Wartorn

If Ike had written a list of things he hated a week ago, he could have filled several pages. Eliwood, the Black Knight, the endless recitals of credos ringing out of temples in Altea, and the taste of Lorca wine all earned their spot among this honorable company. But he hadn't thought he would have to add a plain fortress to his list.

Until now.

The source of his disgruntlement sat amidst the mountainous landscape like an ugly, overstuffed crow. The battlements pierced the sky with the usual Pheraen sense of architectural beauty – which was to say that the crenellations served to drive an attacking army insane and nothing else. It rained stones from the catapults up there day in and day out. Snow fountained as another projectile hit the ground a good distance away from the rock formation Ike used for cover. The black brick might stem from an inner wall. With a little luck, the fortress would continue to pluck from its pillars until the roof caved in above the whole monstrosity.

Another brick slammed into the ground, closer this time.

On second thought, Ike rather wanted the fortress to send out its soldiers. They had been sitting idly on their battlements for too long.

A gust rushed past Ike, whirled the snow in its path, and grabbed hold of a soldier who was operating one of the catapults. The man dropped over the merlons with a scream. But the buzzing of another volley drowned the sound of his neck snapping.

Ike turned towards Soren, who had peeked over the rock formation and kept his hand raised to command the wind a second time. The next squall slapped Ike's face from the north, raw and untamed and absolutely useless. Soren furrowed. Not a good sign.

Nephenee, however, who huddled next to Soren, looked even worse. She hugged her spear, pulled her helmet over her ears, and had lost herself so deeply in her breathing exercise, Ike worried she could pass out from too much oxygen.

"If you want to file complaints, just remember that I didn't force you to tag along on this trip," Ike said.

"I heard that in most situations, breathing is a beneficial activity for a lively mind and body," Soren chimed in.

Nephenee shook her head. The snow specks in her long hair danced. "I'm trying…"

"What you are doing is not breathing. At best, it is a careless abuse of your lungs."

"I'm fine. Just nervous."

"No news there," Ike said. "How you didn't drop from your horse with nervousness at the battle of Lycia still boggles my mind."

"Not everyone can be so brick-headed as to run forward with open arms at the prospect of a slaughter, Ike." Although Soren had trademarked the art of a calm speech, his labored breath tainted his words.

"I will be fine," Nephenee said. "I have to be. Just this one fortress and then the Black Wall will be entirely in our hands. Then you can return home too." She turned her heart-shaped face towards Ike with a look sugarcoated in a little too much sympathy.

Ike pinched his nose to chase away the heralds of a headache. "I don't see you running around in the wheat fields of some far-off farm either."

"Wheat doesn't grow during this season," Soren said.

"How about you entertain our enemies with that endless well of knowledge? Maybe they'll get so annoyed that they surrender the fortress peacefully."

Nephenee chuckled. "Thanks, you two. I'm better now. It's almost how things used to be."

With a nostalgic smile, she brushed the snow from her shield and gave the metal framing another round of polish. Her breath had eased.

The hailstorm of bricks from the fortress had not.

"Ah yes, the good old days," Ike said over the noise from the relentless barrage. "Where we were always less than half a step away from capture and execution. Not to forget Cherche's terrible food. Remember when we didn't have the manpower to even entertain the idea of laying siege to a fortress? Makes you almost want to go back, doesn't it?"

"I am inclined to disagree." Soren reached over the rockface. But the wind kept silent, and no death scream from a guard followed either. "The thought of an army in our back that hopes to support rather than execute us is a most welcome change of pace."

"Speaking of which…" A lucky shot crashed into the front of Ike's cover, and he held up his arm to save his face from oncoming rubble. "When will that backup finally show up?"

Soren gave up on the wind and pressed his back against the rockface. "Whenever the queen sees fit."

"Great. So she probably won't budge before those guys up there have buried us under the masonry of their dining hall."

"You know as well as I do that our forces are spread thin all across Pherae. Even in the case of a timely arrival, any cavalry will be of little use as long as the fortress' gates remain closed."

Ike glared at the ugly slap of metal that kept the fortress sealed. "You don't have to tell me twice."

"But we've had worse, right?" Nephenee asked. "The Aurelis operation still seemed impossible to me by the time we hoisted the Altean flag above the harbor."

Soren nodded. "Indeed. Aurelis was a rather ridiculous stretch of probability. Trying to conquer this fortress here with a team as small as then would be audacious even for our standards. We can call ourselves fortunate to have been given as many men as we have."

