Author's note: Remember when I said I really like Destiny (Ablaze)? I finally pulled it out for this duel. Every fight's an experiment, as they say, probably. This is the last "real" chapter. I have a handful of closing notes, but this is where Change of Heart leaves off. Don't worry, we'll pick right back up soon! Ahh, things I want to say here, things I want to say there… the only really important thing would be, thanks for reading all the way to this chapter!

Ultimate staff or no, Owain was exhausted. He still managed to clap Laurent on the back without falling over. "Impressive maneuver, Laurent! We might not be here without your spectacular genius, hero of the future."

"A logical course of action," said Laurent. "Nah, how do you feel?"

The manakete was crouched down by the water's edge. She finished cleaning her face and hair of blood with a wet towel and watched the hot wind sending ripples over the surface of the water. "I got over it," she said simply. "You don't have to worry about me anymore." Nah took a shaky breath. "Really."

Sumia stabbed the fourth and final silver lance into the ground. She wiped the sweat off her brow and looked around. The Shepherds gathered by the edge of the oasis on the dry, packed earth. Miriel's Elfire scorched pitch black lines between the planted lances, forming a large square to battle in. The three future children gathered under one of the palm trees nearby.

"Who gets the fifth silver lance?" Sumia asked her fellow pegasus knight.

"By all means, consider it yours," said Cordelia. Arms folded, she tapped one finger on her arm as she assessed their pile of looted silver weapons. "I should take the time to keep track of where these go too," she muttered to herself. "Unfortunate we didn't get any tomes or swords."

"Father…" Morgan frowned as she held up Mjölnir by the covers and shook it. Bits of sand flew from between its pages. "Getting all this out is gonna take forever! You're cleaning whatever's still in here."

"Morgan," said Cordelia, "what do you think? About these weapons."

"Frederick's lance was getting pretty worn out. Two fliers and three cavaliers, so this adds up perfectly! But we've got more axes than we know what to do with now…"

Lissa tried to swing one of the silver axes. Lon'qu narrowly ducked and said, "Lissa?!"

"Oh, you're fine," said Lissa. She dumped the axe back on the pile. "Saw it coming ages before it got there! Too heavy for me anyway. Sticking to iron!"

"Wanna get your staff out?" said Morgan. Her gaze wandered to the now-defunct Goddess Staff on Lissa's back as she unslung her trusty Mend staff. Morgan mused aloud, "Hmm… I wonder if we could scrounge up a Hammerne for that thing."

"The probability of uncovering such a commodity is vanishingly infinitesimal," said Miriel. "Although when the existence of the Goddess Staff in our possession at all is taken into consideration, perhaps it's not unreasonable to conclude we may uncover another elusive item again."

The Shepherds walked about at the edges of the arena. Chrom and Grima stood in opposite corners, blades still sheathed. The prince watched his men over the top of his flask. The fell dragon kept his gaze on his opponent as his hand tousled his daughter's hair without thinking.

"So what's up?" chirped Morgan. "I would've thought we'd be heading back to the village. Why the duel?"

"You needn't concern yourself with it," said Grima. Scarlet eyes found Morgan's dark gray and then jumped back to Chrom. Later, his gaze promised.

"Father…" She tugged on his sleeve until she received his ear. Morgan whispered, "Isn't this kinda rigged? You could definitely win if you had all your options, but there's no way you can outdo him in just swordplay."

"I'm aware of the situation." He took on that empty smile he used to reassure her. "More importantly, when did I teach you to take any matchup at face value?"

Morgan laughed and swung his arm from side to side. "Good luck, Father!"

Grima hesitated. His lips brushed her forehead, and then the fell dragon nudged her away. As his daughter wandered off to bug someone else, his scarlet eyes settled on the other manakete.

Getting to her feet, Nah couldn't tell what the fell dragon was thinking—or what that grin creeping across his face was supposed to mean. She thought, Shouldn't you be mad we didn't die?

Grima raised an eyebrow at her. He tugged at the lapels of his coat, wiped the smile off his face, and returned his attention to Chrom.

"Oh, right, seconds!" said Morgan as she locked eyes with Lissa. They both nodded and ran to opposite corners of the arena as the rest of the Shepherds retreated to a healthy distance. Morgan's eyes glittered as she hopped on the spot and declared, "Alright! I want a good clean fight between you two! Fight until forfeit or till you're beaten so bad you can't get up! No leaving the arena, no tomes, no hand strikes—wait!" She protested to Chrom, "This is so rigged! You get full armour and a shield while Father doesn't even get a breastplate or tomes?"

The prince shrugged. "He agreed to it."

"Doesn't Robin have at least two magic skills?" said Lissa. "That's gotta be a big leg up over Chrom."

Morgan blinked. She tried to think back on whether they mentioned banning those. "Maybe it's more even than I thought…"

Chrom chuckled knowingly. He said to his tactician, "I'm sure if I tried you in a real fight, you'd find some way to drown me in the water over there."

"I'm close enough to kick you into it," said Grima.

"Oh? Then the time has come to put that into action."

Morgan looked between the two of them. This was just one of their usual spats, right? She shrugged, tucked Mjölnir under one arm, and raised the other high into the air. There was no helping the giddy grin—she really got a chance to call a duel!

Her arm sliced down. "BEGIN!"

All humour vanished from both combatants' faces as they drew their blades. Chrom threw his scabbard to the side—

Robin's thrown scabbard clanged off the Fire Emblem. The prince fully expected it, shoving the sheath over his head and away to see Robin closing the gap in moments. Falchion and steel sword collided. Chrom grunted, forced to take one step back onto the black border of the arena. He didn't give a single step more.

