When the crowds all go away
And the world forgets your name
I will not give up
I will not give up on you

- Rise Against, "Forfeit"


all my friends are perma-dead


Back from the front, his first time on leave since the shitstorm began, Ike spent a week at home with his family and friends. He made sure he saw everyone and caught up on things. Then he packed lightly and headed down south, to a beachside condo surrounded by palm trees and fountains.

It was summer. A taxi dropped him off at the front gate. He had to get buzzed in. Roy met him at the elevators, a wide grin on his face.

"Son of Greil!"

"You fucking half-ginger!"

"You blue balled dickhead!"

Classic Roy verbiage. But he looked different now. Fresh hair cut. New jacket. Clean shoes. Ike almost didn't recognize him.

This would be that moment in time, a brief one, when things were good for Roy. Newly signed to the pro league. His earnings were high. The crowds knew his name. He had a car, a new place, and a decent net worth. He had more than Ike, who had shown up in the same clothes he'd arrived home in, carrying the same rucksack on his back, wearing the same worn down boots. Looking like he'd just stepped out of the hot zone.

Ike would spend the rest of the month sleeping on Roy's couch in the expensive living room paid for by Roy's now professional fight salary. Ike had access to the in house gym, the laundry room, the swimming pool and everything else that came with it. Place had a balcony with a view of the ocean.

In the mornings, they went out running together, even though running was the thing that Roy had always been terrible at. Ike let him set the pace. But Roy surprised him by keeping good time. It was obvious that he'd been training. Roy wasn't the same kid that Ike remembered. The kid woke up early now, lifted weights, worked the bag, and kept to a routine. Ike tagged along with him at the fighters' gym. Met a few coaches and other fighting hopefuls. Shook hands with the Doc Louis. Got some boxing tips and a selfie. Got some life advice from a man who'd seen it all.

Roy had connections. Ike just wanted to drift along for a bit, be aimless for a bit, and not be the guy in charge for once.

When Roy was online for one business meeting or another, Ike killed time on the gaming console, getting his ass blasted repeatedly in some virtual combat arena that saw him handling weapons he knew the weight of in real life, while twelve year olds screamed at him through the headset and called his mother things that would have made Shinon proud.

Roy took him out some nights to a few bars and pool halls. They only got into one situation that involved the cops. Roy was getting better at staying out of trouble.

Ike let his friend talk most of the time. He listened to the comedy that was Roy's life in the fighting league. He did this so he didn't have to talk about where he'd been the past year or so. And Roy seemed to know it. There were no questions about work or deployment. There was no need for that.

No need either to explain the late night, long distance phone calls to the other end of the earth, the quiet words in hushed tones in a language Ike was still trying to learn.

But then there was one night when the call didn't go through.

And suddenly they had a problem.

And so Ike spent hours pacing the living room, calling up the communications guys, leaving voicemails that would probably get him in trouble later. He looked up any available overnight flights. He thought about calling Mist, but didn't. She was in university. He had stopped by to see her on the way to Roy's place. And felt extremely proud of her. Seeing her at school had made him feel something. He remembered the times when they were kids when he hadn't fully understood his role as the eldest sibling. He hadn't always been the best older brother. He had certainly disappointed her in the past. He knew she would come through if he needed her. But he didn't want to need her.

And then he lost it. Hopped the railing over Roy's balcony. Landed on an overhang. Dropped to the ground below. Scaled the gate. And ran for his life down the streets. Through the alleys and the parks. His mind had short circuited. Without that one familiar voice. And the distance. The impossible distance. He shouldn't be here. He needed to go back.

The night sky lightened. Dawn found him barefoot on the sand, staring out at the water.

With the sunrise, his mind cleared. He was formulating a plan. Had to get Roy to drop him off at the airport. He'd wait on standby for the next flight out.

He'd been gone soon.

With the new plan in place, he was calm. Ike turned around.

Out in the parking lot, Roy was waiting for him, as if he'd somehow known that Ike would be here. His face was blank and expressionless as he stood next to the car, its engine idling.

The drive back was quiet. Ike broke the mood by asking to be taken to the airport. Roy nodded, as if that were a completely sound decision.

"You'll need some shoes though."

"Yeah. I guess."

"And you'll want to clean up. You know how airport security is."

"Right."

"So we'll just stop by my place so you can do that."

