Chapter One: Last of the Lorca

Silence.

It was the comfortable silence. One that was confident on its own. One that didn't need sound to calm the people enshrouded in it. Silence claimed the Sacae Plains easily in the early morning, when the sun was just peeking its glowing head over the horizon. Not even the wind made a sound as it skipped across the grass, weaving through tall stalks of vegetation and streaming into the horizon.

A lone ger stood in the otherwise empty area, its surface scratched and dark from years of use. Worn cloth decorations hung from the rounded roof, the colors dulled by time. The outside of the hut was fairly clean, not a single out-of-place object dotted the grass around it. Even inside, the same neat order was preserved.

The ger's interior was spacious; there were only a few, small pieces of furniture inside. A small table and a low shelving unit were placed against the eastern wall, the dark wood polished to a shine. The shelves held a variety of items, ranging from herbs and spices, to tiny bottles, filled only with air. A small bed was pushed against the side of the ger, the cotton sheets a normal, off-white color.

Lined up against the other walls were sturdy boxes that varied in size and color, each one filled to the brim with all sorts of items. Tall jars containing large amounts of water and berries were beside the chests. On the wall opposite the door was a neatly organized set of weapons, ranging from short spears to graceful swords.

Only the swords remained in good condition. The others stood proudly, gleaming as best they could in the early morning light, but all were layered in a thick coat of dust.

Lyn's right hand wrapped loosely around the hilt of one such sword, drawing it as her left hand held the scabbard steady. The metal sang cheerfully as it scraped against its sheath, the blade glinting in the dim light. It freed itself with a metallic hiss, and she held it at eye-level, inspecting the blade with critiquing eyes.

In reality, there truly wasn't anything special about the sword. It's blade was made of iron, the same as any ordinary sword anywhere. In fact, if she had her way, it would be made of steel or even silver, not iron.

But, she didn't have her way. Instead, she had two blades, both made of the same iron as every other sword. Both, however, she took pristine care of, polishing them till they glowed and always keeping them deathly sharp. She treated them as a child would a favorite toy; trying her best to keep them good as new, but unable to stop using them until they dulled with age

Even in a seemingly empty place, her sword was vital at all times. All types of bandits from all over the Bern mountains came to her area of Sacae, terrorizing neighboring villages, and sometimes even Lyn herself. She needed her sword for protection, both for her and the people who lived around her.

Bandits were separated into clans; large groups that hailed to one name. Originally, there had simply been bandits, without any semblance of order whatsoever. Eventually, though, the brigands began to disagree with each other and formed bands of people with the same ideals.

One such clan was the Ganelon, a band that had, once, been the largest in all of Bern. Ten years ago, however, it had split almost exactly in two. Thus the clan known at the Taliver was formed.

The Taliver bandits quickly became well-known throughout all of Sacae and Bern as the most treacherous of all the bands roaming the mountains. The Taliver grew at an alarming rate, pillaging every village they came across, and murdering countless innocents.

Lyn scowled at air, her fingers tightening instinctively around the hilt of her sword. The Taliver were monsters, cruel and unforgiving. They slaughtered men, women and children alike. They cared nothing for any other life but their own.

She would destroy them all.

Suddenly, the look of anger and determination on her face melted and gave way to an aura of defeat and despair. She couldn't face them; not now. She looked down at her hand, wrapped so tightly around her sword that her knuckles had begun to turn white. As much as she hated to admit it, it would be foolhardy to try and face the Taliver now. Though she was skilled with her blade, there was much she still needed to learn. Even a small group of Taliver bandits would strike her down in minutes.

No. She couldn't face them now. Instead, she had to train. She had to become stronger, so that she could repay the bandits for all their crimes.

She brushed past the tan cloth that served as her door, entering the endless fields of grass that served as her home. She smiled, faintly, as all thoughts of hate and revenge vanished, and only thoughts of the plains before her occupied her mind.

