Sand gave way to dry, packed road as the Shepherds set foot in the village. The first thing they noticed was the lack of villagers in sight. Nobody roamed the streets or spoke to one another at the tables in the shade.

That wasn't to say nobody was there.

"Chrom!" Lissa bounded away from the well and ran up to him at full speed. She called out as she ran, "It's okay! We know them!"

Doors opened, and people stepped out. They emerged back onto the streets and the chatter of a village holding life surrounded them.

Falchion sheathed at his hip, Chrom smiled warmly. "I missed you."

"How is everybody?" asked Cordelia. Her question answered itself as Miriel, Lon'qu, and Laurent joined them. "You all made it? That's a relief…"

"I'm glad to see you're all in good health," said Chrom. "I take it you must be the Laurent we heard of from Cordelia?"

"Greetings, Chrom," he said. "I am Laurent, a traveling mage and scholar. And perhaps more saliently, I am Miriel's son."

"That is the claim he espouses," said Miriel. "A ring alleged to have been inherited from myself in the future serves to act as his primary evidence." She raised her left hand. "However, I do not yet possess any such ring. As a means of identification, I fear it inconclusive."

"MOM, DAD!" said Owain.

Lissa started. "Huh? What?!"

Covered in blood of the enemies they just finished mopping up before entering the village, Morgan tugged on Grima's sleeve urgently. "Father," she hissed. "Isn't this really bad?"

Grima's arms were folded. He didn't react to the events unfolding before his cutting scarlet eyes.

Owain struck a pose. "Blessed Mother!" he addressed Lissa. "I have crossed oceans of time to find—Oh, forget it." He dropped the posturing and presented his hand. "I'm your kid from the future! Look at the signet ring upon my finger. Behold, a perfect match to yours! Unique in all the world, and yet here lie two. Proof positive my claims are true!"

Lissa blinked. "…Who did what now? Hold on. Slow down. Back up. Start again."

"Gods, please tell me he proposed by now."

"Who proposed? You called for—"

"Dad," repeated Lon'qu.

Lissa realized the swordmaster was standing right beside her—not at a distance.

"I was waiting until we returned to Ylisstol," he muttered. Lon'qu's face burned fierce red as he turned to Lissa. "This may come as a surprise… but I have something for you."

Everyone else took a collective step back to give them space. Lon'qu lowered himself to one knee and raised the ring for her, identical to the one Owain carried.

"A r-ring?" spluttered Lissa. "…Is this a WEDDING ring? But wait, you hate women!"

"I don't hate anyone," said Lon'qu. "And as far as my issue with women, you… are the exception. I find myself thinking of nothing but you. My every moment is consumed with you. If you will allow it, I swear to be with you and protect you for the rest of your days."

"There's so much going on. I don't know where to begin, but…" Now both their faces were lighting up. She said, "Oh, Lon'qu… Of COURSE I'll allow it! And I'll watch your back, too!" Lissa beamed as she felt the ring slip onto her finger. "But you have to be beside me always. No more distance!"

He smiled as he returned to his feet and nodded. "…No more distance."

Their eyes met. Lissa stepped forward, leaning onto the tips of her toes and closing her eyes—

She yelped and nearly fell over when her kiss didn't find him after he stepped back. Lon'qu managed to catch her before she tipped over to the ground.

Lissa frowned at him. "Geez, what was that about no more distance?"

"It'll have to be a work in progress."

Morgan realized she was beaming ear to ear. Nah and Owain's backs were ramrod straight as they really let what they just saw sink in. Chrom and his Shepherds watched with approving smiles. Grima was completely and utterly still.

Lissa stared up at Lon'qu for a while. Finally, her eyes moved to Owain and his dark hair matching his father. "Oh gods," she breathed. "Owain."

A jolt went through him. "Huh?"

"That's your name. Isn't it?"

Owain's face broke into a huge smile and he struck an exultant pose. "Indeed it is! And none have ever been prouder to bear it! For it is the name you gave me, Mother! I've come to part the dark clouds that hang forebodingly over this era!"

Someone started clapping.

The Shepherds of past and future looked around. They'd drawn the attention of the village. Applause surrounded them.

"This isn't the place to discuss it," said Grima. He locked eyes with Laurent. "I heard you were found here. Lead to a place with more privacy than this street."

Laurent took them to the library he'd taken up residence in. At Grima's command, they split into two groups to speak separately in two rooms—all Shepherds of the present and himself in one group, all Shepherds of the future and Morgan in the other.

"What about Owain?" said Chrom. "We need him to explain what he's talking about. There's also Laurent and—" His eyes narrowed. "…Morgan."

"I will explain," said the fell dragon. "I imagine Laurent informed Miriel as well. She can provide details."

"Father, is this a good idea?" Morgan backed the prince on not splitting up, albeit for completely different reasons.

"We'll reconvene shortly." Grima's scarlet eyes fell on Nah. Her head was low and her gaze dull on the floor.

Chrom followed his gaze. "I see." He said to Owain and Laurent, "You know each other, correct? Then it's best you speak to her about it."

They parted ways.

The Shepherds of the present gathered around the table on the first floor. Even in the shade of the building, the heat of the desert beat down on them. The air was thick and sweltering. Sumia, Cordelia, and Miriel sat along Chrom's right around the large circular table. Lissa and Lon'qu occupied the other side. The latter periodically twitched with the urge to flee atop the nearest bookshelf.

Grima seated himself directly across from the prince. They locked eyes.

"You knew," Chrom said to him. It wasn't a question. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Would you have believed me?" said Grima. "Morgan and I own no ring."

"I heard it from Laurent before returning too," said Cordelia. "It was just so ridiculous, I couldn't accept it. But Lissa—your rings really are the same."

"What's happening?" asked Sumia. "Owain said he's from the future?"

"The future of despair." Grima put his elbows on the table and interlocked his fingers just below his mouth. "Over ten years hence."

