I think a couple of these characters... do not get along :-)
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Echo
The wind was bitter- its bite was sharper than the fangs of a wolf sinking into skin as the Akaneian League travelled through the desert.
One would think that a barren wasteland of sand would be sweltering, but under the cover of night, the chill of the moon reflected off every granule beneath them, only amplifying the drop in temperature.
They were almost to their destination: Khadein, the city of magic. On its throne sat none other than the dark pontifex himself—Gharnef—and within his grasp was the divine blade, Falchion. The thought of someone so sinister having the Falchion at his fingertips made Marth's skin crawl. Surely Gharnef would not destroy the blade, for it was far too valuable.
There had been something that Hardin mentioned about Gharnef that piqued Marth's worry: Gharnef certainly was not the type to bow to anyone, so why would he be so eager to serve Medeus?
The only answer that had come to Marth at the time was quite disturbing: Gharnef had been serving Medeus only to betray him later. Now that the wrinkly old mage had the Falchion in his possession, he had a powerful tool to hold Medeus at bay if and when the time came. With that vision, Marth was not sure which fate would be worse—a world ruled by Medeus, or a world ruled by Gharnef.
Regardless, both outcomes seemed equally bleak. At the end of the day, it did not particularly matter which one of them brought about the world's end—there would be just as many corpses piled by the time it was all over. His stomach dropped as he imagined the outcome.
The thoughts troubling Marth's mind weighed on Roy's consciousness like a boulder. With furrowed brows, he watched the prince from behind. Roy had been able to pick up on Marth's emotions the longer the two of them travelled together and, with their most recent conversation back on the balcony at Gra Bastion it was as if their hearts beat together in the mercenary's chest. It was a bizarre feeling that he did not quite understand, even a few days later.
He wondered if Marth felt the same shared heartbeat, though now certainly was not the time to ask. A ball of fire shot by their heads as the enemy military engaged. With an order to attack, the Akaneian League charged the oncoming enemy army.
Though the desert air chilled them to the bone, the heat of battle kept the blood boiling in their veins as they fought. Though the incredible magical prowess of Khadeinian mages was intimidating, their defenses were relatively weak in comparison—one or two swipes of a blade felled them without further effort. The tricky part however was actually getting the opportunity to strike; many of Marth's soldiers were quickly being overwhelmed by arcane magic that seemed beyond the power of normal men.
The stench of cooked flesh and electrified earth caused Roy's nose to scrunch. There was little else in the world that smelled worse than the corpses of those who met their end by way of flame. Wickedness coursed through the veins of the mages that opposed them, and Roy could not help but wonder if their fates had been dictated like his had when Volzhin stole his free will.
A quiet hum buzzed in the mercenary's head as he swung his blade upwards, cutting through the chest of another enemy mage. Writing it off as adrenaline, he pushed forward.
With an amused chuckle, Gharnef watched as the Akaneian League neared the walls of Khadein: though a king should usually fear an approaching enemy army, Gharnef practically welcomed the opportunity with open arms. Wishing naught but to see the sands run red with the blood of Marth's army and of the prince himself, a twisted grin grew on his face. His lame eye practically bulged from his skull as he watched with incredible interest.
"… You stand here and do nothing," Fafnir growled from a few paces behind Gharnef—his impatience evident in his tone.
Gharnef glanced back towards the hooded figure behind him. "I am waiting for them to come to me. You would be wise to learn patience, brat."
With a scowl, Fafnir stared at Gharnef from under his hood. "If only you knew who you were speaking to, preaching patience…"
A scoff escaped the pontifex's wrinkled lips. "My cares are better spent on more important things," he snipped as he returned his gaze to the oncoming army below his perch. "A measly manakete such as yourself is of no real consequence to me. Mind your place, lest I rip your forked tongue from your maw."
Gharnef's words garnered no response from Fafnir as the younger man's scowl deepened. Another chuckle escaped Gharnef as he continued to watch the battle unfold.
"I will raise you this: assist me here, and I will give you what you desire. You still wish to meet with Medeus, do you not?" Gharnef asked suddenly as he turned to face Fafnir.