She stood on a shallow hill, a rare occurrence in the flat terrain of Sacae. Her home was somewhat close to the Bern Mountains, so the terrain was a bit rockier, but only very slightly. A sea of grass spread out below her, barely disturbed by the gradual change in terrain. Each blade was a pale shade of green that blended perfectly with the others around it. Small shrubs spotted the area, and a few trees could be seen on the horizon. Other than that, the plains were as they should be. Empty.

Well, that's what she expected, anyway.

"Hm...?" A good way away from her ger was a depression in the tall grass. It was out of place, as if someone had randomly cut away the stalks... Or as if something was lying there. She studied the depression from a distance, her right hand once again gripping the hilt of her sword and stepped forward to investigate.

As she approached, it became obvious that the depression wasn't because the grass had been cut. She could see footprints, obviously human by their shape, in the grass, the blades bent from the force of someone's weight. Already the stalks had begun to straighten themselves out, indicating that it had been a good while since the prints had been made.

But, what bothered her the most was not the prints themselves; rather, it was what she noticed dotting the ground around the prints. It wasn't noticeable from far away, but up close, it was a glaring detail.

Blood.

Her sword hand didn't loosen by any margin on the way there, but when her destination finally came into view, she abandoned her hilt all-together, sprinting forward in automatic concern. "Oh my–!"

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"... The Alpha formation... ... triangular pattern... ... surround and overwhelm... ... ..."

Lyn glanced over her shoulder curiously. The girl was talking in her sleep again. At first it had just been incoherent mumblings, things the Sacaen had assumed were memories of whatever had happened to her. Now, though, she was saying full words, and very clearly as well. In fact, some of it was so complicated that Lyn couldn't understand half of it...

She frowned, dismissing the girl's subconscious ramblings for the moment. She turned back to her work by the shelf, filling some of her empty bottles with cool water and creating small doses of medicine with her storage of herbs.

By appearances, the stranger was a traveler. She wore a hooded cloak, the color a faded olive green. She didn't carry many things; she had two pouches, one empty, one filled with a small amount of gold, as well as a leather-bound book. Lyn decided not to touch the book, lest the girl be angry with her when she awoke.

She had found the girl unconscious in the grass, her body covered with an assortment of cuts and bruises. None of them had been particularly dangerous, but several had been deep and needed to be wrapped. Lyn didn't think that it was the injuries that had made the girl collapse, though. From what she could tell, the girl hadn't had water in a long while. She probably had been severely dehydrated.

Lyn took one of the small bottles in her palm, taking one step back so that she was beside her bed. She tipped the bottle's mouth to the girl's lips, gently allowing a few drops to slide down her throat. The girl coughed lightly, but swallowed the liquid nonetheless. She mumbled something again in her sleep, this time inaudible, and fell into slumber once more.

Lyn returned to her shelf, organizing the vulneraries placed on top of it. She had used a lot of her own to treat the girl's wounds; she needed to get some more very soon. She would have to go to town again, and she had just gone a few days ago...

"... ... Uhnnn... ... Ow... What...? Where...?"

Lyn glanced over her shoulder again, her eyebrows shooting up into her bangs. Those words didn't sound like sleep-talk. But the girl had been sleeping soundly just minutes ago...

"...Ahh..." The stranger sat up in the bed, her right hand probing her forehead gently. Her eyes were squinted shut from an aching pain, and her back was hunched slightly. Suddenly, her body shook violently, and she leaned over the opposite side of the bed, retching as if she was about to be ill.

Lyn abandoned her vulneraries on the shelf, sweeping quickly to the side of the bed. She placed a hand on the girl's back, steadying her as she desperately tried and failed to empty her stomach. She remained doubled-over long after her gagging had ceased, her long, brown hair shielding her face from view.

"Are you all right now?" Lyn asked quietly, seating herself on the edge of the mattress, her hand lingering on the stranger's back. The girl remained silent for a moment before nodding stiffly.

The girl took a deep breath, straightening her back and turning to look at the plainswoman beside her. "Yes... I'll... I'll be fine." She studied her rescuer, oak brown eyes narrowed more out of confusion than anything else. "... Who... Who are you again?"