Lissa stirred. Something about those words seemed familiar, but she couldn't recall from where.

"What happens in the future?" asked Chrom. He and Robin never let their eyes wander off each other.

Grima breathed in and willed himself not to smile. "The fell dragon… Grima… is resurrected. His roar is a death knell for man, a scream that silences all hope. Death descends upon all. We meet our fate in battle against him."

"Including me. All of our company. All of us dead?"

"That's right. Every single unit in the Shepherds arrives at their final destination. With the power of the Fire Emblem, the children of the future called on Naga and opened a gate to the past in hopes of averting their destiny."

"A tale that beggars belief, and yet the truth of it stands among us. You learned of this from them?"

"I've spoken with Marth and the others," said Grima cryptically.

Chrom let it slide as he thought back on past events. "Marth carries Falchion, my same sword. Is she from the future as well?"

"Robin said there's at least two Falchions in the world," said Lissa. "Then again, didn't we see her come from the future? She fell right out of the sky! I've never seen anything like it…"

"Lucina," breathed Chrom.

Sumia's eyes went wide. "That's not possible…"

That was the name the two of them planned on giving to a daughter if they had one. Uttering her name released some obstruction in Chrom's mind, and everything made sense. She fought like her father—fought like him. She wielded his sword. She wore a mask… was it to conceal her Brand? Did he never notice her Brand when her mask broke?

"You misled us," said Chrom. His eyes returned to Robin. "You used the tale of two Falchions to keep us from thinking how else it could've entered this world. Even as far back as the first night after we met, you and Marth—no, you and Lucina—knew each other."

Grima unlocked his fingers and everyone else tensed up. He did nothing but take his elbows off the table and straighten his back. That tiny adjustment of his posture was loaded with incredible intent and deliberation. His body remained loose and relaxed, yet proud and dignified.

"Are you sure of that conclusion?" asked Grima. "The gate resembled certain descriptions of the Outrealm Gate recorded in old lore. From how her sword and style matched yours so closely, and the gate she emerged from, I could reasonably assume she was a close relative of yours from another time. Risen emerged from the portal with her and appeared across the land since that night. From that, I knew they must have come from a world overflowing with the undead, and the most likely cause for such a world and the need to travel through time would be a dark future in which Grima had returned. She had some reason not to reveal any of this to us, so I held my tongue." His look at Chrom became pointed, and he repeated his exact words back then. "I knew her, in a certain sense."

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. The Shepherds' attention shifted to their captain whose sharp eyes remained fixed on his enigmatic tactician. Grima's expression was opaque and revealed nothing.

Chrom groaned aloud and leaned back in his chair. "Gods damn it all," he said. "I almost thought you were from the future too."

Grima smirked. "So little faith in my cunning mind?"

"You have no shortage of secrets from us," noted the prince. "Such as your ability to do what in blazes happened on the field today. Teaching your daughter to eviscerate her enemies doesn't help your case. You're a lot more warmonger than you are tactician."

"I'll gift her your liver."

Chrom didn't look as amused as Grima expected.

Sumia cleared her throat. "We can't let Grima return," she said. "Our future can't end like that."

"We won't," said Chrom. "This world will not come to an end. We'll protect it."

Grima's smile grew. "How do you propose we do that?"

"By destroying the Grimle—" Chrom's words died in his throat as he realized just who he sounded like.

Sumia's hand drifted to his arm. "What's wrong?"

"My father… went to war for the same reason." Sweat rolled down Chrom's face, no longer merely because of the temperature. "He destroyed their nation and our own in his attempt to stamp out the Grimleal. Emm spent so much of her life laboring under his legacy. Both of them are watching me now." He looked down at his fists on the table. "This land has known enough war. I won't stain it with a third in a single generation."

"…Shall we bring them in?" offered Grima. "The future children. They may offer new insight."

"Now I understand." Laurent adjusted his glasses. "I must say that it's very courteous of the fell dragon to give us an adequate chance to exchange information."

"Don't look forward to total privacy!" laughed Morgan. She and her father's enemies were gathered in Laurent's room upstairs in a small circle of chairs.

Owain could see Laurent was thinking hard. The myrmidon asked him, "What do you think?"

"Insufficient information to make a decisive conclusion on the correct course of actions," said Laurent. "However, I believe our probability of survival will change little whether we exist in the proximity of Grima or not. Careful observation will inhibit his actions and gather additional information to form a working theory."

"Can you say that again in human words?"

"Watch him so he doesn't act and we can decide as more details emerge."

Morgan said to Nah, "Feeling any better yet?"

Nah shook her head. Her hands were folded in her lap with her eyes fixed firmly on the floor in front of her. "Laurent," she said quietly. "How did you feel killing for the first time?"

He didn't answer right away. Laurent let his gaze wander to the ceiling and spent a good while ruminating on the question. "…I experienced it twice," he said. "I was discovered and set upon by a lone Risen in our time. One Wind spell sufficed to defeat it. Upon arriving here, I encountered a bandit before I encountered a mirage village. I defeated him."

Owain frowned slightly. "Okay, but what did you do after?"

"My supplies had run out and I was in the midst of seeking the nearest remnant of human civilization I believed to still exist when I found the Risen. Other Risen were nearby. There was no time to stop and mourn, and I proceeded to my destination. It was much the same in the second scenario I provided."

"Sounds like me," said Morgan. "You didn't feel anything."

Pain slipped into Laurent's expression. "…I am attempting not to remember what I felt in that time. My actions were rationally sound. Inhibiting my likelihood of survival by delaying over my actions would've been… unjustifiable."

"Aw, you too?" Morgan looked around. "Am I the only one who didn't mind?"

They didn't respond.

"You know, have you guys noticed?" Morgan sat up and searched through her coat for one of her books. "Once you get the first time out of the way, the Shepherds are super good at killing people."

"What are you talking about?" asked Owain.