Grima didn't fight the shield bash and let Chrom shove him off, steel deflecting the Kingsfang when it struck next. The prince pressed the opening and advanced but couldn't find a way into his opponent's guard. Grima caught Chrom's stab for the heart, twisted it upwards, and then forced him to disengage with a seamless transition into a stab at the head. Both opponents stepped out of each other's range and slowly circled in the middle of the arena.

"Whoa," said Lissa as blades clashed again. "Those were kill moves! Are you sure this is a friendly duel?"

"They're completely confident the other will evade," muttered Lon'qu.

Laurent leaned in closer to Nah and whispered, "Be wary of Grima."

She yelped and jumped several feet away. "Too close!"

Morgan didn't notice the two of them. She was fully engrossed in the battle. Lissa's right, she thought. You're striking to kill. Maybe Chrom trusts you, but are you attacking because you trust Chrom?

Her fingers brushed her silver locket hanging at her belt.

Grima's boots kicked up a cloud of dust as he slid under a rising slash. Chrom wasted no time bringing his sword down in two hands. The steel sword rang uselessly against the prince's breastplate on its way to deflect the Kingsfang. Grima leapt away from the slash that followed, and they returned to neutral. The fell dragon growled quietly. Blood trickled from the thin red line on his cheek. He dived back in with a yell.

"That could've been a deciding trade," noted Cordelia. "If not for the armour."

Lissa shifted her weight. "But Ignis or Pavise—one use could end the fight."

"Chrom knows that," said Sumia. "He's not going to let it happen."

Backing away to the same distance as the others, Morgan's eyes scanned the grounds they chose for the fight. Barely any sand on its surface, no vegetation, completely flat, mostly smooth… "No way to use the terrain," she said aloud. "This is the sorta fight I never wanna be in."

Grima's sword clanged to a halt against the Binding Shield. Chrom responded with a one-handed gash to the side, but it didn't slow him down at all. Grima stepped in even closer and shoved the shield aside, but the prince's sword got in his way again. A swift parry, and Chrom had both distance and shield between them again.

The shield dominated Chrom's figure, masking every gap in his armour behind itself. His blade hovered beside it, ready to fly again. Grima hissed at the infuriating Binding Shield.

Chrom thrusted from behind it—

Grima was already sliding to the side out of its way. His steel sword slammed into the hole in the Kingsfang's base, but it was Chrom that twisted his blade and disarmed him using the lock. Grima's blade flew straight up into the air, the prince's sword flashed again, and Grima's scarlet eyes burned with anger as he caught the legendary blade with fingers of steel.

Pavise protecting his hands, Grima wrenched on the blade. As Chrom staggered past, Grima caught his sword on the way down and struck again, only to be blocked once more by the shield and then repelled by the sword with a new cut to his leg.

"The royal house of Ylisse's secret arts shine true." Owain stepped up to spectate at Morgan's side along with the rest of the future children. "Though he wields the Fire Emblem, no shield can disguise the warrior's heritage."

"Hm?" said Morgan. She was too wrapped up in the fight to decipher Owain.

"Yet at once, the wicked mind sees through it all…" Owain drifted into a fabulous pose without really thinking. "As he mastered Lucina's blade through observation, so too have Gr—Robin and Chrom's parallel rivers granted insight into the souls of their blades."

Chrom didn't give Grima any time to breathe, pressing the offensive relentlessly. Dots of Grima's blood decorated the sand as the Kingsfang gradually piled on the damage.

Morgan's face fell more the longer she watched. She shouted to the battle, "C'mon, Father! You can do it!"

Chrom saw the rage flare white-hot in his enemy's eyes. Ignis literally flared next, Chrom immediately raised his shield in anticipation of the mad father's fury—

The pink flames vanished unused. Grima's feint provided the instant he needed to flank and strike with a brutal two-handed swing that forced Chrom to meet it with both hands on his own blade.

Head-on, thought Morgan. Father didn't circle to the back?

Grima forced their blades to his right—Chrom's left, the same side as the shield—and then followed through on the motion. His armored leg smashed against the prince's head in a vicious roundhouse. Chrom cried out and staggered away with the fell dragon right on top of him.

"That's illegal!" said Sumia.

"No hand strikes!" cheered Morgan.

Falchion repelled the steel sword's slash. Head pounding in wake of the kick and trying to regain his bearings, Chrom raised the Fire Emblem to block whatever came next.

A blow far stronger than an ordinary slash shattered his guard. His arm wrenched aside and spun back with the blow, the Fire Emblem moved with it and Chrom sighted Robin. Black coat flaring around him, both of Robin's hands were on the blade of his sword—the entire weapon flipped to use the heavier cross as a hammer. Where his blade wasn't suited to get past Chrom's defense, Robin used the rest of the sword to break it open.

Grima spun his sword, hands flying along the blade as he rushed after the reeling prince. The Kingsfang ripped at his shoulder. He used that same shoulder to tackle Chrom's arm out of the way and take his final step. One hand closed around the grip of the steel sword as the other found its blade again, those scarlet eyes drilled into Chrom, a crazed peal of laughter left Grima's lips, and Chrom jerked his head back. His chin parted slightly as the steel sword sliced across it on the way to its secondary target.

The prince's heart skipped a beat as two leather straps broke and his arm suddenly felt much lighter.

Chrom let himself fall back and rolled onto his feet at the arena's blackened edge, sword ready to block an attack that never came. Grima kicked aside the Binding Shield. It landed out of the arena—out of the playing field either of them could reach.

"What was that?" asked Lissa. "He used the sword by holding the blade?"

"Some of Ylisse's combat manuals mentioned it," said Owain. "I'm surprised he knows it!" He glanced at his father—Lon'qu didn't look surprised at all.