"My name is Lyn." The Sacaen smiled warmly, trying to make the girl feel more comfortable in the unfamiliar surroundings. The stranger's face was deathly pale, and her mahogany hair hung limply around her face, the color looking almost dull with fatigue.

"I live here on the Plains," Lyn offered, noting that the confusion still had not left the girl's eyes. "I found you unconscious in the middle of the field." She gestured to the cloth door, indicating the fields outside.

"Ah... Yes... That's right, I remember now." The stranger lifted her hand to her forehead again. "I ran out of water. I had been out for about a day or so when bandits showed up." She shook her head vaguely, wincing as the movement sent a wave of pain through her skull, "Everything after that... I just can't remember."

"That's understandable," Lyn said gently, patting the girl's shoulder and rising from her spot on the bed. "Bandits, though... You were lucky. It was probably one of the more merciful clans. The Ikane, maybe?"

"I... honestly wouldn't know."

"Well, anyway, you're safe now." Lyn picked one of the small bottles off of her shelf, handing it to the stranger. "Here. You said yourself you hadn't had water in a long time."

"... Thank you." The bottle was small, fitting neatly into the palm of the hand. Thus, it couldn't hold much water, and the girl downed it rather quickly. She didn't ask for more, but Lyn filled it just as fast as she had drank it, receiving another meek, "Thank you..." in return.

Lyn seated herself back on the bed as the girl finished off the water. Another thought occurring to her, the Sacaen tilted her head to the side questioningly. "I wonder... Can you remember your name?" she asked suddenly.

The girl stared at her blankly. "Yes...?" She mimicked her rescuer, tilting her head slightly. "My name is Cynthia. Why wouldn't I remember?"

Lyn smiled, and tapped her left temple. "Amnesia. I was worried you might have bumped your head. You seem fine, though." She patted the traveler's shoulder again, and again she stood from the bed. "A pleasure to meet you, Cynthia. You should stay here and rest a few days. I can give you some supplies for your trip when you're ready to get on your feet again."

"Thank you..." Cynthia said quietly, watching as Lyn milled about the room. "I can't begin to repay you for all you've done for me..."

Lyn smiled over her shoulder, waving a dismissive hand. "No, no, don't worry about it," she said cheerfully. "I couldn't just leave you there, now could I?"

"I... I suppose not..."

"Right. So you just rest here for the next few days, and I'll–"

She froze, her mouth falling abruptly silent. Cynthia's eyes once again took a look of confusion, watching as the Sacaen suddenly stopped moving. Lyn's own green eyes darted to the door, and her hands slowly wrapped around the hilt of her sword.

"Lyn...?" Cynthia asked nervously, noting that Lyn had taken hold of the blade. She sat stock straight in the bed, both hands gripping the empty clay bottle like it was a comfort object. Her eyes had gone wide, and fear that she had done something wrong was clearly present in them. "... Lyn, what's–"

"Shhh!" Lyn's scathing order forced the traveler into silence. The Sacaen drifted to the door, gently pushing away the cloth that covered the frame. "Did you hear that?" she questioned, her voice barely a whisper.

"Hear wha–"

Cynthia's voice was cut off by the echo of a woman's voice. The look on Lyn's face indicated it was the same sound she had heard just seconds before, one that had gone unnoticed by the traveler. The sound was obviously louder now, but still faint. Despite that, it was audible enough for anyone to recognize easily.

A scream.

Lyn peered out the doorway, one hand secured firmly on her sword. Cynthia remained where she was, the air around her had suddenly become so tense that she was afraid to so much as breathe, much less move. Lyn suddenly cursed under her breath, pulling rapidly away from the cloth that served as her door. "Bandits," she whispered harshly.

She turned to face her guest, the anger in her gaze condensing into concern. "They're probably the same lot that attacked you. I bet they came to raid the nearby villages." She scowled, turning to glare back at the doorway. Her voice dropped in volume, so her next statement sounded as if she was talking more to herself than to Cynthia. "... I have to stop them."

"W-Wait!" Lyn eyes snapped back in surprise as the traveler suddenly spoke up, leaning forward eagerly, though a hint of fear still displayed in her eyes. "Take me with you! I want to help!"

