Chapter One

The Last Exalt

(The One Who Walks Alone)

The two men were silent for a moment, the only sound being the ash in the wind. Robin was at a loss, shocked after finding someone who, in appearance, was friendly. The knight maintained eye contact for a moment, before his gaze moved back, seeing the fallen priest behind him. Frederick's eyes widened.

"Ah, old friend…" The knight dismounted, walking over to Libra's body. His features hardened, as he turned to regard Robin. "He attacked you?"

"Y-Yes… I'm sorry, I didn't want to… I didn't want to kill him," he answered, truthfully, rising to his feet. The knight sighed, a tired sigh.

"Truthfully, what you did was the kindest thing you could have done. You released him. I suspect your fight is the reason I could locate you, I saw lightning pierce the clouds, ground up. I thank you, Tactician," Frederick responded, "I… regret needing to ask, but could you assist in his cremation? It would not do to let a hero of Ylisse remain in this accursed ash."

Robin nodded sullenly, helping the larger knight as they set about their dreary work. By the end, the hero was burning, hopefully at peace. Robin noted that despite the macabre, depressing work, the knight maintained a stoic, calm demeanor. It was then Frederick told him to share his saddle.

"Where are we going?" The tactician asked, stirring on the horse's back.

"Providence, my friend. Perhaps the largest city in the world. One of the only ones left."

"I…" Robin began, but realized there was so much he didn't know. "I… I can't remember anything. You and I were… friends, yes? Libra was as well, was he not?"

The knight nodded, his face aimed forward. "Aye, we were allies. Truthfully, there's a great deal I am uncertain of myself. Most of the first generation have… gaps in their memories, to put it plainly."

"I… but I don't remember anything. It's not so much that there's gaps, there's simply nothing. Sometimes I'll sense that something is familiar, but I have no true 'memories'," he said, his brow furrowing.

"I suppose that makes sense, given… what you are."

"What… what exactly am I?"

The knight sighed once more, shaking his head in what seemed to be a mix of exasperation and sadness. "Tactician, remove your glove and glance at your right hand."

Robin narrowed his eyes in confusion, before pulling his glove off. There, emblazoned on his hand, was an emblem that was… sickeningly familiar. Six eyes in a curved shape. A Mark.

"Robin. You are... "

"Fellblood. That's… what the priest called me," Robin reasoned. The Mark made him uneasy.

"You would do well not to say that name so lightly, my friend." The knight grew quiet.

"What do you mean? Is it taboo?"

Frederick sighed. "I would advise keeping that hidden, at all times. It… that mark is not a symbol of anything you can be blamed for, but nevertheless… many would jump to conclusions." Robin noted that he dodged the question, but he understood well enough. The title of Fellblood, the mark, they were certainly connected. So many questions, about himself, the world, his allies…

"You… you said the 'first generation'. What did you mean by that?" The knight didn't respond for a moment, and Robin took notice that Frederick seemed to put a great deal of thought into every word he spoke, carefully considering every word before speaking. The tactician realized he wouldn't be able to glean any information that the larger man did not want him to hear.

"I mentioned the Shepherds?" Frederick questioned, making sure Robin recalled. "We are a military outfit, tasked with protecting the people of Ylisse. Once, we were regarded as one of the greatest fighting forces in all the world. Now, suffice it to say, I believe we are one of the last remaining fighting forces in all the world."

"Frederick?"

"Yes?"

A beat of silence followed.

"I… I feel as though we constantly dance around the question. I… need to know, I need to understand," Robin said, voice wavering. "What… what happened?"

More silence, only interrupted by the sounds of hooves moving through the ash, and the clanking of the knight's armor. The ash that fell constantly, like snow, seemed to slow around them. Frederick, ever stoic, spoke one word.

"Grima."

The air seemed to turn cold. The ash seemed to fall a bit faster. Robin could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he felt an odd sensation on his right hand, exactly where the mark lay. That feeling returned. The feeling of being… watched, by some unknowable, primordial malevolence.

"Th-... That name, I…" The tactician desperately scrambled for memories that weren't there. He knew that name. He knew that name.

"Robin." Frederick's voice held a firm edge. "Do not force anything. You will only succeed in bringing yourself pain. Forgive me, there is a great deal to explain, but… I do not feel I am the one best suited to doing so. Pray, come to Providence and meet the Exalt. Then… perhaps more of your questions will be answered."

"The… Exalt?" Another familiar term. Another feeling of frustration as he desperately tried to grasp memories that were beyond his reach.

"Aye. The Exalt is the ruler of our people, and their staunchest protector," Frederick said, a crinkle in one eye being the only indication that he felt positively about this Exalt. His face darkened a moment later. "Watch yourself. Around the Exalt, but as well as the Praetorian Guard."

He turned on his saddle to force eye contact with Robin. "Every word you speak will be of the direst importance. Every word will be scrutinized. One wrong move, and you will most assuredly be killed."