"What you do in a fight is what's best for the situation," muttered Morgan under her breath. "There was always another option for armored enemies—using magic to fry them, or using the terrain to crush them, or sending another ally to fight them, or something else." She laughed and punched at the air. "You've got this, Father!"

"I don't know about that." Sumia's expression tightened as she assessed the battle. "The shield was a big advantage, but all those injuries just to get rid of it?"

"Yet one more price exists for disarming him of his defenses," said Miriel.

Chrom panted for breath under the sweltering desert sun with his blade in both hands. Grima raised an eyebrow at him with a mocking grin as he slowly retreated to the middle of their battlefield. Sweat and blood covered his own face and darkened his own shirt. Sarcasm oozed from every word out of Grima's mouth as he said, "Are you going to disqualify me?"

"Clever dastard," said Chrom. He rolled his left shoulder a few times, testing the feeling of his unburdened arm. "I should've known you'd find another way out. But don't get ahead of yourself. Now I'm warmed up!"

He gripped his legendary sword in both hands and leapt high into the air, crossing the gap with one massive jump to crash down on his opponent with a cleaving blow. Grima dived forward under his feet and came up turning with sword striking for the unprotected head from behind—

The Kingsfang blocked it in an instant and then nearly took Grima's own head as recompense. Fresh blood painted his white hair a deep red where Chrom's sword tore the side of his head. Red light shimmered and Pavise spared Grima the loss of his sword arm, but he was forced on the defensive in moments and that accursed blade showed no sign of stopping its assault.

Metal rang as their blades struck one another. Faint clouds of dust surrounded them, cape and coat flying in their wake as the fight accelerated. Backed to the arena's edge, Grima deflected the Kingsfang and let it cut his shoulder as he escaped the other way along the black border. It wasn't as drastic as Kjelle shedding her heaviest pieces, but Chrom became undeniably faster—from slightly above Grima's speed to noticeably above, and certainly more dexterous without the large shield weighing on one arm.

They clashed and Grima instantly forced Chrom into a bind to control the rampant blade. Chrom grunted as his opponent's boot slammed down on his toes, and then the steel sword tasted its first blood from Chrom's thigh. The prince's low swipe convinced Grima to get off his foot, Chrom moved to one side for better positioning as Grima moved to the other—

"Wha—" Chrom felt a hard jerk on his neck stop him in his tracks.

Sumia took a sharp breath.

Grima's foot pinned the corner of Chrom's long cape to the dirt.

A gleeful cackle escaped Grima's lips as his hand found the lower half of his blade to better aim his strike. Exalted blood stained the steel sword as Chrom leaned forward just under the stab at his head. A gouge to the back of Chrom's shoulder, and then a blind rising slash behind himself forced Grima to leap back with a new cut to his chest.

Grima spun across the arena, steel sword spinning in his hands. The cross of the sword came around as Chrom advanced, and Grima's sword smashed against his pauldron while the Kingsfang struck the steel blade between Grima's hands. Chrom's cracked shoulder was repaid with his sword rushing down the steel blade, missing Grima's fingers but biting deep into his leg.

Blood spurted from Grima's fresh wound as his other plated knee slammed into Chrom's gut—and then the fell dragon retreated, flipping his sword back into a proper grip to clash again.

Morgan was taken aback. "That was a good opening! What gives?"

"Robin's slower than Chrom," said Cordelia. "Using the cross of his sword is even slower. If he didn't win right there, Chrom wouldn't give him a chance to change his grip." She watched prince and tactician cross blades a moment longer before adding, "Robin has to work a lot harder than Chrom to get any hits in. He's going to lose unless he finds a setup for Ignis."

That was right! Morgan tore her eyes off Cordelia to focus on her father—the sweat flying off his hair, the bared teeth, the creeping fatigue mixed into the manic scarlet eyes. "Pavise went off a couple times already," said Morgan. "Ignis too, even though he didn't go through on it. Father, didn't you show your hand too early?"

"Worried he'll lose?"

"Nope!" Morgan beamed. "Just worried he's gonna get gutted by the time he wins."

Chrom and Robin crossed blades and then broke away from each other. Adrenaline pounded through Chrom's veins. He made the mistake of trying to approach the same way he had two minutes ago, and Robin instantly called it out. Steel caught Falchion and warded it from finding its mark while slicing Chrom's shoulder in the same motion. When Chrom stepped back, Robin's pressure was never quite the same as any stroke before it—always coming in just a little wrong, always just a little off in a way that kept the prince uncomfortable.

The enchanted coat did its job protecting its wearer, but Grima found himself covered in injuries nonetheless. A large red stain grew quickly across the front of his torn shirt. Chrom was far better off, but the cuts that found the gaps in his armour were just enough to hinder him. It was a barely perceptible shift in his style, but it was as clear as day to Grima—and nothing short of being physically crippled would slow down the fell dragon.

A well-aimed thrust of the Kingsfang bit into Grima's chest. The steel sword pushed it out and aside before it could dig through his ribs. Grima's counterattack broke even with neither side landing a hit. Pulling on every bit of his vessel's history and his own training in this period, Grima had a bottomless list of techniques to employ. With Chrom as his superior in strength and speed alike, the thousand subtle differences in Grima's movements couldn't fully close the gap.

They found distance and a brief impasse with it. Sweat poured down Chrom's face. Without striking, Falchion shifted constantly—the thrusting position he now knew Lucina to favour most, then a low stance set for a rising slash, then a high stance set to split his skull. Robin moved with him, always setting up a counterattack that would at least prevent Chrom from winning a free hit… except the moment Chrom slashed anticipating Robin would guard the thrust he telegraphed, Robin skipped two steps ahead and threw an attack of his own that traded their blood. Those scarlet eyes drilled through Chrom's to pick open his brain open and pull out everything they could.

"He hasn't noticed," murmured Morgan.