"You can look a human in the eye as you kill them, right?" Morgan looked Owain in the eye. "Ignoring the feelings and stuff. We're Father's elite task force, so we take on small engagements in situations like this all the time. But in large-scale warfare—the stuff he had me handle—there wasn't as much death as I expected." She flipped through her book. "Most of the time, hardly anyone actually bites the dust till one side gets forced into a retreat. Once they turn their back and run away… you guys have felt it too, right?" Morgan's dark eyes glittered. "It's so appealing! How could you not go for the kill? The urge hits so hard! Owain, aren't you all about boiling blood rage? You just wanna—pounce and rip 'em apart!"

Morgan made ripping and tearing gestures on the air in front of her. Dried blood covered her bright hair and face and breastplate. Nah grimaced. Owain gave Morgan that look again. Laurent's mouth was a thin line.

"Point is," sighed Morgan, "it's way easier to kill someone when their back is turned. That's when most of the killing happens. But for us, we don't do that. We get to see the life leave their eyes."

"I really don't like this topic," muttered Owain.

"I believe the Risen serve as conditioning," mused Laurent. "They maneuver in combat as a living human does and are physically identical in almost all aspects to a living human. However, they are demonstrably non-sapient. Killing them is more easily justifiable than a living human while nonetheless being human enough to make the transition easier." He looked at Nah. "We must defeat Grima."

A shadow crossed Morgan's face for an instant.

"By contributing to the downfall of the fell dragon, we save many lives—innocent and guilty alike. We can't fail in that objective, and that dying would be counterproductive should go without saying. We must live in order to reach that point. Therefore, our lives have much higher value overall than any given opponent we may face."

Nah didn't look convinced. If anything, she looked even more conflicted.

Laurent realized his words weren't helping and quieted down. He just explained the rationale he functioned under. They had objective justification to choose their own lives over others. What else could she be looking for?

"Well!" Morgan clapped her hands together and beamed at them. "Great to get caught up with you guys! Why don't we check in with Father?"

"Indeed," said Laurent. "I must maximize the time you two spend under observation to minimize your opportunity to take action. You must be observed at all hours of the day, regardless of activity."

"Excuse me?!" Morgan got up and drew back from him. "Do we not get privacy anymore?"

"Of course not." Laurent got up right after her. "Any moment could be your chance to initiate a first strike from which we cannot recover."

"Is this because I let you bring me to your room? I don't consent to any of this! Nah, tell him off for me!"

In the moment he spent turning in expectation of a reply, Morgan slipped out of the room and slammed the door on the way out. Laurent realized his mistake and ran out after her. A door down the hall just finished closing, but remained slightly ajar. He rushed to push it open—

Perched on the top of the door, a heavy bucket slammed down on his head and sent him to the floor. Morgan's books spilled from the bucket.

"Hahahaha!" Morgan picked up her father's tactics and bonked the downed Laurent on the head with it. "Not to mention, it'll make you way too predictable. While we're at it, help me pick these up?"

"Morgan," called Grima from downstairs. "Join us. Bring the others."

All of the Shepherds gathered around the table on the main floor of the library. Morgan dived into her father's lap without a second of hesitation. Surrounded by females, Lon'qu decided the best shelter from them was peeking over a high bookshelf.

Chrom looked at Owain as the latter posed fabulously in his chair beside Lissa. "Robin told us a great deal. You're Lissa's son, correct?"

"Yes, o fellow scion of the great hero!" Owain's hand trembled with surging power that didn't exist as he held it over his face. "Glad I can finally call you Uncle Chrom again."

"Uncle?" Chrom wasn't used to hearing that word directed at him. "That would explain your stance. You've crafted your own style around it, but it's clearly from the royal house of Ylisse. Do you know Lucina?"

"How could I not? Lucina is the light of hope in a world drowned by the black of despair, sailing yonder by the tides of time under the name of the Hero-King to—"

"How long do you think we have until Grima rises from his slumber?" asked the fell dragon himself.

Owain shifted in his seat. Laurent narrowed his eyes. Nah tensed up. Morgan exhaled in an attempt to avoid laughing. Grima's only warning was to loosely wrap his arms around her waist.

"More than five years from now," said Laurent. "The turn of the new decade heralds another war. Only after the conclusion of that war did Grima emerge."

"You returned with a plan of action, correct?" said Miriel. "A method by which to slay the fell dragon."

"Save Emmeryn from assassination," said Laurent. "And secure the Fire Emblem and its five gemstones. Such were the orders delivered to us."

"Saving Emm…" Chrom felt a twinge of pain in his heart.

"Events changed," said Owain. "In our time, her death sent the land into chaos. The war against Plegia lasted for many years. After her sacrifice, it came to an end in one."

"When we fought for Emm, Lucina was there both times," noted Chrom. He looked at Robin. "Did you speak with Lucina or the future children here to find out as much as you know?"

"Both," he said simply. "Regarding the Fire Emblem, I understand the purpose. Morgan, do you know?"

She shook her head.

"With all of them, the exalted bloodline can commune with Naga and perform the Awakening. Falchion will strike as her fang once more." Grima smiled dryly. "Wait for the fell dragon to emerge and cut him down in battle. Isn't that right?"

"…Yeah," said Nah quietly. "That's right."

"Robin?" prompted Lissa. "Do you know about the five gemstones?"

"Argent, Sable, Gules, Azure, and Vert." Grima recited each of their names easily. "Each holds a portion of Naga's power." His gaze moved to the Binding Shield, propped up on the wall behind Chrom. "That shield is a wondrous artifact of the ancient past. The perfect conduit for the power of dragons…" His hunger for the Binding Shield was rearing its head. Grima strangled it back down. "Only with the gemstones restored is the Fire Emblem truly complete."

Chrom looked at Laurent. "The war you spoke of… was it between Ylisse and Plegia too?"

"It couldn't have," said Grima. "Not for our reasons."

Chrom thought about it. "Then there may be a war with another faction, for another reason…"

"The war was instigated by Valm in their bid to conquer the world," provided Laurent.