After a calculated silence, Fafnir tilted his head just enough to look down his nose at Gharnef. "I do."
"Then descend upon them like a tempest and prove your worth to me," Gharnef hissed. "Now, follow."
No further words were spoken as Gharnef faded into a wisp of darkness. Fafnir glared at the stone floor where Gharnef once stood before following suit.
The singing of metal echoed throughout the stone walls of Khadein as weapons clashed with bursts of magic.
"It seems like no matter how many we cut down, there's always more waiting in the wings," Hardin huffed as he slew yet another enemy mage.
"It's a bit excessive, I agree," Roy grunted as he pulled his sword back, "Yet it seems like the castle is within reach."
Marth said nothing as he stepped back—his mind was wholly focused on the battle at hand. Suddenly, it was as if a curtain had fallen on him as a feeling of foreboding overtook him, and he pried his eyes from the soldiers before him and looked up towards the sky.
A figure was floating overhead: Gharnef, the Dark Pontifex. A wicked grin wrinkled his face as he stared down at the prince with a wild eye.
Fingers tightened around Marth's rapier as he stared up towards Gharnef critically. Roy, upon noticing Marth's focused stare, trained his eyes on the sky as well.
"So, the Akaneian dregs are here to… do what, exactly?" Gharnef taunted from above. "Are you wishing to challenge me? You would not be the first to try."
"Perhaps not, but I am afraid you have something I need," Marth said as he readied his blade.
With a smirk, Gharnef waved his hand. "The Falchion," he said. "Yes. Unfortunately, I do not plan on simply handing it over…"
Another portal of blackness appeared behind Gharnef, and a familiar hooded figure manifested.
"You speak too much," the hooded figure growled.
Both Marth and Roy were taken aback by the mage's sudden appearance.
"You… you're familiar," Roy said, which drew the hooded mage's attention to him. "Where have I…"
"You!" Marth exclaimed, shocked. "You are the one that approached me in Knorda!"
The mage glanced towards Marth next, the slightest of smiles now tugged up on his lips. "How flattering that you would remember. Did you heed my words from then, or did they simply fall on deaf ears?"
Marth recalled the events of that day in Knorda Market and the mage's warning:
"Keep a close eye on the ones you hold dear, or else you may just be faced with something you will not be able to handle."
Not long after their meeting, Roy had turned into a fire dragon before Marth's very eyes—and though for Roy's first transformation he was in full control, the second transformation had taken a very drastic downward turn. Marth's expression turned grave as he made the realization, and the hooded figure chuckled.
"So, it seems they did," the mage said. "You simply thought them the ramblings of a madman…"
"Were you the one that orchestrated that?" Marth questioned suddenly; his heart pounded in his chest so hard that he could hear his pulse thundering in his ears.
A slight shrug was all Marth needed to see to know the answer, and Roy glanced between the prince and the mage. Roy could see the fire build in Marth's eyes as the reality of the situation dawned on him.
"Marth, what are you—" Roy started.
"I grow tired of pleasantries…" Gharnef mused. "First this child complains that I waste time, and now he wastes even more. My boredom has mounted."
The cloaked mage shifted his gaze just slightly, and the air chilled even further.
Gharnef reached within his robe and pulled out a tome; the cover of the book was black, and it was decorated with gold patterning. What appeared to be a skull and ornate swirls were on the book's face.
"Imhullu," Gharnef said as he breathed out. "The most powerful tome in existence… that will be your undoing! Cower!"
With a wave of his hand, a gust of purple magic billowed towards Marth and Roy. Both ran in opposite directions to avoid the spell—the wall of purple fog deteriorated everything it touched, leaving naught but withering destruction in its wake.
The effects of Imhullu piqued the interest of the cloaked mage. "Hmmm…" he mused. "Perhaps you are more interesting than I gave you credit for."
Gharnef glanced over his shoulder. "Quit your yapping and do as you said you would, lest you wish to progress no further than here."