"Noticed what?" said Lissa.

"Father's bleeding too much. Chrom could win by running away and waiting until he's too weak to fight."

Lissa looked closer. As prince and tactician battled back and forth in the arena, one was stained in more red than the other. Droplets dotted the ground, more thrown from one body than the other. "I think he knows," she said. "But he doesn't wanna win like that. It's not the kinda guy he is."

They struck again, and the Kingsfang alone drew blood again. Chrom was fast enough to make Grima think twice about using his own body to catch the sword. Ignis would be dodged if Grima attempted it in the middle of an exchange. He saved himself from game-ending injuries twice already with Pavise.

But it was Grima's mind that made him, and it was pain that could drag Chrom down to his level. Grima blocked a slash, struck, was parried in return, and retreated—with a flick of his forward foot just a little harder than was necessary on the way out. It was an invisible change easily construed as an accident. It kicked sand into Chrom's eyes.

All but one spectator leaned forward as Chrom aborted his advance with a shocked yell. Morgan wore a smile identical to her father.

Seizing the initiative before his enemy recovered, Grima's scarlet gaze locked onto Chrom's neck as he rushed in. Remarkably, Chrom still managed to slash Falchion in a vast arc, sunlight shining off its blade. The steel sword only deigned to slow it from a bone-hacking bite into a deep gash against the fell dragon's side. It didn't intervene with the killing blow.

Something changed in the air. Lon'qu tensed up as he remembered where else he felt this. The scent of triumph that Nah sensed no longer radiated only through the fell dragon's killing intent. Morgan instinctively reached for her locket at her belt.

Blue eyes opened and met scarlet. Already committed to the final thrust, Grima realized too late that the light that shone from Falchion's edge wasn't natural sunlight.

It was Sol.

The light of Luna bathed Falchion.

Grima's Heart seized up, pushed to the limit as the shimmer of Pavise howled to life all over his body. "DAMN YOU!"

The strained red barrier broke, the prince's blade tore deep into the stomach, and Grima was ripped open in an instant. The fell dragon's blood sprayed across the ground in a vast crescent. Chrom skidded to a halt on the opposite end of the arena. Vibrant red flew from Falchion's blade and decorated the ground just ahead of the black border.

The blood in Morgan's veins turned to ice.

Lissa immediately stepped into the ring, shocked and concerned and annoyed all at once.

Cordelia's face tightened. Sumia winced. Miriel's mouth fell open slightly.

Time slowed down. Causality flickered around the fell dragon. Grima was on Mount Prism pursuing the future brat. He was trading blows with her in Arena Ferox where Chrom watched on. Had Chrom witnessed her use it again in the courtyard of Plegia Castle too? Was this the first time Chrom achieved Aether? Did Chrom leave that skill loophole open on purpose so he could use it?!

He did this. Grima did this. It was just like when he unwittingly sank Ylisse's pegasus knight corps by leaving for the Ruins of Time when Chrom wouldn't have diverged from the first timeline otherwise. Grima let him witness Lucina's Aether, ordered him to hone his skills, gave him time to train, brought him out here to sharpen his abilities, he did this, HE DID THIS—

"Father!" cried Morgan.

The berserk inferno that was Ignis screamed into being.

Chrom's vision wavered as he stood tall and turned around. "Robin, are you—?"

The distance vanished in an instant. Grima's steel sword obliterated his breastplate, smashing the highest ribs and parting flesh. With a deafening feral screech, the fell dragon wrenched his blade up and out through flesh and metal in a burst of blood mixed with the petals of Ignis. Struck on the way past, Chrom slammed to the ground where he stood with a scream of pain. Grima howled louder still as his momentum sent him crashing to the sandy ground past his enemy.

The fell dragon slid to a stop and then began fighting his own body to rise, uncaring for the stretch of his own red laid out before him. Owain drawing his sword, Laurent raising his tome, Nah fumbling for her dragonstone—none of it mattered. Scarlet eyes met blue as their owners struggled with everything they were to get back on their feet. Grima's snarl rose to a bestial shriek as he stood up and prepared to finish what he started.

Morgan walked in front of Chrom, and Grima was rooted where he stood.

Lissa rushed to the prince's side, staff glowing brightly as he collapsed back down into a seated position. Sumia was right there with her. The future children watched the fell dragon warily with weapons ready. The remaining Shepherds had their eyes on Morgan, watching her approach her father. Morgan kept her head low and her gaze on the red ground in front of her, wringing her hands every step of the way. Her boots splashed quietly in his blood.

She stopped in front of him. Some of her resolve caught up to her, and Morgan was able to look the fell dragon in the eye. All of Grima's rage burned into her soul. Morgan sucked in the hot desert air and said, "Out of bounds. It's over, Father."

Something broke behind those scarlet eyes, and all the fight left his body.

She opened his fingers and removed the steel sword from them. Grima didn't react to her trembling hands or her shallow breath or her pounding heartbeat. Morgan managed to lower him to his knees, but he refused to lie down. She knelt with him.

A tap on the shoulder—Miriel offering bandages. Morgan did what she could to lessen the torrent of blood, soaking her gloves and sleeves dark red in the process.

"We shouldn't be standing around," said Cordelia. She tore her eyes off Chrom. "Let's prepare to make camp—"

"We'll return to the village," said Morgan. She didn't turn. "F-Father can't… I'm tactician right now. We're going to the village, okay?"

As soon as his shoulder closed up, Chrom wheezed to Lissa, "How's Robin?"

Lissa assessed Robin. None of the excruciating pain he should've been in seemed to be present in his expression. In fact, he wasn't wearing any expression. She nodded, but didn't speak until Chrom was healed enough to avoid bleeding out. "Breathing and conscious," she said. "He'll live, but…"

"What's the matter?"