Robin stiffened a bit, donning his glove once again. "Why? Why are you so certain that they would kill me? Is it… it relates to that mark, yes? And the title of Fellblood, I assume…"

"Aye. As I said, it is nothing that you can be blamed for, but that does nothing to change the fact that many would."

Robin nodded, numb, beating back several contradictory emotions. On the one hand, he couldn't help but be relieved that there were, in fact, others out there. Other sane people. On the other, they may be hostile to him, if Frederick's word was anything to go off of. A part of him couldn't help but feel righteous indignation. What gave them the right to hold him accountable for anything? According to Frederick, he was an innocent man! But then… how did he know Frederick was right?

He shook his head, letting out a breath. For now, he would have to trust the knight.

The two rode on in silence, Robin taking notes of other things on their ride. For one, despite the barren soil around them, the lack of direct sunlight, or any clean water that Robin could see, both Frederick and his horse seemed to be in healthy condition. That meant that this city, Providence, had to have some reliable source of food. But if the entire world was like this then… how?

Before he could ponder on the thought for too long, Robin saw something in the distance. From there, it seemed to be a lone mountain, and a massive one at that. Still, something about this mountain, just like so much else, seemed distinctly familiar. Robin failed to place it, again, but he knew he'd seen this mountain before.

It seemed truly massive. Surrounded by flat plains, it seemed to jut out into the heavens. It was very broad at the base, growing more and more narrow up to the peak.

"Mount Prism. The mountain upon which the city of Providence lies," the knight explained, seeming to notice Robin's piqued interest.

It was an impressive sight, made only more so as they got closer. There seemed to be a large road going up the mountain, lined with buildings and houses, some made of wood, some stone, others even carved into the mountain itself. There were several larger flat areas, upon which Robin could see what appeared to be crops, something that brought him to confusion.

As Frederick came upon the base, Robin made note of the gatehouse guarding the road that scaled the mountain, upon which it seemed the vast majority of the city was based. The knight made a symbol to the guard, and slowly the gates opened. It was immediately apparent to Robin how strong of a position this was, defensively. Being on the highest point for countless miles meant that any threats would be seen far in advance, and any invading force would face the truly terrible situation of literally fighting an uphill battle.

The two rode up the mountain, coming through the gates. It was then that Robin saw the first example of mass civilization in this world. As Frederick rode on, it seemed many eyes trailed on Robin. He saw them everywhere. Eyes. Eyes watching him.

"Plegian cur."

"Why did Sir Frederick rescue one of their kind?"

"Another mouth to feed, and it's one of them?"

Other such comments reached him, and it became very apparent to him.

He was not wanted, nor welcomed.

He did his best to take his mind off it. He noticed telling things about the people watching them pass. While certain signs of poverty indeed existed, such as often dirty and tattered clothes, signs of starvation were nowhere to be seen. That meant that those crops earlier had to be sustainable, and where there were crops, there had to be clean water. Where, he still didn't know, but he at least knew that somewhere out there, clean water there was.

Robin shook his head, realizing he was overanalyzing. As they grew higher and higher, passing through another gatehouse that was even more defended than the first, he began to notice the change in building quality. Toward the base of the mountain, most of the buildings were made from wood, and were clearly in worse condition. As they grew higher, however, stone buildings became much more prevalent, as was the military presence. He assumed…

"If anything were to happen, the population would retreat to the more militarized districts?" He asked, more to himself than anyone else.

"Aye," Frederick nodded. "We just passed through the Residential Quarter, where the bulk of the population lives. Now, we're moving through the Stockpile Quarter. It's where almost all of the farming is done, and where all of our resources are held, save for weaponry, armor, and strategic metals."

"I see."

"Next is the Military Quarter, where our weapons are stockpiled, soldiers are trained and recruited, and so on. It's perhaps the most heavily fortified out of the four, with the best made fortifications. It is also home to smithys, horse breeders, tanners, and is where the bulk of the troops are stationed."

"And the final one?"

"The Exalted Quarter. Only the Exalt and those in direct association with the Exalt live there. It is at the highest point of the mountain, and is where we are headed. I would buckle down for a fairly long ride, were I you."

A long ride it was.

Getting from the initial gatehouse guarding the Residential Quarter, to the final gatehouse guarding the Exalted Quarter must have taken around six hours, if not longer. It truly was a testament to just how massive the mountain was. Even on horseback, with a straight way up, it took six grueling hours.

The air was very notably thinner at the summit, and he felt night must have fallen a time ago. There were less people on the streets, though this may also be due to the lower population of these quarters.

One thing that had repeatedly been hammered into him was the simple fact that he was not trusted. Multiple times, Frederick had been stopped by soldiers passing by, some even bluntly asking if Robin had possessed him. It seemed the knight held a fairly high standing, however, and the soldiers generally stood aside when he told them to do so. Other times, he would threaten the more persistent ones in a way Robin assumed only the real Frederick could.