With a growl, a sneer grew on what one could see of the mage's face. As Marth and Roy poised their swords, the mage drew his own tome—Aircalibur.
"That is all you wield?" Gharnef questioned, clearly unimpressed.
"It is the only tome I require here," the mage responded flatly. "Now you quit your yapping. Are you a mage, or a mongrel?"
Marth and Roy exchanged side-eye glances. It was clear there was no love lost between Gharnef and the mage that accompanied him. The mage raised his hand, his tome now open as he stared down at the two of them on the ground. Without another word, he cast Aircalibur and multiple blades of green wind sliced the air towards Roy.
The sudden attack made Roy jump back in suprise—the ground in front of him was blasted with wind, causing dust and rubble to be kicked up into the air. The veil of dirt was split in two as the mage burst forth from it; a slender blade had been drawn at his side, his intentions made clear as he sliced down at Roy. Sword clashed against sword as Roy pulled his own up to block the hit, and sparks flew as steel ground together.
Quickly whipping his gaze up towards the hooded figure's face— what little Roy could see of it gave him pause. Had that been a glint of red beneath his hood?
Using the friction of their blades, the hooded mage pressed enough to launch himself backwards. He landed gracefully on his feet, the heels of his boots making the quietest tap as they touched the stone beneath them. With a slight smile, he shrugged his shoulders.
"Even now, I find myself unimpressed," he mused. "You bear that dragonstone on your breast and yet you still reek of weakness."
Roy's eyes narrowed at his choice of words. "What do you mean, "even now"?" he questioned as he gripped the hilt of his blade.
The faintest of chuckles escaped the man's lips as he shook his head. "You still don't remember. I suppose I should not be surprised… I can still sense the humming of magic in your veins. You must have taken quite the hit."
"What are you talking about?" Roy questioned again as he gritted his teeth.
"There were six of us at the start. Now there's just one… me," he mused. "Though it's of no consequence, those humans' lives meant nothing… I only needed them to help get the gate open."
A wave of pain washed over Roy as he faltered and gripped his head. His extremities went cold and his mind roared as fuzzy silhouettes and environments flashed through his eyes, the visions entirely unclear to him. Amongst the sea of uncertainty, bits and pieces were clear enough for a voice to ring in his ears:
"Roy, get out of here right now."
"—snap out of it! These people are using you!"
"I'm sorry I have to do this, Roy, but I have no choice…!"
The air that had been robbed from his chest rushed back in as he gasped. His skin was clammy, and his limbs were trembling—the tip of his blade pressed into the earth as he tried to keep himself from collapsing forward.
With another shrug, the mage chuckled and raised his Aircalibur tome. "I would rather wait to kill you until after you remember who you are…" he said. "It would be significantly more cathartic. However… there's no reason I can't maim you instead."
With a twist of his hand, he cast another bout of wind at the staggered mercenary, though the spell never hit its mark. The mage scowled deeply as Hardin swept in on his horse, lowering his now-damaged shield.
"I may not be certain as to what you did to cause him to falter so," Hardin began as he turned his horse to face the mage head-on, "but I will not allow you to strike him while his guard has been so thoroughly dropped."
With an unamused huff, the mage closed his tome. "This is becoming far too cumbersome. My business is not with you."
With a spin of his lance, Hardin stood firm. "You have made the decision to side with Gharnef. That means that the whole of the Akaneian League has business with you."
A laugh ripped from the mage's throat. "Oh? The whole of the League? Is that so?"
Gharnef, who had busied himself with Marth, sneered. "I grow bored," he hissed as he cast Imhullu once again.
The prince strafed out of the way and used this opportunity to run towards Gharnef with his rapier poised to strike. Gharnef stood immobile as the rapier pierced through him, and for a split second, Marth thought he had hit his mark. Then, with a blink, the sorcerer was gone, and his blade was bare of any blood. Marth pulled his sword back as he looked around him—he tried to find Gharnef, but the twisted man was nowhere to be seen.
Finally, the prince's eyes found their target as Gharnef manifested behind the mage that accompanied him. The mage tilted his head back in acknowledgement, and Gharnef whispered something that Marth or Hardin could not hear.