"I need to go heal him first." Lissa shot Chrom a cheeky smile on her way to help Robin. "Thanks for keeping an eye on him, Morgan. And you, mister, are going to lie down so I can dig that sand out of you! Someone get me the good gloves and water!"

Morgan moved to grant Lissa access, never leaving her father's side. Grima didn't notice anything Lissa did. His gaze was vacant and empty.

"What prompted all this?" Sumia asked Chrom.

The prince shook his head with a weary smile. "Only an argument between two friends. I'm sorry—it's a personal matter between he and I."

A wet towel greeted his face. "This is too much." Sumia set to work helping him remove his torn and broken armour. "You know he would still be attacking if there were no boundaries? Half a second slower and he could've taken your head."

"But there are, and he didn't. My only mistake was underestimating his tenacity—any ordinary person would've been defeated. I'm astounded he could continue the battle after Aether." But at her sharp look, he added, "To first blood next time, then."

"There shouldn't be a next time!" said Sumia.

After healing Robin, Lissa returned and finished patching up Chrom (and fishing bits of steel out of his injuries). "Wow," she said as she lowered her staff. "You really pulled it off! How you feeling?"

"Ready to pass out the second my mind drifts," said Chrom. Even so, he forced himself to get up. With Sumia's support, he slowly meandered to his tactician. Bones creaked as he lowered himself and gently shook his shoulder. "Robin."

Dull scarlet eyes met his—finally, movement.

"It was an excellent fight. Your ingenuity, your technique, your willpower—everything was marvelous." Chrom tried a smile that wasn't reciprocated. "…I also gave my word. I want you to know that I truly am sorry."

"Can you go?" asked Morgan, seated facing her father. "Head to the village first. Don't worry, we'll catch up in a few minutes."

Chrom looked between the two of them. He half-expected Robin to fly into a murderous rage when he lost, or to deny his loss ever happened. At the very least, tearing apart the nearest tree wouldn't have surprised him. Seeing him do… nothing at all… chilled him. He wanted to stay and speak to Robin, but he knew she was best suited for the task. "Take as long as you need—provided we'll make it back before sundown, that is."

"It won't take that long," she laughed softly.

Morgan watched over her shoulder as the prince slowly got up and led his men off to give them space. She caught the distrustful looks of the future children and made a point of returning each and every one of them. Chrom harried them away in his wake.

When they were well out of earshot, Morgan asked, "That wasn't a normal fight between you two. It's hitting you a lot harder than it should. What's going on?" She nudged and prodded for a response until he was finally forced to open his mouth.

"The stakes were our paired deployment," muttered Grima. "This wasn't supposed to happen. Lissa shouldn't have used the Goddess Staff without my command. Chrom shouldn't have defeated me. They weren't meant to see so deep. It wasn't meant to be. None of this… was meant to be. Everything is wrong."

Morgan shifted on the spot. She moved closer, arms rising to hug him—

"Don't touch me. My pride can no longer survive."

She stopped and sat back.

"You are the worst of it." Drained by battle and shocked by defeat, the anger that drove him finally flickered out. "You placed yourself between he and I. That was all it took to render me incapable of attacking. In feeling nothing, I can never be broken no matter the state of my body. If only I could lay hands on you, I could return to invincibility. But these hands… won't… move."

"Father…" Morgan drew herself up. "Look at me. Now."

As soon as he did, she slapped him as hard as she could.

Instantly, hot rage burst to life in those scarlet eyes as they locked back onto her. "What are you doing?"

"Putting your mask back on for you, seeing as you've gone and dropped it," she said. "Where's the Father that could bounce back from any hit? Tell me your Plan B, your Plan C, all twenty six of them! In fact, let's switch to numbers after Z!" When he was too surprised to respond, she continued, "Are we found out yet? Is Chrom onto us? Is Lucina here? No, no, and a big fat no!" A flame burned fierce in those dark eyes as she hauled him to his feet. "There—that's how you should look! Tall and proud and ready to take a textbook to the face without blinking!"

"…You're not afraid," said Grima.

"There's a lotta things I'm worried about." Her tone softened. "Those wars we talked about, and the future children—it'll be dangerous. Sometimes I almost wanna just forget everything again, or have you hold me so I can cry as long as I want… but I'm stronger than that now. I'm like you now." Still holding him by the shoulders, she caught his gaze and smiled. "Don't go forgetting my promise. Even if you need my life, I'll do anything you need me to. I'll be your best piece on the board."

"Morgan…"

"Now let's put our heads together and figure something out. Think, Father—or else I'll really have to take your spot as tactician!"

Grima let out a long breath. He brushed her off and picked up his sword. Its steel glistened under the bright sun as he turned it over before sheathing it. He extended a waiting hand and she placed his tomes in it to return to his coat. A dry chuckle left him. "A battle to prove my humanity," he said. "Naturally impossible from the outset. I never should've let myself be swept up in it."

"Feeling better?" she asked.

"You're like me, you say. That's right… that's exactly right. There is nothing human of us." Grima closed his eyes for a moment. She was just like him. She would listen to any of his orders. She was important in the sense his vessel was important. Treating her well, valuing her—it was natural, not a detriment. Nothing he felt was any semblance of humanity, and that thought calmed the storm. He reopened his eyes with new resolve. "You have my gratitude, Morgan."

Those words sent a thrill through her. She wasn't sure if she ever heard him say such a thing in that kind of tone. "C-can you say that again?"

"The prince is aware that I will prioritize defending you in battle," mused Grima. Irritation flickered across his face. "I must mend my connections with the Shepherds before they come to view me with distrust. Morgan, you should do the same."

"You mean we'll be spending less time together?" Morgan's shoulders fell, but she recovered in moments. "What about the meeting with Validar?"