Now, as guards went to go rouse the Exalt, Robin found himself at the summit. Dismounting with Frederick, the amnesiac stretched his legs, finding a life in the saddle did him little favor. Taking in a breath, he took note of his surroundings. The summit was less spacious than the rest of the road leading to it, but that did not make it any less massive. There were several buildings, Robin guessed religious sites and administrative structures, as well as a deal of guards on night duty. Frederick had explained that these guards weren't permitted to live in the Exalted Quarter, but rather, they lived closer than the other guards did to make the commute easier on the men.

The Exalted Quarter certainly was tiny compared to the rest, but Robin supposed it made since. This served as the seat of government, it seemed. As Frederick took stride for a large building in the middle, Robin felt his beliefs were confirmed. Built from stone, enclosed in high walls, this building had a certain dignity to it not afforded to many others. As Robin came into an open court area, surrounded by walls, for perhaps the first time, he felt safe.

It was then that his senses and instincts kicked in before his conscious thoughts did, and he managed to catch one of the blades that had been hurled at him, aimed at his throat. The other slashed into his shoulder. Blinded by pain, Robin nearly missed the form moving at him. He caught a glimpse of long, dark hair, and a mask over the eyes.

His assailant launched himself at Robin, the latter only just catching his wrist, blocking the dagger aimed at the amnesiac's heart.

"You!" the man yelled, striking out with his fist, a move Robin just managed to avoid. The amnesiac kicked at his leg, knocking his legs out from under him. Quick to recover, the man rolled back and to his feet, ducking into a low stance.

"Gerome."

A commanding voice cut the would be assassin off. Frederick, standing between the two now, brandished his spear. His face had a hard look to it.

"Sir Frederick, you brought this… this monster here?!" The man, Gerome asked, his low voice cracking with rage.

"Sir Gerome, this man is my friend. He is an asset-"

"He burned our home to ash. Do not speak to me of 'assets.'"

A silence fell over the two, as Robin watched, unsure of what to do. He could see the tension, and was fully aware of what would happen. Gerome was willing to kill Frederick to get to Robin, and Frederick was willing to kill Gerome to prevent just that.

The amnesiac was aware that several guards were watching, they themselves obviously unsure as well. Robin guessed that both men outranked them, and none were sure if it was their place. Still, it had to be someone's…

"Please," his voice spoke up. "It… it doesn't have to be like this!"

It was then that it happened. A green glow seemed to gather around Gerome as he crouched low, clutching his dagger, while a blue one enshrouded Frederick as he stood tall; defiant.

When Gerome moved, Robin couldn't even follow it. When Frederick reared back his lance, the blue light emanating from it was blinding.

"Galeforce."

"Luna."

One of them would die. Robin knew that. He knew that, and yet… he couldn't move.

It was then, just before they clashed, Frederick thrusting forward, Gerome trying to duck below at superhuman speed, that third person entered.

Long cerulean hair.

A cape on the back with an insignia brandished.

A broadsword with an all-too-familiar design.

And skill beating that of any war god.

The woman leapt between the two from above, using her blade to deflect Frederick's lance into the air, and her foot to kick out one of Gerome's legs. The blue energy coalescing around the knight's lance exploded into a beam, blasting into the night sky, bathing them in a brilliant blue light, whereas Gerome's superhuman speed led to him tumbling end over end, crashing into the wall behind Robin.

The woman rose to her full height. Robin got a look at her face, and was taken aback. She was beautiful, the kind you only read about. Blue eyes analyzed him, seeing through him. Ice. A mask of ice examined him. She slowly raised her blade, pointing it at him.

"Fellblood. What have you invited into my home, monster? Have you corrupted my allies?"

'Allies,' she'd said. Not friends; allies. Her voice had a rage to it, but one Robin knew was greatly restrained.

"I…"

"Milady Lucina," Frederick's voice cut Robin off, as the knight lowered his lance, "this is Robin, Tactician of the Shepherds."

The woman, the Exalt Lucina, eyed Robin with scorn etched in her features. A wind seemed to blow, her hair flowing as elegantly as brushstrokes in a painting. Her blade did not waver.

"I see." The Exalt moved forward, her blade lowering, until she was within four feet of him. Her eyes watched him, closely. "Then, Tactician, I would ask you to do the Shepherds one final duty."

"I… what is required of me?" He asked, taking a step back, which she immediately made up for, taking two steps closer to him.

"Your life. Die, Tactician."

Eyes cerulean blue peered into eyes stormy grey.

"Die, in atonement for the hell you have unleashed."

Lot of worldbuilding this time. Hope it isn't overwhelming.

I vibe with this story a lot, just lack time or energy to write. Still like where it's headed. Glad to see people notice the soulsborne parallels.

My inspiration from this story basically came after beating Souls 3. My intent is to have the dark fantasy/postapocalypse vibe of soulsborne, with the worldbuilding of Re: Zero or Fallout.

For those who felt this chapter was slower moving, the next few should be better in that regard. More dialogue/character driver. For those who are fans of worldbuilding, as I clearly am, this is for you.

Stay safe and god bless

blm