dragon. "The flame never extinguishes. It is only suppressed."

Was that really the case? Morgan never hated at anyone to use it. She was pretty sure she didn't have to hate at anyone to use it. But her father pulled himself through his worst memories and most painful reminders to achieve the same. It was always lurking just under the surface, waiting for him to set it free again.

"How do you feel, Morgan?"

"Um, I'll be okay. I was just surprised." Morgan let her expression slip for just a moment longer before cheering back up. She gave him the sunniest smile she could muster and said, "You should warn me about these things next time, Father! I'm gonna get mad about it soon!" Grima watched her practically sparkle with energy as she got to work setting the chess board with pieces. Morgan gave herself the white pieces, picked up her king's pawn, and advanced it two squares. "Your move, Father!"

"It has been over a month since Validar was officially declared the new King of Plegia," he mused aloud. His queen bishop's pawn moved one. "There should've been a ceremony. Why hasn't he sent an invitation…?"

"Maybe it got lost in the mail," suggested Morgan. She brought her queen's pawn up to sit beside her other pawn.

Grima mirrored it. "Royal letters aren't 'lost in the mail,'" he scoffed. "He hasn't sent it and he may never send it. Anyone with a shred of tactical knowledge would know to do so. I'll rip his head from his shoulders for his stupidi—" His expression instantly shrivelled up into pure disappointment.

Morgan tried desperately not to crack up.

Her king was no longer in its starting position.

"Morgan."

"What's the plan now?" she giggled.

A low growl emanated from the fell dragon. Apparently, his daughter thought it'd be hilarious to throw away castling, hinder her development of both queen and bishop, expose her king to danger, hand him a free turn, and do all of these terrible things with one move. Morgan's hands couldn't hide the huge grin behind them as she watched him stew over the inanity of it.

Grima had no pleasure in winning with the advantage being served to him on a silver platter… but if he got complacent, or if Morgan had dug up some trick to catch him by surprise, he would never, ever hear the end of it. In the greater scheme of things, Morgan turned this into a game where she challenged him with nothing to lose and everything to gain by playing the dumbest move possible.

So the fell dragon did the only thing he could do, and moved his own king.

Once Morgan was done laughing her head off, they both wasted another move putting their kings back where they belonged. A sharp glare from her father told her not to repeat the move. Morgan rolled her eyes. Her knight advanced, his pawn took hers, her knight took that, he moved his own knight to threaten it, pieces developed, and the game continued.

"Chrom won't agree to having you and I deployed at once anymore," said Grima. "Even if we could, the future children would surely demand to follow us and Lucina must be standing guard somewhere I can't see." He curled his lip. "Damn that brat and her minions… I must find a way to kill our current shadows blamelessly."

"But the more people disappear, the more suspicious the rest will get. Maybe if they all die at once, we could move before anyone could react, but how would we do that?" Morgan rocked from side to side in her chair before nudging another piece along. "I'll keep working on my plan too."

"That will help. Make them waste their efforts on converting you. We needn't act rashly and we shouldn't give reason for an all-out battle. However…" Grima moved his knight. "The emergency plan?"

"Break the window and dive," said Morgan immediately.

She frowned at the board—their back ranks were empty save for the rooks and kings, with the rest of the pieces scattered about the playing field. Grima's pieces formed a threefold attack on her knight, with his last move also forking her queen at the same time. She quickly took the knight he just moved using her own.

Instantly, Grima moved his queen on a diagonal across most of the board through the space her knight left behind, placing her in check with his queen looming over her king from just one square away.

"The larger plan," he said.

Morgan's breathing hitched. She snuck out her king through a diagonal between adjacent pawn and rook. She pouted as Grima's bishop ate up her earlier knight. More pieces shuffled about.

"Kill the manaketes," said Morgan. She winced. Her fingers wiggled over a pawn before marching it to its death so she could really get her bishop in there. "Destroy the pegasus stables to deny flight to the enemy. Use the castle to our advantage until we're ready to fly again and then escape. Alternatively, head straight to the stables and break out on my pegasus once I'm able to dodge in flight."

Morgan scratched her head. A few more moves and then her queen arrived at a position much like his—intensely, uncomfortably close to the other's king on a complex board that was both suffocatingly small and far too spacious for her liking. The options for both sides were unlimited, which wasn't a good thing for her.

"Or was it the poison plan?" she said. "The dead-Chrom-panic plan? The convince-the-Shepherds-the-future-children-are-actually-evil plan? The giant-hecking-frog-rain plan?"

