The days and nights blended together. Robin had no idea how long he stayed in that room, and the guards refused to tell him when he asked. Likewise, he refused to speak to his father about it. All he knew was that he had been stuck there for a very long time.

Guards came and went, bringing food with them. His father stopped by often to offer him presents, but Robin was determined to never say a word to him. This was how things would be for the rest of his life.

Then, one day, his father came without anything to give him.

"Robin," he said. "Come with me." And before Robin could protest, his father grabbed him by the hand and dragged him out of his room.

As the doorway passed above him, Robin snapped back to his senses. "Let me go!" he cried.

He kicked. He tried to break free. He grabbed hold of his father's hand and tugged at it, but to no avail.

Servants they passed moved aside, and they stopped to watch them. That only made Robin pull harder. Wherever his father was taking him, it was going to be bad. He didn't want to go with him, but try as he might, he could go nowhere else.

At last, his father stopped and threw him forward. Robin landed on his side with a squeak. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet, and he moved to get away, only to fall face-first onto the cold stone floor. Looking down, he noticed a hazy purple string tying his foot to the ground.

"Please get up," his father said.

"No," Robin replied.

His father just stared at him. Robin met his gaze angrily, his own eyes narrowed. He wasn't standing, and there was nothing his father could do to make him. No matter what he said, Robin would stay seated.

A second passed. Then another. Robin waited for his father to do something, but he never did.

The seconds dragged on to a minute. Robin's frown grew. His father's face didn't so much as move a muscle.

Robin wasn't moving. That was his choice, and nothing his father said would ever get him to change that. He would not budge an inch from his spot. And still, his father watched him.

His red eyes drilled deep into Robin's. Just looking into them, a small part of Robin yelled out that this was a bad idea. It was like someone was inside his head, flipping through his thoughts like a dictionary. Did he know what Robin was thinking right now? No, he couldn't. That was impossible. But something about those eyes made Robin feel like he was in danger, and maybe he shouldn't have stared for so long.

Robin shifted, and he tore his eyes away. He didn't have to keep his eyes on his father. There were plenty of other places to look in the big, spacious hall he'd been dragged to. All around them, sunlight streamed through slits carved into the wall, the first he'd seen since he had tried to escape. If it weren't for the dark magic keeping him stuck to the floor, he would have tried to run through them, but they were so far away he wouldn't have been able to reach them before his father caught him anyway. The thin smell of ash hung in the air like an invisible blanket, and when Robin followed the scent with his eyes, he found a line of three straw dummies standing in front of the wall on the other side, some of them marked with ugly black burns.

Robin had never seen anything like it, but he could guess what they were for: target practice. But why had his father brought him here?

He turned his head back, only to find his father hadn't moved from his spot, still watching Robin with that cold, unfeeling gaze. A shiver clawed up his spine, digging into each bump inch by inch.

No. Whatever his father was doing to him, Robin would not listen, he refused to listen. He couldn't force Robin to do it if he didn't want to. Except... had he been this close the last time Robin had looked?

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face. No, his father hadn't moved at all. He was still right where he had been before.

Robin's fingers scrabbled against the floor, but it wasn't quick enough. His father's eyes narrowed. It was the first movement Robin had seen him make. He forced down a growing lump of cold in his throat, and his fingers twitched nervously.

He wasn't going to stand. He wasn't going to stand. But if he didn't... what would happen?

Staring into his father's red eyes felt like having his heart exposed to the bitter cold air. His chest curled in tighter, squeezing his lungs uncomfortably close and his legs itched to move.

He stood.

His father nodded with a hum, and immediately something red and hot rose to Robin's mouth. He clenched his teeth and kept it inside.

"Now," his father's voice cut through, and he reached into his robe, producing a bright red book. He dropped it before Robin, probably expecting him to catch it, but Robin didn't move, and the book clunked against the floor.

"Robin. Pick it up."

Robin didn't want to do it, but he didn't want to find out what happened if he didn't. He made it very clear to his father how much he hated doing it, but in the end, he still reached down to pick the book off the floor.

His father didn't spare him a glance, and instead, he raised a hand to the straw dummy on the far right. "Hit that one over there."

"How?" Robin forced out.