However, even though they could not hear Gharnef's words, the intimidating smile that grew beneath the shade of the other mage's hood gave them enough of an idea.
Gharnef frowned as he turned towards Marth, Roy, and Hardin, his face a mask of ennui. "I am afraid you have bored me here. If you truly seek the Falchion, then you will have to work harder to keep me interested, prince."
"What…?!" Marth exclaimed as he stepped forward, but the other mage stepped between him and Gharnef.
"I will be awaiting you in Thabes," Gharnef continued. "If you can make it, that is…"
With a laugh, Gharnef disappeared into darkness. Marth ran forward to attempt to give chase, but the other mage pulled his own sword out to stop Marth. Their weapons collided, but the mage stood firm, and the faintest smile continued to play on his face as he stared at Marth from beneath his cowl.
"I look forward to seeing what you do next," he said. "I would be lying if I said this wasn't an interesting development."
"You…" Marth's jaw set and his eyes shifted between the mage and Roy, who was being helped back to his feet by Hardin.
With a slip of his blade, the mage leapt back, once again landing gracefully on his feet. "Continue on your path, prince. I will continue to watch with increasing interest."
A cocoon of shade appeared behind the mage as he stepped back into it, not once breaking eye contact with Marth.
Marth saw the glow of red eyes beneath the hood's shadow before the mage was sucked away.
His heart leapt in his chest. "What… were those his eyes?" he questioned to himself.
"Prince Marth," Hardin called out, drawing the prince's attention to him. "We must get out of here as soon as we can—we need to give chase if we hope to ever see the Falchion again!"
Marth nodded, but his eyes immediately were drawn to Roy, who was still weak on his feet. He had been staring at the stone floor beneath them with a strained expression, as if something heavy was weighing on his mind. Marth knew he would need to ask Roy about this, but now was not the time; they needed to escape from Khadein and plan their route to Thabes as soon as possible.
After their withdrawal from Khadein, Marth had retired to his own tent with Roy to rest before their next preparation meeting. Roy had taken to rest on Marth's cot, and Marth sat at the foot of it. The prince rubbed his chin in contemplation as he considered Gharnef's parting words. Gharnef said he would wait in Thabes with the Falchion, but…
With a deep frown, the prince realized something: he had been completely incapable of landing even a single hit on Gharnef. If that was the case, then how could the tides possibly change for him in Thabes?
As if someone had heard his silent questions, a voice called out to him from somewhere:
"Marth," came the voice, which caused the prince to jolt.
Roy twitched as well as the voice rang dully in his own ears. His fingers knotted into the blanket.
"What?" Marth questioned as he quickly took to his feet. Upon seeing no one else in his tent, he scrunched his nose. "Who are you?"
"Gotoh," echoed the voice. "Please do not be alarmed. I am using my magic to speak with you from Medon."
Marth was taken aback. "The White Sage, Gotoh?"
"The very same," Gotoh responded. "You are troubled. Gharnef has the Falchion, does he not?"
Between clenched teeth, Marth mumbled, "Yes. He does."
"Gharnef is plotting something beyond Medeus. Now with Imhullu and Falchion, he sits in a comfortable position where Medeus—as well as Doluna as a whole—would be forced to rethink challenging Khadein…" Gotoh said, "With Imhullu rendering him invincible and the Falchion in-hand, he could easily conquer the world if he wished it."
Gotoh's words rendered Marth speechless, and his fists clenched at his sides.
"… Imhullu…" Roy mumbled, which drew Marth's attention to him. The mercenary pushed himself into a sitting position on the cot. "… So Imhullu makes him impervious to anything we try to do."
"Yes," Gotoh confirmed. "It is due to my own carelessness that he has such a powerful tome in his possession in the first place… he stole it from me before vanishing. Now, I see what he has been planning."
After a long silence, Marth chanced a question. "So… do you know how we could stop him?" he asked.