Lyn stared at the traveler in disbelief. "Cynthia, I appreciate your concern, but you're in no condition to stand, much less fight!"

Cynthia seemed subdued slightly by the statement. Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink, and she looked away to hide it. "I... Well... I don't mean actual fighting..."

Lyn cocked her head. "What? Then..."

"I... I'm a strategist. A tactician, if you will." Cynthia began to throw the covers off of herself, wincing noticeably as she moved her body to the side of the bed. "I can't fight, per se, but I can give you advice! ... I may not look it, but I know quite a lot about these things."

"But... Even so..."

"I'm fine! Really!" Cynthia placed her feet on the ground, ignoring a cry of protest from Lyn. She hopped off the edge of the bed and placed her weight fully on her legs. Her knees trembled, and she stumbled a few steps before regaining her balance. "S-See?" she said shakily, smiling weakly to the Sacaen across the room, "I... I don't have to do anything more than walk, anyway."

"... Honestly!" Lyn gave the traveler an exasperated smile, her tense posture loosening considerably. "You're so stubborn..." She sighed, turning towards the door. "Fine, I'll let you come. I could use the help." She glanced back, becoming serious once more. "But you have to be careful. I'll protect you, but I can't do anything if you pass out again."

Cynthia smiled earnestly, trotting up beside the Sacaen. "Right. I'll be careful; promise."

"All right. Let's go."

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"See that?"

"Yes, Cynthia, it's a bandit. Not difficult to identify."

The tactician made a face, rolling her eyes at Lyn's comment. They were laying on the crown of the hill, pressed low to the ground to avoid being seen. The grass was tall enough around them so that anyone looking up the slope wouldn't see the depression they made.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Cynthia whispered angrily, "I wasn't pointing to the bandit himself, I was pointing to the fact that his back is to us."

"What? Cynthia, that doesn't make sense."

Cynthia shook her head, already exasperated. "Look, I know what I'm doing, okay? I'll explain it." She pointed again, her finger barely poking above the grass around them. "Now, see? He's looking to the left now; his side is to us."

"So what?"

"Lyn, just listen!"

The tactician began to explain her reasoning, a complicated set of facts and numbers. Lyn stared at her blankly as she spoke, her ears hearing but not really listening. By the way Cynthia spoke, it sounded as if she was happy to have someone to empty information on. Lyn, however, wasn't in the mood for statistics.

"... Cynthia, I think it would be easier if you just tell me what you want me to do."

"But... Oh, fine." The tactician sighed, hanging her head. "Wait until he's about a quarter turn away from us, so that part of his back and part of his right side is facing us," she said blandly, turning her attention back to the battlefield, "Come up from behind so that he doesn't see you, and strike his right side."

Lyn rose to her elbows, peering over the tips of the grass. "Right." She narrowed her eyes, watching as the axe-user bumbled about on the field, obviously not at home on the grass. He was completely off-guard, a common mistake made by brigands. But even so, he appeared to be much stronger than the small number of other bandits around him.

Lyn gripped her sword hilt with her hand, coming up to a crouch, ready to spring at the right moment.

Then... it came.

"There!" Lyn sprang from her spot, her hand pulling the sword swiftly from its sheath. The metal sang as it entered the air, glinting giddily in the afternoon sun. She landed with a soft thump in the grass, the sound so soft not even the tactician behind her heard it.

She was upon the bandit in seconds. He spotted her just before she was in range, and he made a frenzied attempt to counter her attack. His movements were too slow, however, and she was upon him before he was able to even turn around.

"Ha!" Her blade sank into the brigand's arm, cleaving away a deep injury. The bandit snarled in surprise and pain, swinging his axe haphazardly. The weapon connected roughly with her sword, locking at the hilt, and she shrank down into a defensive stance.

The mere force of the blow was almost enough to knock the sword from her hands. Lyn grunted under the brigand's superior strength, her hands struggling to merely keep hold of her blade. The bandit pushed down on his axe, the Sacaen's sword caught in a nook where the axe head met the wooden shaft. "Stupid little girl." Blood from his wound dripped down his arm and onto the axe, making the weapon seem even more malicious. "You dare challenge Batta the Beast!"