"Morgan," prompted Grima. "We discussed the possibility of waging war on Plegia to destroy the Grimleal. Provide your analysis."

Morgan tried to spot her father by tilting her head back as much as she could. "Anything?" She wasn't sure if Grima wanted her to mislead them.

"Speak openly."

She nodded. "Chrom, I read about the Ylisse-Plegia wars as part of my studies. Like father, like son, huh?"

Chrom's breathing hitched. He choked down the bitter resentment. "What would happen if we tried it?"

Morgan sat forward a little more in her father's lap and traced her finger on the table. Her mind's eye saw a map under her hand. Her eyes hardened and the tactician came out. "Their men have been depleted by the war we just finished. Everyone's in disarray. An alliance with Regna Ferox would give us more than enough power to run them over if they fight like last time. On the other hand, it won't just be about the war. The Grimleal are an integral part of Plegian culture. Nobody really liked Gangrel that much, and even less after Emmeryn died, so they kinda rolled over for us in the late-game. The Border Wastes would've been a lot harder otherwise. Even if they're not crazy about Grima, it's their religion we'd be trying to stamp out."

She looked up at Chrom. "We could try a surgical operation to destroy the Dragon's Table, but it'll become a crusade one way or another. The people will riot and take up arms. You'll have to wipe out Plegia and all its people. There won't be much left for Ylisse to annex." Morgan's finger stopped and she hummed aloud. "Now that I think about it, Ylisse wouldn't like it either. There might be civil war too. You'd be lucky to see the end of the Grimleal before someone poisoned your meal or murdered you in your sleep."

The blood drained from Chrom's face. He stared at her with zero emotion.

Morgan adjusted herself until she was snuggling up to Grima, blissfully ignorant of the line she just crossed. "How was that, Father?"

She gasped as his arms squeezed painfully tight around her stomach. A brief grimace slipped through on the fell dragon's face. He didn't mean to do that. He quickly relaxed.

"…Thank you for your input, Morgan." Grima's scarlet eyes betrayed all of the fury that his face hid. He addressed the table, "It just occurred to me that all of our prior brainstorming sessions were only between the two of us. Perhaps I should've warned you."

Morgan finally noticed Chrom's reaction. "Sorry," she said quickly.

"I see the idea is unpalatable," said Grima. "It was only a prediction of the most likely outcome should we attempt it. We needn't do it. Follow the future children's plans and acquire the five gemstones." He reached for the bag by his chair for his maps. "But before we deal with the fell dragon, we have a Goddess Staff to—"

"No," said Chrom.

Grima stopped. Father and daughter looked at him.

"I was postponing this until after the battle." Chrom's blue eyes locked onto his tactician. "You're my friend, Robin. We've placed our lives in your hands many times just to gather here. You've fought and risked your life for our cause." He leaned forward with elbows on the table. "You're also an enigma that's impossible to unravel. You're our stalwart ally, but I've noticed you only forge your bonds by entering the hearts of others—without letting anyone in until your hand is forced."

Grima's eyes narrowed. He didn't even realize such a dangling thread existed, yet the prince spotted it.

Morgan looked around the table. Only grim expressions greeted her back. "Father," she said. "What's going on?"

"Today was the first time I've seen you fight so violently," said Chrom. "Maybe I should've expected as much, given your inclination towards unarmed combat…" His eyes slid to Morgan. "But she's much the same. You two have many pertinent secrets and your style of fighting today was… frankly, it was disturbing. What happened since you were gone?"

Grima's eyes flitted around the table. The future children seemed reticent about outing the fell dragon themselves, but they certainly wouldn't do a thing if Chrom wandered into the truth on his own. More pressingly, the present Shepherds seemed to share the prince's unsettled feelings.

"…This is because of her remark," said Grima. "Morgan, do you remember why the war before ours ended?"

"Yup," she chirped. "Some guy on the street got sick of all the people dying. When Chrom's father returned from a campaign, the guy broke into the castle at night and—"

"What if something happened to your father?" mumbled Lissa. "What if someone said that thing might happen to you?"

"I'd be so mad—" Finally, Morgan's mind clicked. Her eyes shifted to Chrom. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

The prince let out a breath.

"It is a common sore topic," said Grima. "Something a human would, in most cases, naturally know to avoid without conscious thought."

"But it didn't occur to you at all," said Sumia. "Everyone slips up and says something they don't mean every once in a while—but with the way you fought today… I'm sorry, but sometimes it's like you really don't care how people feel."

"We cannot."

Grima clenched his teeth as the focus of the table settled on him. His arms wrapped tighter around Morgan. He hated talking about it. He wanted to slam his fist down on the table hard enough to shatter it. He wanted to smite every Shepherd around him and the library they sat in with the hammer of divine fury. He wanted to crush Morgan's spine in his arms. He forced everything to settle with a low growl. "This is a topic I'd prefer not covering again."

"Knowing but not feeling," said Lissa. She recalled the words she exchanged with Morgan months and months ago, marching through the deserts of Plegia. "That's what it means? Being able to do all that to people?"

"Without hesitation. Without mercy. Without empathy." Grima moved his hands to his chair's armrests so he could crush them instead of his daughter. "These are concepts that don't come so easily anymore. This isn't a new development. It didn't happen while we were gone. We simply forgot today."

"You forgot to not rip people's innards out with your hands?" asked Chrom incredulously. "I really shouldn't have to tell you that torturing our enemies to death isn't standard operating procedure for the Shepherds."

The fell dragon growled. More accurately, he got carried away and forgot his allies would have a negative reaction to it. He didn't care about stomping on a few worms. On the contrary, he enjoyed it. Of course, that was something he definitely couldn't say out loud.

"Indeed," said Grima quietly. "You have my apologies."

"You fought once before in this manner," said Lon'qu from atop the bookshelf. "The Midmire."

Cordelia nodded. "Your way of fighting has always been pragmatic. I was under the impression stress had induced it that time."