His father raised his brow. "With magic. Surely your mother taught you how to use magic. Or did she deprive you of that as well?"

"She didn't teach me." Robin turned his head away defiantly.

"Are you sure?"

"She didn't teach me."

His father made a sound. From the corner of his eye, Robin saw his father move. Sharp fingers flew toward him, and Robin gasped, but they didn't stab him or prod him. With a slow and careful gesture, his father aimed his finger at the book in Robin's hands.

"Open it."

Robin looked down at it, and with a grumble, he thumbed a random page and opened the book. The page was decorated with weird lines. Robin scanned over them, but he couldn't make any sense of them. They looked like utter nonsense to him.

He glanced back up to his father, confused. His father just nodded back toward the targets. "Cast it."

"I don't want to."

The gaze hardened, pressing up against his soul with an ice-cold blade. "Robin. Cast it." When Robin didn't budge, his father's lips tugged down. "Or do you simply not know how?"

Robin didn't need to say a word for his father to pick up that he didn't. He still tried, sealing his mouth shut as tight as he could, but his father's face shifted like Robin had spoken all the same.

"How disappointing," his father hummed. "I thought your mother must have raised you better. A pity she didn't even teach you the basics."

Robin's eyes snapped onto his father, and now it was his turn to glare. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. Simply, I thought your mother would have known to teach you something. I'm so sorry she failed you in that way. Or perhaps teaching was not her forte."

"She didn't!" Robin stomped his foot. "She taught a bunch of people! In the village, she taught magic classes all the time!"

That was what she'd done for the rest of the villagers. If you were part of a community, you had to find a part to play. Just like a house would only hold together if all the bricks supported each other, a village could only stand if everyone helped each other out, and his mother helped by teaching everyone else magic.

"She did?" His father scoffed. "Then why didn't she teach you?"

"She was gonna! She said she would teach me when I got older, before you–before you–" Robin roared in frustration, and he flung his hand out at the straw dummies.

Who did he think he was? Robin would show him he was wrong. He had never cast a spell in his life, but he'd seen his mother do it plenty of times. He'd seen her point her hand toward where she wanted the spell to go.

But what came after it?

Robin squinted. He tightened his palm until it started to hurt.

"No, not like that," his father said. "What do you think you're doing?"

Robin growled. "I don't know."

"You have to breathe."

How did that help? It wasn't like he wasn't breathing already. "But I am."

"Not like that. In through your nose, out through your mouth."

It couldn't have been as easy as that. There was no way it was that stupid, that simple. But what else could he do?

Scowling, Robin did as he was told. He breathed in and out. In and out. Something tugged at his skin, and he realized it was coming from the tome in his hands. His eyes flicked over to the pages held, and to his surprise, he found the lines glowing.

He breathed in, and as he did, heat swelled up in his chest and through his body. It warmed his fingertips and rushed down one arm and through the other. Waves of energy rippled beneath his skin, bursting and begging to be let out.

So Robin did. With a single breath, all that heat rushed out from his hand as a spiral of flame, leaving a sharp cold in its trail. It traveled three feet, crackling and flickering before it fizzled out.

"Well done, boy," his father said, nodding. "As expected from someone like you. Your mother would approve."

Robin clenched his fist, keeping the red hot bile from pouring out his throat. Again, he thrust his hand forward.

"Elfire!"

A fireball hurled over his head and smashed into the first straw dummy, consuming it in a column of flame. Robin started. He whirled around, and who else did he find standing behind him but the dark-skinned girl from before, a hand on her hip as she stared down at him smugly.

"Aversa," her father said. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here," she said, swinging her arms by her side, "to show him how it's done."

A flame snapped to life over her fingertips. The girl, Aversa, twirled it around and flung it forward. Red and orange arched through the air, and another dummy dissolved into ash.

"Hey!" Robin shouted. "I was going to use that!" He wasn't, but now that this girl had come here, he couldn't just stand here and let her get away with it!

Aversa leaned closer, her brows uneven. "Oh? You were?" She pointed at the last straw dummy. "How about you hit that one, then?"