"There is one way to undo Imhullu," Gotoh responded. "Starlight, a spell made from the combined powers of the Lightsphere and Starsphere. If you are able to find those, and bring them to me, then I could create Starlight…"
Roy frowned. "… But it's not that simple, is it," he said.
"… Unfortunately," Gotoh said. "I am unable to discern one major piece here. That mage that was with Gharnef, he is not someone that I have ever known. Yet his soul spoke for a thousand years."
"A thousand years?" Marth questioned. "What do you mean by that?"
"He is a lot older than he appears," Gotoh said. "It is very… rare to see someone with a soul like his. One would think that I would have come across him at some point in my lifetime… and yet…"
"… And yet you never have seen him before in your life, have you?" Roy questioned, his tone serious. Marth turned his gaze to Roy and squinted critically. Roy had that far-off look in his eyes like he did earlier, after Gharnef's escape.
"… You are correct. I am wholly unfamiliar with his presence," Gotoh admitted. "Please tread carefully. Though I can ascertain Gharnef's schemes, I cannot tell for the other."
Marth pursed his lips. "Understood… thank you, Gotoh. We will search for the Lightsphere and Starsphere then."
Gotoh's presence dissipated from their minds as his magic withdrew. Neither of them said anything for a time, and Roy stared down at his hands in his lap.
"… Roy," Marth said, finally breaking the silence. "You had a memory come back to you earlier… I can tell."
Roy bit the inside of his lip. "… I did…" he admitted. "I don't have any context to the words, however. But…"
"But…?" Marth coaxed him as he sat back down on the cot beside Roy.
"… That mage…" Roy started as he clenched one fist. "… I have a feeling that he has something to do with me."
"With you?" Marth responded, seemingly surprised. "Why would you…?"
"He said something earlier… about how he could still feel the magic in my veins from a spell… or multiple spells. I couldn't tell," Roy explained. "And that there were six of them at one point. But the others must have died… and he didn't care, because of something about a… a…"
A sharp pain pierced his mind and his hands quickly found their way into his hair as he gripped his head. With a groan, he crumpled forward.
"Roy!" Marth called out as he put his hands to Roy's arm and back. "Hey…"
"… Open the gate, or he dies…?" Roy whispered, confused.
Roy's words made Marth's blood run cold. "What…?"
"… Open the gate, or he dies," Roy repeated. He winced before he forced himself to sit slightly straighter. "It… those words… Those just came to me… someone said that…"
All that could be heard was the desert wind outside of the tent as the two sat in silence. Marth was unsure of what to say.
"… I don't understand it," Roy whispered. "I can't see any faces… any places or anything… these are the only things that have come to me. Voices panicked, yelling about how I am being used… and now this…"
Roy's throat ran dry as he ran his fingers through his hair. "That mage… he has something to do with it. He must. I don't have any proof, but…"
After a long pause, Marth gripped Roy's sleeve. He stared out at the fabric wall of the tent as it bowed from the wind. "… I saw him in Knorda not long before you first transformed into a fire dragon," Marth said, which drew Roy's attention. "He had warned me about dealing with something I potentially could not handle. At the time, I did not understand him. And then shortly after your first transformation, you transformed again and…"
"… You had to stop me," Roy finished. "In Pales."
Marth's heart wrenched at the memory, still fresh in his mind. "… Yes."
The air was tense as Roy contemplated the gravity of this chain of events. A few moments later, he turned his gaze to Marth, his eyes dark. "I have no doubts now. He has something to do with my past."
The realization that Roy was partially responsible for this mess made him look elsewhere as he refused to hold eye contact with Marth. "… And now I realize that it's probably my fault he's bothering you now. I don't know why… but…"
Marth quickly shook his head and put his hand on Roy's upper arm once again. "Roy. Please, do not apologize," he said with a small smile. "We will figure this out together. Both for you and for the future of Akaneia."
Marth's hand on him had quelled the negative energy that had begun to bubble in Roy's chest. With a quiet nod, Roy decided to brave a look towards Marth again. Upon making eye contact with the prince, he managed a small smile.
"Right…" he said quietly. "One step at a time…"