"Today was also pragmatic," muttered Grima. "One acts as lookout while one is occupied and only during lulls in the battle. Morgan, you should bear that in mind as well. More enemies were in the vicinity when you gutted that mage."

"Robin." Chrom's voice was strained. "You planned out chances to kill them slowly?"

His eye twitched. His fingers dug into the arms of his chair. Grima averted his gaze. "One of them struck my daughter." The words rushed out as quickly as they could so he couldn't regret them in time.

Chrom wanted to retort immediately but found his attention wandering to Sumia. His thoughts drifted to Lucina—his own daughter, somewhere out there in the world but also waiting to be born into it. He remembered his reaction to Emmeryn's fall. "I can understand that," he said slowly. "Even so, it shouldn't be done. And Morgan was certainly out of line."

"I am aware," growled the fell dragon. "…Nah. You killed for the first time today. How does it feel?"

Nah shook her head. "I don't know what to make of it," she said quietly. "It feels horrible. I know we had to fight or they would've killed us, but that doesn't make me feel better in the slightest."

"I don't get it," said Morgan. Prince and fell dragon looked at her. "Killing is supposed to be a terrible thing no matter what, but none of us have any issue with it. It's ending a life forever. All of the Shepherds can look someone in the eye as they kill them and don't bat an eye. Is it really such a big deal that they hurt a little more before they go?"

Not a single person could react to that. To some degree, they were stunned by the proof that the cheery bubbly Morgan was, deep down, exactly as unfeeling and cold-blooded as her father. They also reached for answers to the question hidden under hers, silently shoved away into the backs of their minds but now dragged to the front—how come the rest of them could kill so easily too?

Grima's eyes sharpened. "I'm going to ask Morgan a question you may not like. Will any of you adjourn?" When none did, he asked her, "How did it feel opening that man? Don't tell us what you should've felt—only what you did feel."

Morgan thought back. "It was really interesting," she said. "I never really stuck my hands in anyone before, so it was a new experience. It was a lot more like processing game than I expected. I learned a lotta new information from it. Human meat really feels just like any other raw meat—squished around under my fingers the same way. Felt as warm too. Even though they're people, opening them up and pulling stuff out felt exactly like when we hunted the deer and—"

Nah clapped a hand to her mouth just in case she couldn't hold back her vomit. Owain looked repulsed. Laurent pulled the brim of his hat down to cover his disgust. Sumia and Cordelia both pushed themselves away from the table. Lissa's hands covered her mouth. Miriel went to adjust her glasses and poked herself in the eye. Lon'qu was no longer visible over the bookshelf.

Morgan laughed nervously. "Hahaha. Um. Too much information?"

"New experience," repeated Grima quietly. "New information. I asked her what she felt. She had no emotions to describe."

Chrom was lost, and it showed on his face.

"Morgan, stand." Grima slowly, deliberately rose to his feet after her. "I imagine the rest of you need time to discuss this without us. The two of us will adjourn to the inn. Resummon us at your convenience. Our path through the desert must still be charted." He looked at his daughter, and the smiling father was back. He held her hand. "Let's go together, Morgan."

They left the library. The door creaked shut behind them.

A single book fell over on the shelf, and the Shepherds exploded.

"What's going on?" said Sumia in a panic. "He meant that? Robin meant all that?!"

Owain clutched his head in both hands. "Lucina…!"

"Hearing those words come out of Morgan's mouth was terrifying," said Cordelia, shaken.

Nah wheezed, fighting down waves of nausea.

"I never anticipated that," said Miriel.

Lissa exhaled. "They've been like that this whole time…"

"He's unquestionably capable of doing the described actions to us as well," said Laurent.

"We knew he enjoyed it," said Lon'qu. "But never how much till now."

Cordelia sat back. "I don't know what I expected."

"Will Morgan be okay with him?" asked Sumia.

"No way Robin would hurt her," said Lissa. "But she's really turning out just like him."

"That's what I meant."

"Morgan gutted him with her hands," muttered Owain. "And described it so easily…" He looked again at Nah. The two manaketes couldn't be more different in this aspect.

"What do we do?" asked Cordelia. "Discuss with the rest of the Shepherds?"

"There is a word for what that man is," said Laurent. "Evi—"

Chrom lifted his arm and everyone silenced. He lowered it.

"Truth be told, I expected something like this," said the prince. "Robin and Morgan are the farthest thing from normal. I suppose I didn't prepare myself enough for the full extent of the truth."

Laurent, Nah, and Owain exchanged a look. Chrom didn't know the full truth yet.

"He is a danger to us all," said Laurent.

That earned a flicker of irritation across the prince's face. "He's our tactician. Robin has guided us in battle unerringly. I know you haven't met him before. Outside of battle, he's… unusual…"

Cordelia and Sumia sighed. Lissa suppressed a giggle at the memory of the mostly naked Chrom chasing Robin through camp screaming bloody murder.

"But I'm certain he has our best intentions at heart," said Chrom firmly. "He reaches out to us in his own way. His alliances are clear and the ties between us are true. Robin won't turn on us."

Owain looked down and forced himself not to rebut it.

"Morgan talked about how we fight," said Nah.

Lissa's expression turned serious again. "I keep lying in bed thinking about fighting the next fight. And then I think about Emm, and about… Argh! It's all too much! I'm sick of all this stupid grief and mourning! And I'm tired of people dying! I don't even want our enemies to die anymore. I'm just… tired."

"It's an extremely weighty topic," muttered Cordelia. "But as soldiers, we have to. I've lost track of how many lives I've taken. The Risen and the living all blend together…"

Looking around the table, Laurent noticed most of the other Shepherds felt the same. "I proposed a hypothesis upstairs," he said. "The emergence of the Risen conditions us to more easily neglect the value of human life."

"It's not that we didn't think about it," said Sumia. "It's hard to think about. Should we be thinking about it?"

They shifted uneasily.