"We have yet to confirm the invitation." Grima paced along the water's edge. "Even if it falls through… no, nothing was lost today. I don't lose. I only know setbacks. No matter how winding the path, the destination this world arrives at will never change."

"You said Chrom doesn't want us deploying together." Morgan thought about it for a moment. "Because we'll put the other Shepherds in danger? That doesn't mean we can't go on missions again like to the Manor—just the two of us, no other units to worry about."

"That does nothing to solve the problem in his eyes. Furthermore, you should assume the future children would force themselves into our deployments."

"Why don't we go by pegasus?" At his peculiar look, Morgan continued, "Let's say we're stuck in Ylisstol a while. I can't outfly pegasus knights all on my own. Why don't I take the time to learn how to ride a pegasus? I've already spent a buncha time working with the pegasus knight corps—I could talk to Sumia or Cordelia too!"

"A good fallback," he said. "Very well. We could mobilize and retreat from Ylisstol quickly given the need."

"No, wait! There's more!" Morgan stuck her hands out in front of herself and mimed unrolling a large map on a wall. "The Dragon's Table is right here—southeast Plegia. We could never get there ahead of the Shepherds on a mad run even if I flew, but look. Southtown is right here across this body of water from it! I can't cross the water on my own, but if I knew how to ride a pegasus…"

"We could make for the Table from within Ylisse's borders. They might not suspect it." Grima stood just over her shoulder, visualizing the same map. "Any possibility of discovery by relying on a third party to ferry us there can't be taken, especially since there will likely be a battle to eliminate our tailing enemies before escaping. This wouldn't be the case if you yourself were the flier. Learning to ride a pegasus purely to achieve this maneuver… it's a brazen effort, but our enemies may realize your intent before you mastered the steed."

Morgan winked at him. "That's where the acting comes in. Everyone knows girls love ponies."

"Wyverns would have to be acquired in Valm and remain slower than pegasi in an open chase… This is a strategy that would be impossible for me alone. Escape routes aside, the unmatched agility of airborne cavalry would only further improve your utility in combat." A smile returned to his face. "Forging connections with the Shepherds, increasing your battle options, and presenting a new tactic towards our endgame all in one move. It's a good idea, Morgan."

"It's just a Plan C," laughed Morgan. "Go to the coronation party, then look for a mission in Plegia if we can't, then get out of Ylisstol by pegasus if we can't, then play Valm if we can't, then… um, what else is there?"

"We have pieces we can play, not plans. They move freely as opportunities present themselves. No single plan survives contact with the enemy—it must adapt around every setback."

"That's how you fight too, isn't it?"

"Are you thinking of emulating it? You'd best sharpen your mind first." Grima sighed and ran a hand through his white hair. "Yet I forgot it myself these past days."

"Because of our rampage thing?" asked Morgan. "I don't think you've gone out and wrecked things much lately. I think it got me really strung up back at the end of the war with Gangrel too."

"No." But he didn't elaborate further. "It's time to go, Morgan."

"You got it, Father!"

Morgan wrapped herself around his arm as they set off to return to the Shepherds. Her iron-willed father was back. The glimpse of vulnerability was dead… but for a brief moment, everything was laid bare. He couldn't take it back.

Grima was the fell dragon, the destroyer of all. He was her father, always so close yet so far. He was, in several senses, a god to her, and yet Morgan could stop him in his tracks. She could move him again just as easily. She was offered tales of his past and glimpses of his heart where nobody else could receive similar.

All she had to do was try, and Morgan could control him.

She realized she was gripping his arm too hard, pressing it too tightly to herself. Her breathing was too heavy to pass off as merely the result of the desert heat. She relaxed immediately, and he didn't offer any sign of having noticed. When did her lips become so parched and dry? She licked them quickly and steadied her breathing.

This isn't manipulation, she told herself. He's going along with me because he wants to. I'm just doing what's best for the both of us.

But she was capable of it.

Morgan took her thoughts of how good that revelation felt and kicked them away into the most distant corners of her mind.

"Holy crow!" said Lissa. "Your arm!"

Owain raised the arm in question. "This? Hah! It's nothing but a torn sleeve."

"No, I mean, HOLY CROW!" As they marched through the sand, several Shepherds turned to the commotion Lissa made. "LOOK AT THAT THING ON YOUR ARM!"

"Oh, right! Sorry. Guess I should have shown you before. It's my Brand. The one carried by House Ylisse. So no more need to worry, eh?"

"Then you know? That I don't…"

"That your Brand never surfaced? Yes, you told me as much. You said it always weighed on you… You should have seen how happy you were the day mine appeared! You were sobbing and laughing for an hour without pause!"

Lissa blushed as she looked around at the others. "I was kind of hoping to grow out of the crying thing…"

"Yes, well. No more worrying. It was by chance alone that your Brand never surfaced. We're all family, linked by blood. You really are Chrom's sister. My Brand proves our lineage."

"Thank you. Just… Thank you, Owain."

"You're welcome! And as scions of the hero, it falls on us to ensure my dark future doesn't come true." Panic took over Owain's face as he suddenly clutched at his arm. "Uh-oh… Argh… Too much… passion! Sword hand… getting hungry… again!" He staggered back and forth and then actually staggered for real as a wave of dizziness hit him. Lon'qu caught him before he could fall and set him back on his feet.

"Think he'll ever grow out of it?" Nah asked Laurent.

"The probability is infinitesimal," he said.

"Owain," said Chrom from the head of the pack. "Does Lucina possess the Brand as well?"

"Her left eye bears it!" said Owain.

"Hence the mask… I really never noticed it."