After a shower, Ike fell asleep on the floor by the couch. His dreams came on like the jagged pieces of a broken mirror.

He woke up when the phone rang.

From the other end came the voice he needed to hear. Speaking the appropriate code phrase. Offering an unneeded apology.

"I'm sorry... We had a situation."

Ike drew an arm over his eyes to hide the burning of tears he wasn't about to let out. He took deep breaths until his voice came out steady.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Said it careful. Made it sound so calm and in control.

Through the phone, there was a pause. Then a whisper. "No... I'm not."

"I'll find a way back."

"You shouldn't."

"Why."

"It isn't going well."

"Then I need to be there."

"No. It won't change the outcome."

"You don't know that."

"I do know."

"Let me help you."

"No. Listen. The wolves are at our gates. There's nothing in the world that can save us. There's no one coming. Outsiders only say that they care. But those are empty words. We know that now. We've been abandoned. We will die here. But even if this city burns down, even if the whole country falls into the sea, I will lose that before I lose - "

"Hey... I won't let that happen."

"Don't come here."

"My place is by your - "

"Don't."

"I have a plan."

"Don't."

"I have a friend who can help. Trust me. No heavy artillery. Just diplomacy. Okay?"

"Promise me you won't take unnecessary risks."

"I'll call you tomorrow. Leave the line open."

"I will. For you. A thousand times."

When the call ended, Ike looked up from the floor. Roy stood over him with a glass of water.

Ike sat up and accepted the drink.

Roy took a seat on the couch without asking any questions.

"I need a favor," Ike said.

"And I owe you. So go ahead."

"I need to talk to your friend in Alaska."

"I can call him now."

"Thanks."

"It's nothing."

Before the week was over, Roy drove him to the airport in the early morning hours. The sky was still dark. The entrance to departures was empty when they pulled up to the curb.

Roy got out with Ike.

"Be sure to come by the next time you're back," Roy said.

"Right. You'll be champion by then."

"Yeah. We'll see."

Roy held out his hand. Ike clasped it and was pulled in for a tight hug.

"My place is always open," Roy said when they separated.

"Mine too."

Then Ike turned from his friend and walked toward the sliding doors. In the reflection of the glass, he could see Roy leaning against the hood of his car, hands in his pockets, the sky turning blue behind him. The city skyline opening up to skyscrapers and palm trees.

Then the doors slid open. Ike marched through and didn't look back.

He knew they'd see each other again.


The first time Roy got in trouble with the law (as an adult, anyway) had been for a bar fight. He then took a plea deal in exchange for a reduction of charges. Went into lock up for a bit. Took an additional sentence of community service so he could get out earlier. Spent some time serving soup to addicts at a shelter. Made a few friends. Made a few enemies. Repaid that debt to a society that he owed something to, allegedly. For granting his mother asylum all those years ago, he supposed. A debt he'd probably never stop paying.

But the second time was for a Molotov cocktail that Roy had thrown through a window and into a bounty hunter's car.

He hadn't been the only one out in the streets that night, choking on tear gas, bricks in hand, a middle finger in the air.

Private security forces, behind shields and helmets, had formed a line. A barrier to guard a single flag pole in front of a government building from the raging horde.

That flag, hanging limply at the top of the pole - that was the goal. That was their target, their mark, to bring down.

And Roy, just another face behind a hoodie and a mask, fire in his veins, chaos in his heart.

No one would have guessed that this was Lyn's son.

If they had asked him what he was doing there, he wouldn't have been able to put it to words.

"Tired of putting up with shit," he might have said.

The crowd of strangers had gathered at the same spot for the same purpose. They, who were born on the frontlines, watching war and death play out in the streets and in front of their homes. They, who were ruled by the constraints of laws crafted by people who didn't answer to them or to anyone else. They, who lived with memories of friends and family buried under the shadow of a flag that now flew in the city of their supposed refuge.

There was no stopping this tide.

Roy'd had no choice. He'd been born into it. Burning quietly at home, alone, was just another form of death.

Just this once.

Just one day...

Burn it all down. What do you live for?

He dove into the heat.

He bloodied his knuckles on helmets and shields.

He caught the kids that had been pulled away and pulled them back.

They screamed if they were caught. They screamed their names. They identified themselves to the cameras, the phones, the live witnesses.

They did this because they had learned it from their parents and their grandparents, that capture meant disappearing, going missing, dying nameless.

As with any war, there were losses.