"We fight in the name of a better world," said Chrom. "There are men who only ruin the lives of others. There are causes worth dying for and worth killing for." But after a moment, he conceded, "We also ought doubt ourselves at every step. Once we lose sight of what we fight for, and why, against whom, we lose everything. It's a difficult balance to find."

"How much do you guys know about Robin and Morgan?" asked Owain, changing the topic.

"He was discovered unconscious by Chrom, Lissa, and Frederick within the vicinity of Southtown near the Plegian border," said Miriel. "Robin had sustained injuries by battling the Grimleal he escaped from."

"Um…" Lissa fidgeted in her seat. "Robin told me to keep it a secret, but I think this is really important. Chrom, remember when we first met him?"

"In that field." Chrom sat back and thought about it. "He was very confused back then. I offered him my right hand to help him stand, but he tried to take it with his left. He needed a moment before he used his right hand and—" He blinked. "There was a mark on it."

"He told me the Grimleal brand some of their human sacrifices with it," said Lissa softly. "Morgan has it too."

"Robin never told us about his parents or what exactly happened to him either," said Chrom. "That's what he ran away from? And Morgan… she came from a future with not only the Grimleal, but the Risen and Grima himself." The prince looked around at the future children currently at the table. "You three seem very well-adjusted despite coming from the same future."

Laurent, Owain, and Nah exchanged another look. None of them knew Morgan, and they couldn't say for certain whether that was the truth of Robin's background or a lie that Grima fed the Shepherds.

"Lucina as well," mused Chrom. "Did something happen to Morgan in the past? Er, future. The future past?"

"Allow me to propose another hypothesis," said Laurent. "Although we may not have killed the living before arriving in this time, we of the future have all seen the deaths of friends and strangers alike."

Owain closed his eyes for a moment. "People we couldn't save."

Nah nodded her agreement.

"There exist certain cases of amnesia," continued Laurent. "People that committed actions so terrible that the mind is incapable of reconciling with itself and suppresses all memory to continue functioning… and people upon whom those actions were committed." He gave Owain and Nah a pointed look—a hint as to which option Laurent personally suspected, and they could easily guess who he thought was responsible.

Miriel continued for him. "The event is blocked from the mind and made difficult to access, but continues to impact the person regardless."

"This provides no justification for their actions now," said Laurent. "It is only a possible explanation as to the root of it."

"So in order to survive," said Sumia, "they became… that?"

Chrom got up. "We shouldn't continue this discussion without them. I'll be back shortly." When the Shepherds made to get up and follow, he waved them down. "Thank you, but I want to do this alone."

Grima rushed to the inn as fast as he could without running. Morgan had to jog to keep up. As soon as they had a room, the fell dragon swept in, restrained himself just enough to avoid slamming the door, and then slammed his head against the wall. That was all he could allow himself. He couldn't allow himself to run rampant. He had more important things to do.

"Damn it all," he seethed into the wall. His voice dripped with untold rage. "I made a mistake." A growl started up as he paced about the room and checked his person—Mjölnir in his coat pocket, trusty steel sword at his side as always. "Morgan, are your weapons ready?"

Resting on her knees on top of the bed, Morgan did as ordered and checked again. All three El-tomes and her father's tactics were hidden in her coat, her Levin Sword was with her as her father warned her to always carry, and her locket hung at her belt. "Everything's here, Father. What's going on?"

"Imminent death," he growled. "I forgot… damn it, I forgot!" Grima's fist swung at the wall—

He stopped half an inch from its surface. Grima shuddered and lowered his arm. "There are other reasons to condemn me," he snarled. "It needn't be my true identity that breaks their trust. They're capable of fearing that I will act upon them as I do my enemies. That alone is enough."

The fell dragon's breathing was ragged. Morgan had the opportunity to revel in her draconic power as recently as the battle with the Deadlords less than a week ago. For several weeks, Grima neglected his need to rampage and it slipped out on its own in the midst of combat in front of the Shepherds. It cost him! Grima turned and threw his back against the wall, swallowing down the desire to grab that table over there and obliterate the window with it.

Morgan got up, concerned. "Father… are you okay?"

"Shut up."

She flinched.

Anger flared again, directed at himself. He had to keep her happy to make full use of her! Grima tried to steady his breathing. "I shouldn't say that. Don't… No, Morgan. I am not okay." Grima paced about the room, his coat swishing every time he turned. It was a vain attempt to work off his restlessness.

"Is it my fault?" asked Morgan. "I got carried away in the fight. I didn't see what Chrom was thinking."

"No. No. No." Grima forced himself to sit down. Perhaps stilling his body would still his mind. "I still have control," he muttered to himself. "I can control this. I can salvage this. If the Shepherds turn their weapons against me, we must kill Nah and then the two fliers. After that, we will seek out the village we left our retinue of pegasus knights at and kill them too before fleeing for the Table. We're not far."

"This isn't like you, Father." Morgan approached him and touched his shoulder. "What is it?"

Grima tensed up the instant her fingers brushed him. "They dare impose upon my heart?" he said between heavy breaths. "It is my domain alone. I cannot be read. Nobody can predict me. The fell dragon is above such things." He brushed her off and got back up, looking for an outlet for his anger in the tiny room. "I—everything was planned. I meant it to happen. Fate's designs are written by my hand and nobody else."

Morgan didn't get it. Her father's mind was supposed to be a fortress. He could wade through an ocean of steel to kill one enemy without blinking. Even the future children appearing barely fazed him. Grima was more stable staring death in the face. When did he ever panic like this?

The fell dragon swept towards the end of the room. "I'll kill them for this disgrace. Tear their heads from their shoulders. Make them feel their skin tear and every sinew in their necks snap as my bare hands pry—"

He turned, mad scarlet eyes staring into nothing, and found a white-haired blur fly into him and bring him to a halt.

"Morgan." Grima's voice trembled with rage. "Unhand me. I will break you." It wasn't a threat so much as a warning.