"Fifty people against a battalion of catapults isn't exactly what I'd call fortunate," Ike said.

He looked over the soldiers under his command. They huddled in the lee of the rocky slope, their swords sheathed or set aside entirely. A few of them ground their teeth. A few more repaid his examination with a listless glare. Next to them, Nephenee appeared like a seasoned warrior hungry for action. Without exception, they wore the eagle crest of the Pheraen Empire.

Just like the defenders of the fortress.

The head on which the crown of the Empire rested might have changed, but the people of Pherae were by no means worse off than before. They would have had far more to complain about if Ike had been in charge. Gold still remained in the hands of pompous Pheraen lords, and soldiers still enjoyed the numerous benefits of a life with the military, both in financial and social terms. The master of this particular fortress, however, hadn't gotten the memo.

In the past months, a similar scenario had repeated itself all across Pherae. The local baron didn't like the new queen's face: rebellion. A band of soldiers had grown too attached to their swords, curtesy of Roy: rebellion. The tax collector with the ostentatious villa refused to lower the levies for Altean farmers: rebellion with the added spice of swords for hire.

Ike had ridden to and fro in the Empire, and after a few heads had rolled, these rebellions had dissolved faster than they had emerged. Not that he ever reported back the details. He knew all too well the look he would earn for his problem-solving methods. So far, the results had spoken in his favor.

Until he had met with this monstrosity of a fortress.

If any enemy head had showed itself in sword-range, it would have solved so many of his problems.

Ike peeked over the rockface. The assault of bricks had stopped, probably because the soldiers had run out of defiant targets to aim at.

"Okay, I'm going in," Ike said.

Soren clasped the hem of his mage robe, and his face had adopted an even paler shade than usual, but he still found the energy to grab Ike's arm. "You may be a brick-headed simpleton, but even you must realize that this is folly. We can wait for reinforcements and seize the fortress then."

"Look at the supposed soldiers on our side and tell me they'll still have the nerve to fight when that backup arrives. The only reason they haven't deserted on us yet is the fact that they'd need a spine for running."

Soren followed Ike's gaze. The Pheraen crest gleamed brighter than the churned-up snow. "When have we started to walk backwards, I wonder…"

Ike had given up asking this question.

He planted himself in front of the soldiers, and although the resentment screamed out of their expressions, he convinced them to look up from their boot tips long enough to listen. Wonderful. With his worn-out cloak, the same as during his rebel days, he had to make for such an inspiring picture, the soldiers were practically stumbling over each other to risk their lives on his command already. Truly wonderful.

Shinon's displeased mug in particular stood out. The Pheraen archer, notable only for the permanent frown on his face, as though his brows hoped to mirror the curve of his bow, leaned against the rockface and plucked the feathers from his arrow.

"Look who decided to honor us with their undivided attention," Shinon said, and his frown miraculously deepened another inch.

Ike fought hard not to roll his eyes. "Save it for the soldiers in the fortress, will you?"

"We've been sitting in this stinking snow for hours."

"Oh really? Why didn't you say so earlier? The fortress is right there, you could have asked them for a cup of hot tea anytime." Ike gestured at the fortress gates. "Be my guest. Maybe they'll be dumb enough to waste all their catapult ammunition on you."

Shinon pushed himself from the rock and brought his frown a little too close to Ike's face. "Whoever put you in charge must have blind and a jester. You've brought us nothing but freezing limbs and bad luck." He spat out. "Tellius whelp."

"I hope your fighting skills aren't as uninspired as your insults."

"You got some never to question my fighting skills." Shinon pointed at Soren. "How about you tell that wizard over there to save your sorry skin with one of his miracles?"

'Wizard' was about the worst slur hurled against mages these days. Ike grabbed Shinon by his scarf, and he needed all his composure to not simply squeeze tight and turn that frown into a pink, swollen mess. "If I were you, I would be very careful with my next words."

Shinon inched back, but his glare lost nothing of its fire. "The likes of you wouldn't even have made it past the squire rank with the king still in command!"

Ike leaned forward until Shinon had no choice but to notice the golden sword hilt peeking out from behind Ike's shoulder. "You want join him?"

Shinon's eyes darted between the weapon and Ike's face. With a wordless curse, he backed down, snapped the arrow in his hands, and hurled the pieces at Ike's feet. Well, plenty more projectiles jangled in his quiver, so the idiots in the fortress didn't have to worry about missing their share.