Growling, Robin extended his hand. Pulling upon that same warm tug from the tome, Robin dragged it across his body and forced it out of his hand. A spurt of fire burst from his fingers, arched through the air, and pathetically flickered and died out. He tried again, but the flame didn't even make it a third of the way there before it disappeared. His fingers gripped the pages and flung them aside, flipping through to a random page, and he threw his arm out one more time.

"Elfire!" Aversa flicked a blast of fire magic across the room. The straw dummy was gone before Robin had the chance to cast his spell, and he whirled upon Aversa angrily.

"Hey!"

"Sorry," Aversa said, pressing her finger back against her cheek. "My hand slipped."

"It did not!"

"Did too."

"Did not!"

"Don't argue with me. What are you going to do, warm me up with that weak fire spell of yours?"

Robin snarled. His hand trembled, bursting and struggling to hold back his anger. He let it simmer through his teeth in a hot gust of air.

Because what else could he do, other than let her get away? He wasn't good enough to escape, and he certainly wasn't good enough to do anything to her.


Aversa tried for two days. Whenever her father brought out the brat, Aversa came in to steal away the spotlight. And for two days, he hadn't so much as spared her a glance.

It was stupid. It was unfair! She was much better at using magic. He'd had two days to learn, and the brat couldn't even cast a fire spell properly! What did he have that she didn't? He was important, her father had said so, but for the life of her, she couldn't figure out why!

Aversa stormed through the hall, complaining to herself. She didn't care how loud her footsteps were, or if she woke anyone up this late at night. Through the open windows, the moon watched her slither through the halls from afar, mocking her with its silent, silver gaze. Why was she up so late? Shouldn't she be in bed?

Not tonight. Tonight, she was finally going to do something about this. Tonight, she was going to get answers to all the questions still floating in her head.

Turning the corner, her toes fell into a thin strip of light cast from the door. She slowed, then came to a stop. This... wasn't supposed to be here, was it?

She lifted her head, and her eyes narrowed when she found the door to the boy's room open. Looking left and right, Aversa's suspicion only grew when she couldn't find a guard in sight. What she did find was the tail end of a shoe slipping around the corner. The boy's, most likely. If there were no guards here, then the boy could escape.

But why did she care? After all, he was stealing her father from her. If he got out, then she wouldn't have to deal with him anymore. Aversa huffed, and she considered the idea of just letting him leave.

Father wouldn't like that, though. What he would probably like a lot more was if she came to tell him that the brat was escaping. If he knew he was trying to run away again, her father would get angry at him, and maybe, just maybe, he would reward her for her efforts. Yes, Aversa liked this idea, and with this plan in mind, she slipped away to find her father.

His room was the first place she checked. He wasn't there; he usually never was. Aversa had never stayed up long enough to see him go to sleep, but on some nights he went here for some peace of mind. You couldn't think if you always had to deal with noise rattling around in the inside of your skull was what he would say. Tonight was not one of those nights, so Aversa gently closed the door and moved on.

He wasn't in the training hall. She had the chance to take a peek as she made her way across the castle, but when she checked, it was empty. Even a master of magic like him could still get stronger, so he came here every now and then to practice. He always left the training hall scorched and battered, but not a straw was out of place, so Aversa moved on from that as well.

There were many dark corners scattered throughout the castle. The hot weather meant that excess firelight did more harm than good, and the few torches hung up on the walls meant that there were many places shrouded in darkness this late at night. It provided plenty of spots for the Grimleal that roamed the castle to blend in with their dark robes. Her father lurked in those places often to silently observe the happenings between the halls and to make sure no one was plotting behind his back, but tonight, those things would go unwatched because he wasn't there either.

Finally, she reached the grand doors of the main hall. Dimly lit by a pair of torches on either side, the wooden obstruction felt more menacing than it did during the day. Even the largest soldiers her father had at his command looked small next to those doors, and maybe she was just tired, but tonight they looked so big, she didn't think she could move them if she tried. When she pressed her ear against them, though, she heard her father's voice slip through, hushed and murmured, but his all the same.

Carefully, Aversa pushed it open just a crack, and she peered through. She could faintly make out the figure of her father standing in the dark, his deep purple robes outlined by the shimmering moonlight. Two more Grimleal priests knelt in front of him with his head bowed. Through the opening and on the other side of the room, the tail end of her father's words managed to reach her.