"You won't hurt me." She hugged him tighter, his arms pinned under hers. "I know you won't."

"You are disobeying me." His knuckles turned white as his fists tightened at his sides. "Let. Go."

Morgan only held him even tighter, face buried in his chest.

They both knew that Grima could break free whenever he wanted. She couldn't stop him if she tried. She wasn't achieving anything but disobeying his orders. All Morgan was doing was risking herself.

"My mind functions," growled the fell dragon. "I can strategize. Get your hands off me."

"That's not it," Morgan said into his shirt. She felt him tense up even more in her grasp—confusion towards her actions fueled his anger further. "I just don't like seeing you so lost. Come back, Father."

"You—" Grima didn't know where he was going. The next word never came to his mind. Rage towards the Shepherds for prying into him, rage towards himself for slipping up, rage towards her for defying his orders—all of it festered in him, demanding to break free. He'd barely have to try. His mind's eye saw Morgan seized by the face and her head struck against the window until the glass and her skull alike broke under his fingers.

Grima's face distorted with fury. He shook her off in an instant and sent her stumbling two steps back. He took one step after her to do exactly what he envisioned.

A nameless black fire roared in his chest, snuffed out the hot inferno, and vanished leaving nothing behind.

He had no energy to take the second step.

Morgan's heart pounded in her ears. The ground slid back and forth under her feet. Her shallow breaths seared her lungs.

Grima collapsed against her. Morgan caught him and kept him standing in her arms with some difficulty.

"F-Father?" she tried softly.

"My ally," he muttered. "Indispensable. Irreplaceable. I cannot afford to lose you. That's the only reason…"

Finally, Morgan understood. "Father," she repeated. "Do you remember my promise to you?"

He didn't react.

"I won't betray you, no matter what. I'll always be at your side. I'll never try to control you. You know me. It's okay to trust me. There's no need to be afraid of me." She spoke to convince herself as much as him. Morgan took a deep breath. "That's why… Please, Father. Won't you let me in?"

Grima was silent. Morgan remained wrapped around him. She had to be delicate now. Any wrong move could break this moment. She waited, and waited, and waited.

His arms linked around her back.

He didn't offer her a single word. He didn't allow her to see his face. He didn't let her in. But for Morgan, that was proof enough.

She smiled slightly. "Time to return the favour for all those times you let me hold you," said Morgan softly. "I'm right here."

"…Morgan," he muttered.

"Yes, Father?"

Grima exhaled. "I—"

The door opened.

For just an instant, Chrom glimpsed the two tacticians holding each other. His hand still on the doorknob, Chrom saw Robin's dull scarlet gaze slide from the wall in front of him to the prince in the corner of his eye.

The rage roared back to life. Grima was gone from Morgan's grasp, his steel sword flying from its sheath as he crossed the room with an inarticulate scream. A split second too late to the draw, Chrom reached for Falchion—

Morgan leapt onto her father's back, pinning Grima's arms to his sides with her own. "Father, wait!"

"Stop." Grima only offered token resistance to shake her off, scarlet eyes locked onto Chrom. "Let go of me, Morgan."

Morgan looked up at Chrom over her father's shoulder. "What are you here for?"

"To talk!" said Chrom. "Robin, I'm only here to talk!"

"He's not here to fight," said Morgan. "Father, pull it together!"

One more scream of rage, and then Grima sheathed his blade. His breath was heavy and ragged as he removed Morgan from himself and straightened to his full height. His eyes remained wide, fingers twitching as he reined himself in.

"We were having a moment!" Morgan said to Chrom. "Didn't anyone ever teach you to knock?"

"I'm sorry!" said Chrom. "I was in a hurry—didn't think it would work."

"How long have you been there, Chrom?!" snarled Grima. "What did you hear?!"

Chrom blinked. For the very first time, Robin's face was turning red. The prince couldn't hold back the smile creeping onto his face. As far as he knew, he just walked in on a surprising new side of his typically unflappable tactician. Robin, embarrassed enough to light up?

"I heard enough." Chrom invited himself into the room. "Take off your gloves."

That was a dangerous line. The fell dragon fought down his rage and recomposed himself. His eyes narrowed.

"Lissa told us about it," explained the prince.

"Lissa." Grima's tone was completely flat. "Have you forgotten the definition of a secret…?" Even so, he removed his gloves. A quick nod told Morgan to do the same. As one, they presented their right hands and the violet Mark of Grima on the backs of them.

"You ran from the Grimleal," said Chrom. "I take it Morgan must have experienced a similar fate. Is that what made you—"

"It doesn't matter." Grima cut him off. "The path doesn't change the destination."

"I'd agree if we were enemies. You're my friend, Robin."

Grima had to do a double take.

"I told you before—our ties, and everything we've done to make them, are real. Understanding you more can never break them." Chrom caught his gaze and held it. "You don't have to hide. Tell me, Robin. Let me understand my friend."

"Where is your fear?" asked Grima. "Where is your suspicion?"

Chrom raised an eyebrow. "Why would I have either? You've proved yourself worthy of my trust again and again. I don't expect this to change that."

The gears whirred in Grima's head. Chrom wasn't supposed to accept such an inhuman mind. What could've made him see any semblance of humanity?

No. If the prince insisted, the fell dragon would prove how wrong he was.

"…When the time is right," Grima said carefully, "I swear I will tell you everything. I swear it on my life." Grima would explain everything as he fried the prince's heart to ash.

"We've got plenty of fish to fry," piped up Morgan. "The fell dragon, the war in a few years, the desert we're in right now."

Chrom took a good look at the two of them. "Alright, Robin. When the time is right." As the two tacticians began putting their gloves back on, he raised his voice slightly. "That said! Don't let me catch you partaking in any repeats of today's incident."

Grima decided the situation was better served not playing on his choice of words about merely not being caught. "It was a lapse in judgement. It won't happen again."