Cynthia sat up straight, watching the battle with fearful eyes. The chocolate orbs surveyed the situation frantically, her brain racking for a solution to the problem. Suddenly, there was a loud clash of metal against metal, accompanied by a brief shriek of pain.

"Lyn...!" Cynthia leaned forward on her hands, eyes wide with fear of what she hadn't seen. She spotted the two adversaries again, both injured, but neither attacking again.

Batta had broken Lyn's defense only moments after they had locked weapons. She had made one last attempt to dodge, but still the axe had caught her shoulder, cutting deeply into her flesh.

Cynthia's shout gained attention from neither of the fighters; both were focused solely on their opponent. Lyn lifted her sword, setting it into another attack stance. The brigand laughed scornfully, spitting a mouthful of blood to the side.

"Gonna try again, little girl?"

Lyn remained silent, her green eyes narrowed in concentration. Her shoulder ached painfully as she prepared another attack, blood seeping at a steady rate from the wound. She ignored any and all pain emanating from it and focused solely on the bandit facing her.

She sprang forward with a cry, throwing caution to the wind and choosing a straightforward assault. The bandit grinned as she approached, his hands bringing up the bulk of his axe to intercept her blade...

CLANG

Cynthia cursed under her breath as the fighter's weapons locked once again. She had specifically told Lyn that attacking from the front was foolhardy. It was spreading your attack pattern out for your enemy like a map!

The tactician watched helplessly from the hill, pushing herself up to her knees. The opponents struggled against each other's weight, the advantage occasionally slipping from one to the other and back again. Their weapons were fighting just as much as their owners were, and which one would emerge victorious was solely based on the wielder's strength.

You didn't need to be a genius to figure out who that was.

Already, Lyn's legs were buckling under Batta's sheer power. He grinned down his axe at her, fully confident in his victory. Lyn, however, had a surprise in store, and her bumbling fool of an opponent would never see it coming.

She had been forced almost to her knees, her legs bent into a squat. If her intuition was right, he was going to break off soon and attack, most likely a strike that would kill her. If things went well, though, she wouldn't have her life cut short just yet...

"Any last words, wench?" the bandit snarled in a breathy whisper.

Lyn glared, her lips forming one, clear word, despite the obvious pressure he was exerting on her blade. "... Die..."

His eyes shot open wide as she suddenly jerked her sword back and out of the lock, leaving gravity as the only force on his weapon. She pulled herself out of the way just as his axe plummeted downward, sinking firmly into the earth below. He only had a moment to struggle with his weapon, for it took Lyn only one, quick stroke. She thrust her sword forward, giving him no time to cry out before her sword pierced his throat.

Lyn stood as Batta's body fell limp, slumping loosely over the shaft of his axe. She withdrew her blade from his broken body, a splatter of blood coloring it deep red. She sighed, looked down at the body at her feet, and said a short, merciful prayer to Mother Earth in her mind.

The other bandits in the area looked at each other in sheer alarm. Lyn glowered at them from where she stood, blood streaming down her sword arm and the right side of her face. She held her ground, though her head was swimming and her arm throbbing. The bandits only stared at her, astounded, until finally she jerked her head in the direction of Batta's mangled body, strewn in a bloody mass on the ground.

At that, they all threw their axes wildly to the ground, released their hostages, and turned tail and ran.

"Lyn!" The Sacaen looked up at the familiar voice, letting the sword's hilt click into place against her scabbard. She smiled and waved with her good arm as her tactician friend sprinted down the hill, her face clearly showing her relief.

"Are... you all right!" Cynthia came up beside her friend. She was out of breath from the short run, and her words were disjointed by panting. "I... saw that wound... he gave you..." She indicated the large amount of blood oozing from the wound, staining the forest green fabric of her new friend's clothing.

Lyn glanced at her shoulder, wincing at the mangled mess it had become. "It's... all right. I have some vulneraries in my pouch here..." She detached a small brown bag from her belt, fishing around in it before producing a small jar. She drank the liquid stored inside, making a face as the bitter flavor crossed her tongue.