"...to Regna Ferox? I have little use for that barbaric nation. Still, it would be troubling, were Ylisse to gain them as allies. The chance is low, what with the former Exalt's warmongering, but time provides many opportunities for the smallest things to find cracks in the mortar." A pause. "We wouldn't want that to happen, would we?"

"Certainly not, Master Validar," one of the Grimleal murmured. "Such... doubts have no place in my mind, no they do not."

"Good. See to it that you leave before sunrise, and that you do not leave such loose ends this time. As for you," he turned to the second Grimleal, "send the Exalt our best wishes for the start of her glorious reign. Quietly, of course. A gardener must take care of his crops before they are ready to be reaped."

"As you wish, your most gracious excellency."

Her? Just which her were they talking about? And what business did her father have with the Exalt of Ylisse? Aversa wasn't four. She knew who the Exalt of Ylisse was, and she also knew her father despised him.

Whatever he was planning, it must have been more important than what she was allowed to hear. Perhaps this was a bad time to enter. Perhaps it would be better for her to catch the brat herself, being the better mage and all. Sighing, Aversa turned to leave.

"Aversa." Her father's voice stopped her short. She spun around, but her father was already at the door. With a flick, the doors swung open, revealing her to the Grimleal priests still at the center of the room.

"My my," the first said, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. "It appears we have a naughty little eavesdropper, yes we do."

"I should hardly be surprised. People like her can never seem to keep their noses out of places where they don't belong," the second said. His voice was scratchy and nasally, and Aversa immediately recognized him as Ardri.

"Silence." The two shut up in an instant, and Aversa found her father's eyes, and his eyes alone, upon her. "This better be important," he said, and he folded his arms across his chest. "Speak."

"Ah..." Aversa swallowed. If there was any doubt that this was a bad time, this confirmed it. Her father did not look happy, the frowning lines on his face carved ever deeper by the shadows, and Aversa found herself moving backward.

"Well... it's just that..."

"My time is not something you can waste," her father snapped. "What do you have to say?"

Swallowing again, Aversa forced the words out of her throat. "The boy... he's gone–I mean, he's escaping!"

Her father's eyes glowed sickly red in the wisps of orange light running over his face, and as they thinned, Aversa's stomach dropped. Maybe she was wrong to tell him. Maybe this was all part of the important plan, and she'd just messed it up, and if it was, then was she going to be punished for it?

"Where did he go?"

Aversa's shoulders slumped, and her relief rushed out of her in a short gust. "He went toward the back wall," she said, and she pointed down the hall.

"Hmph." Without another word, her father reached into his robes and drew a deep purple tome. Aversa watched him sprint away, and as he disappeared, it occurred to her that following him would probably be a good idea. She glanced around nervously, to see if anyone else was going after her father, before she took off after him.


Robin stared out the window into a field of sand, his eyes following the golden ripples carried over the hills by the dry desert breeze beneath an endless blanket of stars.

The last time he was here, he hadn't remembered the desert being this big.

This time, he was smart enough to avoid being seen by any of the guards. It wasn't hard, not after he'd been here before, and he had memorized where all the halls led to and which turns to take. Mother always did say he picked up on things quickly.

How he'd missed all this sand, though, he didn't know. It was probably because he was more focused on avoiding the guards and his father, but now that he wasn't being chased, he could stop and survey his surroundings. There wasn't much to see; it was all sand. It was only sand.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? There were no trees to hide behind, no water to drink if he got thirsty, just the hot sun to bake him alive as he tried to climb over the slippery and sandy mounds, and that was if his father didn't catch him first.

He'd never be able to escape this place. Just the thought of going out there, of braving the scorching weather all by himself, with no water and nowhere to hide all by himself, was terrifying. He was never getting out of this stupid place. He was going to be trapped here forever, and that scared him.

He didn't want to admit it. He wanted to believe he could get out of here, he wanted to believe he could find someone to help him get revenge for his mother, but he had no idea where he even was. Coming up here was a mistake. It showed him how lost he really was, how hopelessly trapped he was in here. There was no way he could ever cross a place as big and empty and hot as this.

But... Marth had. Yes, she'd walked days in the desert, just like this one. Wherever she was going to or whatever she was escaping, she'd traveled through the desert to do it, and she hadn't let the hot desert sun or the dry land stop her. If she could do it, Robin could do it too, right?