"When did we have a frog rain plan?" Grima shook his head and moved a pawn. The queen was in no position to strike when anything it did would get it killed immediately. "Good enough. We assemble the parts according to the situation." His scarlet eyes sharpened as they moved one piece after another. "The more pressing matter is what our enemy is doing. They can obstruct our movements while remaining free to act on their own."

"Leave that to me," chirped Morgan. Her queen moved—check, not that it lasted. His rook chased it away two moves later. "I always wanted to try being a spy! I'll sneak into their ranks and get them to spill all their juicy secrets!"

"I look forward to it. Opportunities will present themselves in time. An opening will arrive."

"Like this?" Morgan's knight joined the attack on his king's defenses. She looked up with bright eyes, hoping to finally see just a trace of shock in her father's gaze. Her heart sank when all she got was the smile of the fell dragon.

"Like this." Grima's bishop moved away from the edge of the board to attack her king's defenses. It also freed the file for his other rook, which hadn't moved all game, to stroll down on the next move and run amok.

Morgan scrambled to regain control of the situation, but it was too late. He took a bishop. His rook fell as a result, but then another piece jumped her own rook. Still, her attack kept it even!

Something slammed into the door. "Reveal yourselves, beings of the night!"

Father and daughter exchanged a look. They said in unison, "Owain."

Morgan opened the door and jumped aside. Owain crashed through and landed in a spectacular pose. "Your wicked deeds shall go no further!"

"What did you do?" Nah scanned the room uneasily with dragonstone in hand. "Who did you contact? Where's your trap?"

"The only trap laid out right now is on this board," droned Grima.

The manakete furrowed her brow. That couldn't be true.

"Nah, what are you doing?" asked Owain.

"Searching." Nah wriggled under the bed, one hand pawing about in the darkness. Nothing there. One book after another left its place on the shelf and returned moments later in her pursuit for evidence. It had to be around here somewhere! Grima just had some stretch of time to himself. How could he not use it to his advantage?

"Something tells me you're not about to find evil plans under their pillows," said Owain. Not that he was going to stop her. Nah was technically right to scan the room, but Owain felt slightly less embarrassed rolling out his sleeping bag. Really, they were going to fight Grima head-on if it came down to it! Yet here he was sleeping overnight to allay fears of the monster in the other bed.

Grima's queen landed with Morgan's king in its sights, seizing its chance to strike from within her forces. The fell dragon sat back with an easy grin and said, "Mate in four, Morgan."

"Huh?!" Morgan ran back and squinted at the board. "Crud! You win again." She moved her king into harm's way. "Sorry, king—the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few!" She grabbed his queen, marched it at the king, and mimicked a big explosion.

"I'd better not catch you doing that against Valm. We still need Chrom." Grima smiled dryly. "Another round?"

"I'll get you sooner or later. Not tonight, but one of these days!" Morgan rounded the table and dropped into his lap, snuggling up to him. "Let's get through that book on mounted combat together! Can you read it for me, Father?"

"Very well. But I must read quickly or we won't finish before you need to sleep."

She was getting better, and he still felt like he lost psychologically after that preposterous opening. When Morgan went to bed, he had to use this night for his own chess studies before she caught up too quickly.

At least in the comfort of his room, after everyone had retired to their beds, Grima was free to wipe all trace of affection from his expression and peruse his texts with cold scarlet eyes. All four future children didn't burst in. He would've expected Kjelle and Laurent to be the first to upend his room in hot pursuit of anything that could be pinned on him.

Grima silently opened the reliable book of basic battle strategies lying on the table to no page in particular. It had served him well ever since he purchased it not long after his first arrival in Ylisstol. Perhaps he ought to read it again as well. He knew the fundamentals by heart, but Morgan would needle him if she found out he hadn't memorized it front to back like she did. He let out a quiet breath. Nah's stare was a growing weight on the back of his head. The brat wouldn't or couldn't sleep until he did.

…It didn't matter in the end. Four upstart brats could surprise him once or twice, but they had no hope of outmaneuvering the fell dragon and his vessel. Grima would be the one to walk away the victor when the dust settled. His was an empty life from the moment he claimed the body in the midst of turning the pages of his text, and he knew far more of living it than they did. His life didn't begin again until every last one of them was dead at his feet.

The very corner of the page ripped between his fingers. He shut it and returned to reviewing chess theory.