Chrom added to Morgan, "And please… spend a little more time thinking before you speak."

Morgan remembered her father getting decked the last time she pushed Chrom's buttons without knowing it. "Sorry, Chrom. I'll do my best."

As they made their way back to the library, Morgan found herself wrapped around her father's arm again. He seemed to have returned to his usual self—in other words, repressed to the point that Morgan once again had no idea if he was calm or a barely contained wildfire. She wondered what he was about to say to her before Chrom interrupted. She knew better than to hope for the best.

Lissa tapped a finger on her chin and thought. "Now that I think about it, Morgan played with Gangrel's head that one time."

"We know more," said Lon'qu from behind the shelf. "Nothing changes."

"There seems to be a consensus on Robin's tactical abilities," said Miriel. "However, this revelation is disconcerting regardless of the rational conclusion."

"It's a surprise for sure," said Lissa, "but they're our friends! Only thing that'll change that is if we stop letting them be our friends."

"It's easy enough to say," said Sumia. "But isn't it hard to look them in the eye knowing that?"

Cordelia kept her eye on the door, waiting for it to open and reveal the prince again.

As the present Shepherds discussed among themselves, the future children huddled on their side of the table. Laurent asked, "How do you two interpret this scenario?"

"Not being human in species is one thing," said Owain quietly. "Not being human in mind is a completely different game. At the same time, she seems like she really does want to be friends."

"Her scent makes no sense," muttered Nah. "Grima always wants to kill us and I can't tell what Morgan is thinking."

"What do you make of it?" Owain asked Laurent.

The mage adjusted his glasses. "Information remains insufficient to make a conclusion with any reliable degree of confidence," he said. "Grima must be slain. Morgan is ambiguous. We must prepare a schedule. Each day, one of us will track one of them to prevent them from acting. Monitoring will be managed in shifts. We will stall until Lucina returns and defer to her judgement on this matter."

Owain nodded. He noticed Nah remained forlorn with her head resting on her crossed arms on the table. A light tap on the shoulder got her attention. "Hey," he said. "I can talk to Chrom about having you stay here for a while. We'll pick you up on the way back to Ylisstol. These bandits… taking their lives doesn't really match with our goal. You don't have to fight more than—"

"I'll be fine." Nah sat up and composed herself. "Sorry about that. I'm strong! I can't let you guys do all the hard work for me."

The door opened and Cordelia almost jumped out of her chair. "Ah, Chrom!" She caught Sumia's quizzical look in the corner of her eye and hastily relaxed.

Chrom returned to his seat beside Sumia as Grima did the same on the opposite side. Morgan hopped into her father's lap, humming a merry tune to herself. "So!" she chirped. "Where'd we leave off?"

"The Goddess Staff and escaping the desert," said Grima. "The majority of our fliers are stationed outside the desert to prevent them from becoming liabilities in battle." He unfurled his maps and opened his notebooks. "Miriel, Laurent. Supply your input."

They hesitated. Grima held back from letting out a low snarl.

"They are our friends," Chrom reminded them. "I'm sure we could gather around a fire and spend hours trading stories about each of our experiences with them. Of them all, does anyone have a negative tale to share?"

The future Shepherds couldn't say anything that didn't dovetail into outing Grima and a deathmatch against him and Morgan.

The battle in the courtyard of Plegia Castle rose to Cordelia's mind. She let it settle unspoken—a day that all of them were at fault for.

"Nothing of relevance comes to my mind," said Miriel. Sumia shrugged the same notion.

"I got one!" Lissa raised her hand. "They put frogs in my bed!"

"After you put them in ours," pointed out Morgan. They blew raspberries at each other.

Lon'qu's voice floated over. "You conspired to stuff another frog down my shirt."

Chrom realized the turn they had taken. He chuckled, "He's broken more of my teeth than any enemy and she cost a small fortune in fire damage to the castle."

After the ripple of subdued laughter settled, all eyes fell on Morgan. There was one more shadow on their minds, but it was hers to voice.

"We had a fight at the Midmire," she said softly. "It meant a lot. It hurt a lot. But that's exactly why!" Morgan looked up with a fire in her eye. "We learned a lot from it. That's what it's all about, right? Learning and moving forward."

"You don't have to believe in them," Chrom addressed the room. His eyes remained on Robin. "But I have faith in them."

Grima's scarlet eyes flitted over the room. As grand as it sounded, he could see traces of doubt in their expressions. He ignored the future children. Sumia and Cordelia would place their faith in the prince, but that didn't inhibit their personal worries. Perhaps Cordelia would be assuaged if the Shepherds returned to Ylisstol fully intact—a way of making it up to her lost pegasus unit. Lissa, to the fell dragon's surprise, seemed earnest. He couldn't quite get a solid read on Lon'qu with the swordmaster so curt and hidden behind a shelf. Miriel was similarly opaque.

It seemed this wasn't an absolute deal-breaker, somehow. It was possible for the humans to move past it. This only presented another problem.

He had the prince's trust, but some of these Shepherds doubted him. And when word inevitably reached the other Shepherds, how would they react? He needed to distract them with a greater obstacle than himself and reforge these bonds before they stretched any thinner.

"…My blade flies for your cause," said Grima. With a dry smile, he added, "More importantly, you can hardly fire both your tacticians when we're all stuck in the same village in the middle of nowhere. Let's get started on these maps."

Author's notes: I tweaked the phrasing last chapter to alleviate the wording issues and I'll keep those in mind going forward. Regarding Chrom's reaction, that led to a train of thought I think was pretty productive for fleshing out the next steps, so thanks for the input. Chapter 22 also has an extra line on identifying Porcus as Porcus. Now, descriptions, descriptions… I don't know. Are long-winded descriptions in vogue nowadays? I find myself gravitating towards works with short, straight descriptions. But now that it's been mentioned, perhaps I will split off into a sequel within two or so chapters as I really delve into the timeskip, and by sequel I mean direct continuation that picks up right where this leaves off.