"We need to find her," said Sumia. She added to Chrom quietly, "Dear, should you really be walking after that? Lon'qu could hardly move for hours after using Astra for the first time…"

"I have to," Chrom said at equal volume. "It's the place of the leader to walk with his men through thick and thin. Perhaps if we could convince Owain first."

They looked at him. Stumbling through the sand, Owain gesticulated wildly while slurring about his sword hand. His parents were the only thing between him and keeling over mid-step.

"He wasn't so bad either," added Chrom. "Fit enough to attempt escape from his healers, at any rate. I'll be fine."

"Just as well that you're up." Grima rejoined them, calm and collected once more. "We have a great deal to discuss."

"Welcome back, Robin." Chrom greeted his tactician with a smile. "I take it you've recovered?"

Grima frowned and nodded. He looked at Morgan clinging to his side and nudged her away. As she wandered off to bug someone else, he said, "We should make preparations for the war in earnest. This peace won't last."

"Some of the Shepherds have left Ylisstol for one place or another," said Chrom. "We need to gather everyone to discuss these matters—the return of Grima and the war with Valm."

"I'll speak to Frederick about an enhanced training regimen. I want to see everybody promoted and Hauteclere in someone's hands before the turn of the third year."

"You, participating as teacher? Gods save us. One of you is enough."

Grima raised an eyebrow. Banter from the prince was a good sign. "Unfortunately, you're living with at least two of me. We should contact Regna Ferox and Plegia as well regarding Grima."

"The political climate isn't the best at the moment," said Chrom. "What's more, I don't expect the Grimleal to take kindly should we reveal everything. I have to wonder—where is Lucina?"

"Who can say?" Grima said cryptically.

"Should we save this until we return to Ylisstol?" asked Sumia. "This will be a long march through the desert. You two must be so tired already."

"One way or another, we should begin contacting foreign blacksmiths." Grima simply kept going. "Ylisse lacks sufficient equipment. If we won't speak of the gemstones, Plegia has the finest navy on the continent. Our existing forces need to be bolstered, and—"

"Hold on," said Chrom. "There remains a great deal of damage throughout the realm to be addressed before we begin militarizing the nation. Our treasury only goes so far."

Grima scowled and fished out his notebook. "My greatest enemy," he muttered. "Resource management. I'll need Morgan to review this later…"

"Robin, this is the forte of neither of us. You're doing this because you lost, aren't you?"

Grima stared at him a moment longer before summoning Miriel and launching into a lecture on ramping up Ylisse's military expenditure without breaking their budget.

Near the back of the group, Nah watched the fell dragon grill the prince. "Have you noticed?" she said to Laurent in a low voice. "He's ignoring the gemstones."

"It cannot be a mistake," said Laurent. "He and Morgan may have devised a plan on their own that doesn't require Chrom's aid. He may be aware of our presence and will discuss it away from us in the future. We cannot let them out of our sights in Ylisstol. Kjelle awaits there, correct? With four of us, it is possible to easily prepare a shift schedule to regulate them."

"Sorry to break it to you," Morgan suddenly said in their ears, "but what if we weren't side by side the whole time? Two of you might have to go nocturnal to watch us all the time." She laughed as the future children jumped away from her, having gone around and snuck up behind them. "Good work, Nah! Really tipped the scales out there."

"You did it on purpose," said Nah angrily. "You tried to get us killed in that fight."

"What, me? What did I do?" Hands clasped behind her back, Morgan batted her eyes in a picture-perfect mockery of innocence. "We're all still here to talk about it. No idea what you're on about!" There was no proof—only suspicion. She spun away and bounded over to Sumia. "Hey, you're super great with pegasi! Think you can teach me to ride one?"

"Oh!" said Sumia. "That's quite a surprise. I'm honored, but are you sure you shouldn't ask Cordelia?"

"Cordelia, over here!"

The red-haired pegasus knight joined them. "Riding a pegasus?"

"Yeah! I've been in the saddle with lots of riders, but I wanna know how to steer one myself! Watching you guys fly around all the time—I wanna be able to do it too, and you two are the best pegasus knights I know!"

Nah scoffed. She and Morgan were the last people who needed to wish for wings to fly on.

"You've done a great service for the royal pegasus knights already. I probably shouldn't be surprised at all, really…" Cordelia thought about it. "Alright. She's still saddled, so how about we get you started right now?"

"Thank you! That's what I'm talking about!" As Morgan climbed into the saddle, she added to Sumia, "Don't think you're off the hook though. Father told me you've got tons of books about pegasi! You gotta tell me what you know!"

"Really?" Sumia's eyes lit up. "There's a lot to learn about them besides what you'll find in books. She's calm now since Cordelia is with her, but you'll have to bond with your pegasus in the same way if you want to ride into battle. Pegasi have their own personalities just like us—they're all different in their own special way, and definitely not just machines to carry you around! There's a whole language to how they communicate to us and how we can talk to them, and—"

"Morgan, not so hard on the reins!" said Cordelia. "You have to use your legs to steer."

"Legs?" Morgan tilted back and forth in the saddle as she tried. "This is really different without someone to hold onto—whoa!"

She hit the sand with a muffled thump.

"I'm okay!" Morgan got up beaming, shook the sand out of her snowy hair, and gave it another shot as an experienced rider talked her ear off on both sides.

The fell dragon felt an easy smile cross his face as he talked and bantered and bickered with the prince. Chrom was too kind for his own good to someone he assumed was his friend. He had surprised Grima once or twice, but that was all—merely unexpected occurrences. He would remember this humiliation well and bide his time until he could pay it all back ten thousand times over, as he had his millennia of torment. He paid no thought to why this day resonated so deeply with him to begin with.

Morgan was right. In the end, all of the prince's diversions were instigated by Grima. His sway over the most important piece remained unbroken. Dented and battered as his pride was, the greater plan continued unabated.