"I've... never seen... a vulnerary... like that one before..."

"There are different kinds. Vulneraries really are just a way of treating a wound. That one helps speed up healing from the inside. I have others that help healing from the outside. Prevents scars and things."

"I see... You're very... knowledgeable."

"When you've lived on the Plains as long as I have, you learn these sorts of things."

Cynthia forced a bright smile, but didn't respond in words. She was trying to get her breathing to calm, but still she needed to take deep, steady breaths, even after resting herself for several moments.

"Cynthia... are you all right?" Lyn said slowly, noticing the tactician's labored breathing. "Surely a little run couldn't tire you out that much..."

"Normally... it wouldn't..." Cynthia panted, closing her eyes. "But... I'm fine... It'll pass. Just give me a moment... please." She took one, last deep breath before smiling broadly at the Sacaen. "See? I'm... fine, I–"

She never got to finish her statement.

Her eyes suddenly fluttered shut, and she promptly collapsed into a heap.

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Her vision slowly cleared as the young tactician came to, finding herself, once again, staring at the ceiling of Lyn's oddly furnished home. She groaned and rolled over onto her side, rubbing her eyes with her right fist. "Agh... Not again..."

"I told you not to overexert yourself, Cynthia." The Sacaen appeared in her line of sight, her brow creased in irritation. "I was worried something had happened to you during that battle. It turns out you were just fatigued because you didn't rest enough!"

The tactician sat up groggily, still rubbing the sleep away from her eyes. "I'm sorry, Lyn," she mumbled softly. "I guess I was in worse condition than I thought I was..." She let her hands drop into her lap and looked up at her new friend. "Lyn...?"

The Sacaen's concerned look hadn't faded, not even in the slightest. She was milling about the room, though she didn't seem to be doing anything. Her motions seemed... more like pacing to Cynthia. "Lyn, is something wrong?" the tactician asked meekly, "I'm sorry if I made you worry, I–"

"No, no, it's not that. It's all right." Lyn paused in her pacing, then turned to face the traveler, her hands folded in front of her. Her eyes were closed, as if she were trying to make a decision. "I... wanted to ask you something, actually."

"Ask me something?"

The Sacaen opened her eyes, giving the tactician a look of sheer determination and resolve. "I... want to go with you when you're ready to leave again. Is it all right if I... travel with you?"

Cynthia stared in disbelief. "You want to... What?" She shook her head, more out of confusion than anything else. "Lyn... I... I don't know..."

"Please, Cynthia!" Lyn seated herself on the edge of the bed, a pleading edge emerging in her voice. "That fight yesterday... I learned that I can't always protect myself. And... and if I come up against a truly strong enemy..."

"Lyn..."

"Cynthia, please, just consider this? I won't become any stronger sitting here doing nothing."

The tactician watched the Sacaen beside her, confliction clearly present in her eyes. She wanted to let Lyn travel with her, she truly did, but how could the Sacaen even consider leaving everything here behind? Friends? Family?

Wait...

"Lyn... Where's your family? Your parents? Have you talked to them about this yet?"

The Sacaen's face darkened considerably. She looked down and away, her bangs shielding her face from view. Her hands closed into fists, clinching the sheets below her into her palms.

"My parents... died six months ago," Lyn said dully, her voice heart-wrenchingly soft. "... It was bandits. They came in the dead of night. We... We were powerless to stop them..." She lifted her hands from the mattress, staring down at them as if they were coated in blood, as if she were the one who had been responsible. "I... I tried..."she whispered, her voice finally cracking, "I... I tried so hard to protect everyone..."

"Lyn..."

Lyn spun to face her, her green eyes brimming with unwelcome tears. "So... So that's why you have to take me with you! I must get stronger so that I can avenge everyone! I must!" She began to shake, the warm tears spilling down her cheeks. "Please, Cynthia... Grant me this one thing..."

The tactician was silent for several moments, taking in the shivering wreck before her that she had once considered so strong, both in body and spirit.

"All right," she said quietly, "We'll travel together."