Marth is gone, Robin thought sadly, but if she weren't, she would want me to do this, right? She wouldn't let it stop her, so I won't either!

Even though she was gone, Robin could hear her telling him he could do it. He had to go, he had to try, or he really would be stuck here for the rest of his life. He didn't want that. He wanted to be free!

His leg dangled over the edge of the window. Robin took a deep breath. He was going to do it. He was going to escape.

Robin jumped.

"Nosferatu!"

Suddenly, Robin found half of his body leaning out the window, the other half still stuck inside. The ground below looked so far away, lurching and swaying toward him. If he hit the ground like this, he'd get hurt.

His arms flailed out, before they caught on the wall behind him, and Robin pulled himself back inside. Immediately, whatever had glued his feet to the floor disappeared, and the room spun around him as he landed painfully on the floor. Robin groaned, and he turned around to see who had stopped him.

It was his father. Of course it was his father, it could never be anyone else. That didn't make it any less scary, and the second their eyes met, Robin's blood curled up and turned to ice inside him.

The dark-skinned girl entered the room a few seconds later, and when she saw him, she pointed at him and said, "See! I told you he was coming here!"

She told him? What a tattletale! She had ruined everything again, and Robin would have said so if he wasn't glued to the spot by his father's stare.

"I can see, Aversa," his father said.

"Do... can I get anything for this?"

"Like a reward?" His father removed his eyes from Robin. The moment he did, Robin's heart began to beat again, and he finally let himself slump over against the wall behind him.

"Hm. Yes, a reward." His father glanced between him and the girl, stroking his chin. A sinking feeling began to rise in Robin's stomach, and he shrunk away, praying that the shadows would swallow him whole. What was his father going to say? A reward, that didn't sound good.

"A reward would seem to be in order." The girl's face brightened, only to fall when his father added, "but I'm afraid I'm much too busy for that."

"What?!" the girl exclaimed. "That's not fair!"

His father held up a hand to silence her. "I wasn't finished." His eyes glared down at her, then to him. "As I said, I'm much too busy to attend to you. Either of you, as much as I hate to admit." His father scowled. "As such, I am rewarding you with this task: train your brother in the art of magic."

Her brother? Robin's eyes flew wide. But then, that meant this girl, this annoying, tattletale girl, was his sister?!

He looked over at her, and she did the same. A stunned silence settled between them, neither one of them sure what it meant.

At last, the girl, his sister, said, "Teach him? But I don't want to! It's such a stupid thing to do!"

"Yeah!" Robin joined in. "She's so annoying, I don't want to learn anything from her!"

"Annoying? You're an ungrateful brat, how can I be any more annoying than that?!"

"You two! Be quiet." His father's stern voice cut between them, dousing their argument in an instant. His sharp gaze landed on the girl. "Aversa. A task can be a reward in itself. Be thankful that I'm giving you anything to do at all. Should you be able to complete such a stupid task by the time I have finished with my work, then I shall reward you appropriately."

"But–"

"I do not want to hear another word. Now, if you'll excuse me–" His father bent down and reached for him. Robin tried to pull away, but his father's fingers found the back of his collar all the same and hauled him to his feet "–I must return your brother to his room. Good night, Aversa."

His father dragged him away, scraping his clothes against the stone floor. As Robin looked back, watching his sister glowering at him as if it were his fault, Robin only felt despair for what lay ahead.

Not only was he going to be trapped here forever, but now he had to deal with an annoying sister too? What did he do to deserve this?


I know I'm a week late on this one, but I had to give a presentation about horses not once, but twice last week. And one of those was in front of actual horse people, which I am not. Do you know how stressful that can be? Horse people are scary.

So, plot is finally happening. About time, isn't it? I know this hasn't been the most exciting series of events, but I'd still like to remind you that Robin is, in fact, a real person (in the story, not in real life, obviously). It shouldn't take much longer, about one more chapter at least, and while this probably hasn't been the best work I've done, I feel it's necessary to slow down and take a breather from all the plot to develop the characters between arcs.

Anyway, hopefully the next chapter won't have to be delayed like this one had. Until then, I wish you all well, and stay safe!