But when the enemy line finally broke, Roy pushed through.

Someone else cut down the flag of Bern. Roy helped form the circle that protected the kids that had brought matches and kerosene.

With a spark, then a flare, and the tyrant's colors went up in flames.

That insignia twisted and died, became ashes. And there were more cries. Not of pain. Just a hopeless relief, a release of a long held breath. Unspoken truths, rushing out the gates, until the syllables all blurred together in the torrent.

Then they - this sudden makeshift army - forever unified by a single act - scattered and fled through the streets as the tide again turned.

Roy led the helmets on a wild goose chase down dirty alleyways, over brick walls and dumpsters, up stairwells, through parking garages.

He led them away from the others. He ran until he was out of breath.

They never caught him.

At least not that night.

But a week later, Roy was at Marth's place, hiding out in a personal asylum, lying low until the heat passed.

And then the front door suddenly flew off its hinges and one Captain Falcon interrupted what was supposed to be a nice quiet afternoon.

Roy's fist connected to Falcon's jaw at the same time that Falcon's knee connected to Roy's chest.

They both went down.

They both had trouble getting back up.

The bedroom door swung open.

Marth stepped between them, arms crossed.

"Idiots..."

Falcon rubbed his jaw, sucking in wind. Roy suppressed a groan.

Marth directed his eyes toward Falcon. "What's going on?"

"None of your business, sweetheart."

"I think it is. This is my house."

"I'm collecting a bounty."

"The hell you are." Marth looked at Roy. "What did you do?"

"It wasn't me."

"Crimes against the state," Falcon spat out.

"Crimes against your bitch ass," Roy fired back.

"Since when did you get into politics?" Falcon asked.

"I ain't into shit. Don't make assumptions."

"You shouldn't have gone out there."

"You shouldn't have tried to run over those kids."

"They were throwing bricks."

"You fucking deserved it."

"Fuck you, Roy."

"You picked the wrong side to fight for."

"So did you. At least I get a paycheck."

"Yeah. Yeah. Of course. I fucking knew it."

"Knew what?"

"You're not him. I know that. You're his clone."

Falcon was on his feet then. And Roy was right there with him.

But Marth had one hand already on Roy's chest and one hand on Falcon's.

"Both of you need to stop talking..."

"You think you know everything?! I know your bullshit too! You're not Eliwood's son!"

"I don't give a fuck about it!"

Marth shoved both of them back. "I'm about done with either of you."

"You need to start giving a shit," Falcon went on, eyes on Roy. "The fight league won't put up with this garbage. Your fucking contract's on the line."

"And yours isn't?"

"I'm not out in the streets throwing Molotovs."

"No. You're out there with your fists."

"I'm doing my fucking job."

"Funny how that works. It's not called politics when you do it, huh?"

Marth again, stopped both of them. "Enough." He turned to Falcon. "I'll pay you his bounty."

"This isn't about the money anymore."

"His name is coming off the wanted list tomorrow."

"You don't have that kind of authority."

"You don't know a damn thing about what I can do."

Roy stifled a laugh. And Marth leveled a glare at him too.

"The same goes for you. Let me handle this before you fuck it up."

Falcon opened his mouth to say something stupid, but Marth shut him down fast.

"I don't want to hear it."

"I - "

"And you're paying for my goddamn door."

Roy did the smart thing and shut up. He let Marth do what he needed to do.

By the end of the day, the damages to Falcon's car were paid off. Phone calls were made.

No one else ever came for him.

But there were other consequences.

Falcon's predictions came true. Roy's sponsorships dried up. He found himself dropped from the fight roster. He wasn't booked for any new matches. Eventually the pro league drafted him an offer in the amateur division. It was an insult.

Roy took a lighter to the paper contract during a video call and hung up on them.

Then he packed his bags.

Marth had a place up in the mountains. Roy decided to camp out there while he planned his next move.

Life moved at a different pace at this altitude. Roy couldn't figure out the landscape. It was all dense forests and tall trees. They were near a lake. He'd never seen water that blue before. Winter was setting in though, and the waters would soon be frozen over. Stars lit up the sky at night. It had been a long time since Roy had last seen the sky like that. In the cities he had taken root in, the sky never looked like that.

One day, it snowed. Roy put on the gear he had purchased at a secondhand shop on the way over and ventured out into the cold. Breath turning into mist in the air. The wind had bite to it. He wasn't used to that either.