Ylisstol remained at his fingertips. The Shepherds remained at his fingertips. The future belonged to him.

Grima snapped to awareness when Chrom flailed a hand to get him and Miriel to quiet down.

"Enough," said Chrom, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Enough, enough! You'll turn all my hair as white as yours at this rate. We'll continue this discussion in Ylisstol."

Grima made the noise of total non-commitment.

Chrom noticed he'd rather missed hearing that noise. It still irked him as much as ever.

"So be it," said Grima. "I won't speak more about running Ylisstol till then. Now, regarding your training regimen…"

"Naga, I beg you," muttered the prince. "Save me from the devil."

With his one true ally and so many enemies at his back, the fell dragon laughed with the prince.

What was it the locals said about cherry blossoms? Beautiful and ephemeral, a wistful microcosm of life… or something to that effect. Lucina could understand what they meant. The very mask in her pocket spoke to her with similar connotations.

But for some reason she couldn't put her finger on, the petals that fluttered down around her on the hill away from town made her stomach turn. It likely had to do with the spiteful gazes that burned into the back of her head as she walked down the street.

Minerva huffed at her side, Gerome ever in the saddle and ready for combat. Their living radar picked up no trace of their inhuman pursuer since they made land.

"Cynthia," said Lucina as her sister joined them. "Are you well?"

"As well as I'll get." Cynthia's sniffle wasn't convincing. She shook her head fiercely to psyche herself up. "No more time for moping around. I've figured out a buncha new victory poses to do on foot. Look!" She hopped on the spot and then struck three poses in quick succession, ending with a lunge to the side with her face in the crook of one arm with the other stuck straight out. "Time for the wings of justice to kick some tail!"

"She's fine," drawled Severa, just a few steps behind Cynthia. "Kept me up all night going on about heroic comebacks. Lucina, you're dorming with her from now on!"

The last of their group, Yarne dumped the bags of all three on the ground and promptly collapsed with them gasping for breath. "Can we… get a move on soon…? Had five heart attacks… walking through town alone…"

"Don't be such a drama queen! And get to loading those on Minerva!"

"Thank you, Yarne." Lucina let him curl up on the ground as she got to going through the bags—replacements for their worn-down weapons. Severa ended up joining her mumbling about how a princess wasn't supposed to be going about it alone. Lucina asked her, "You took some time. What else were you doing?"

"What else is a girl going to do?" Severa made a point of dragging every weapon she carried in front of Yarne's face on her way to Minerva. "I always wanted to visit Chon'sin! They've got those little rice and raw fish rolls we always heard about but could never try. And the hot springs? The ones they say work miracles for your skin? We so need to stop by… if the locals stopped undressing us with their eyes when they think we're not looking."

"That wasn't it." Yarne got up and helped. "They hate us. What did we do? We haven't even been here twenty four hours! I don't deserve to become a rug!"

"Distrust." Gerome continued scanning their surroundings. "We're foreign sellswords in wartime. You saw fear, not hatred." He glanced at the packs now attached to Minerva. "You couldn't secure any promote's armour either?"

"Being a taguel goes double against me! They looked like they were gonna skin me just for walking in! I'm not haggling with them!"

"Xenophobes or whatever, this place is as pretty as it gets." Severa reached out and caught a falling pink petal.

"This time of death closes their hearts. When peace is restored to the realm, I'm certain we can return to a happier land here. " Lucina took a deep breath and mentally retraced their steps. "We passed through the Divine Dragon Grounds yesterday," she muttered. "The Demon's Ingle is a few days' walk ahead."

"A mountain that burns with eternal fire that all the people of Valm dare not approach?" Yarne shrunk away. "Please tell me we're not going there."

Lucina blinked. That was news to her. "Where did you hear of it?"

"In town. They say the Conqueror's forces split up to go around it and wash over the nation. The royal family of Chon'sin is riding out to meet the Conqueror's vanguard on our side of the Demon's Ingle."

"He hasn't claimed Chon'sin yet? I thought Vert would already be in his possession…" Lucina furrowed her brow. You didn't tell me that, Inigo. Then again, we didn't have the chance to exchange letters often, and we were so focused on Azure in the Mila Tree… "Walhart… I've never seen him in battle. We only had legends of his power."

"Lucina," said Yarne pitifully, "I'm begging you not to make us all jump into the battlefield just to get a look at him."

"We should absolutely jump into the battlefield!" said Cynthia. "If Chon'sin's not conquered, that means they've still got the gemstone! Let's wipe the floor with Walhart and then—"

"Die?" Gerome finished for her. "Grima is out of our sights and his hellspawn can return at any moment. We're meeting Inigo's group, taking Azure, and leaving."

Severa let them duke it out with words. Her attention was on Lucina. The princess struck such a stunning figure amidst the falling blossoms, it was almost unfair. And that distant look of silent conflict sent off to the horizon? Ugh… that was probably partly Severa's fault from their discussion on the island. "What's on your mind now?" asked Severa.

"These petals," said Lucina. "I remember now. Grima, Morgan—they had a skill that left behind petals just like these. When we battled in the forest after preventing Emmeryn's assassination, he was consumed in them. For a moment, he moved and fought like he did on Mount Prism." One fluttered down into her waiting hand. "That wrath—that hatred—I see them here."

Gerome and Cynthia fell silent, their eyes drawn to Lucina.

She flicked her hand and scattered the petal on the wind. "This town may not exist by the time we return," continued Lucina quietly. "War will destroy this land soon. We may never see it in a time of happiness, but we can't ever forget what hangs in the balance." She breathed in and set her firm gaze on her allies. "We make for the Mila Tree. We stop for nothing. It's time to take our future back."

To be continued.