Marth was busy at certain hours of the day. The communications tower was within sight of the cabin, and he relied on it for daily phone calls and video conferences.

Whenever he had time, he liked to step out and go in search of Roy.

And that was how Marth set himself up to catch a snowball to the side of the head.

"I fucking hate you."

"No you don't."

"Don't test me." Marth tried to dust the ice out of his hair. The chill in the air was already turning his cheeks pink. He had worn a white jacket that blended in with the snow around him. His boots were meant for the cold and the terrain. Somehow he made it look good.

"You'll miss me when I'm dead," Roy told him.

"Not if I'm the one who kills you."

Roy wrapped his arms around Marth and lifted him out of the snow.

"Better?"

"Put me down."

"No thank you."

"You're short enough. You don't need me this high above you."

Roy pressed him against the cabin wall. "Don't want your feet to get frost bite."

"You're an idiot." Marth tossed wet bangs out of his face. He looked a bit fed up with Roy. But it was the cutest damn thing.

Finally, Roy set him down on the steps leading back inside. While Marth was still clinging to him, Roy managed to steal a quick kiss.

Marth covered his own mouth with the back of his hand.

"What?"

"You're warm."

"I'm actually freezing."

"No, I meant, your lips feel like they're burning me."

"At least you know I'm still alive."

"What exactly are you made of?"

Roy shrugged. He leaned in for another kiss. This one was slower.

Eventually Marth pulled him inside, back into the warmth.

Roy would hold on to this memory in the desperate times that followed. It carried him through his lowest moments. He could barely admit to himself how much he hoped that he'd make it back to the warmth of that cabin one day.


To make things a little less awkward, or maybe more awkward, Mac dragged everyone else along to his date with Min Min.

Well, it wasn't a date. It was just dinner at a cheap ramen place.

The Young Lions were celebrating their first victory in the tournament so far. Pichu was their top fighter at the moment, and their honorary VIP.

Lucina sipped tea while the Pokemon finished off a large bowl of soup and noodles. She wondered if they had dessert at a place like this. The little mouse deserved a cake at the very least.

Min Min seemed cool. Mac had that dumb look on his face, like he couldn't follow what the girl was saying. Like he was too busy staring at her other attributes. But that was Mac for you. Did he need a dating coach? Probably. Lucina wasn't the right one to ask though. She had enough self awareness to know that much.

Doc Louis watched over the group, a bit like a proud dad. At least his incredibly stupid kids wouldn't go home as absolute losers. That had to be worth something. He'd call his wife in the morning to talk her ear off about it, probably.

Terry seemed like he needed another nap, but he woke up when Min Min ordered more sake for the table. He was already looking flushed.

And that was how Lucina knew they were all so thoroughly fucked for the night.

Corrin used to drink everyone else into the ground. She took her liquor in any form, but shots were preferred. She'd go all night like that, smoking those little pens that lit up blue at the end. Lucina remembered the shape her lips made when she blew out the vapors.

Lucina let Min Min pour her a shot. But she left it on the table, not sure if she should cut loose yet.

There was more work to do.

Doc Louis was the one who noticed it first. To Lucina, it was just a quick flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. But she saw the coach raise his head and narrow his eyes at something outside.

Lucina turned to follow his gaze.

That was when she heard it.

A horse.

Down the dark quiet city street, a horse galloped at full speed. On its back, a masked rider. Long hair flowing.

Lucina stared, taken aback. She could not have just seen that.

Trailing behind the rider was a flag.

Lucina toppled her chair as she jumped to her feet. Something in her blood awakened. Like an electric shock. It got her to stand immediately at attention.

The rider was flying the flag of Ylisse.

The voices of the others faded into the background as she gave in to the impulse to chase. She threw open the door of the restaurant. Her feet hit the pavement, Doc's training regiment paying off, as she sprinted after the rider.

It was a hopeless pursuit. There was no way she could catch up to the horse.

But on the street corner, there was a rental motorbike. She had the app for it on her phone.

Her fingers fumbled with the password lock. The horse and rider were disappearing into the distance.

When she finally got the bike started, she could no longer see them.

Lucina took her best guess about the direction they'd been headed towards and hit the throttle for all it was worth.

Something was calling her. Some unseen force. She felt it in the pounding of her heart. She had to go.


Come fire and flood
Let the earth shake, I won't move