Ike turned to address the rest of the soldiers. "None of us are here because we like this job. But if you ask me, I'd rather get this mission done with before the next cloudburst sends us a new wave of snow, and our provisions freeze over. March forward. Or don't. Desertion won't earn you a death sentence anymore, so what does it matter, right?"

The crowd shuffled, and the first soldiers regirded their swords. Even Shinon fastened the strap of his quiver. Ike didn't bother to watch as they readied their grappling hooks. Instead, he turned to face Soren.

"If the backup shows up," Ike said, "tell them to go where there's the most noise. And give me a lift this time, will you?"

The corner of Soren's lip twitched. "I can make no guarantees. Not anymore."

"Just do it. I would look pretty stupid like that, stranded at the wall's foot without a way up."

With that, Ike drew his greatsword from his back. Amidst the colorless backdrop of the snow-coated slope, Ragnell shone with twice the intensity. The golden steel rattled with anticipation, as tired of the pointless wait as its master.

Up ahead, the fortress sat enthroned on the rock in all its mighty hideousness. The last northern outpost of the Black Wall and the best excuse Ike had for continuing to swing his sword.

He could not wait to tear it down.

And without bothering with commands or a look back at Nephenee and the other soldiers, he charged. Snow sprayed high with each of his steps, and in an instance, the barrage resumed. A high-pitched whirring sliced the sky. Other boots hit the ground running after Ike, chaotic.

Then, the projectiles clashed with the mass of bodies. Bricks tore up the ground, sent soldiers stumbling, crashed through helmets and hauberks. The snow grew red.

Ike didn't stop.

Only the first volley was of any danger; in a few heartbeats he would enter the lee of the wall where the catapults couldn't reach him. The winter air bit into his face, hungry. The screams and moans of wounded soldiers rung in his ears.

Ike outpaced them all.

The first grappling hooks jingled, and the soldiers on the battlements hoisted stones above their heads to welcome the attackers.

A few more steps, and the Black Wall filled Ike's entire field of view, as abhorrent as on the day he had crossed the border for the first and last time. The years that had passed since then didn't matter, he was again seven, again small and powerless, again clutching onto a greater man's sword.

Bloodstains struck his face. Snow fountained as bricks rained from above. Ten more steps, and he would touch the black masonry.

Now, Soren.

The wind rose. It tore at Ike's tunic and headband, ready to pick him up. When push came to shove, Soren still delivered. Nothing about that had changed since the day Ike had dragged him out of a burning monastery to offer him the life as a rebel.

Ike leaped, and the wind lifted him higher, above the clattering grapple hooks and the wall as a whole. When he landed on the battlement in their midst, the enemy soldiers were too busy gawking to put up a fight.

Ragnell came alive in Ike's hands, the steel cut and slashed and broke through defenses. All other thoughts vanished, only the clarity of battle remained. This was where he belonged. On a battlefield, in the middle of the sweat and the blood and the clatter of swords. And this was where he excelled.

He mowed down those who engaged him the same as he tore through those who bent down to loosen the array of grapple hooks. Ragnell painted golden afterglows into the freezing air.

Ike no longer felt the cold creeping through his tunic. The political games that had led him here no longer mattered, and neither did the Pheraens hacking at each other in his periphery, all of them blurred to shadowy props on his arena. Fight, one step at a time, fight and triumph.

Like this, he advanced through the rows of catapult operators and down the stairs into the yard of the fortress. From the keep echoed the rattle of halberds as the remaining forces hurried to meet the invaders.

Ike suppressed the urge to face them head-on. He could slice through half of them before the imperial troops under his command joined the fray. Maybe he would stumble into the fortress' lord on his way. The idea of tossing the pompous bastard from his precious Black Wall had a beautiful ring to it.

But he knew the kind of look he would receive upon his return at the capital too well.

So, he stomped towards the gateway instead.

The single soldier who operated the opening winch died before she brought her feet in order for a defensive stance. Her blood ran from the black masonry. Ike wasted no time with apologies, thrusted Ragnell into the snow, and lunged at the massive crank. Hoar frost covered the handles and cut into his palm. He braced himself against the mechanism anyway. His boots slipped on the snow.

But then the ice around the chain shattered, and inch by inch, the ginormous slab of metal that had sealed off the fortress rose. The gate squealed.

Then it surrendered, and the path stood open.

On the battlements erupted the cheers of Ike's soldiers as they advanced through the ranks of their former comrades. He could almost ignore the lack of enthusiasm behind their shouts. After all, inspiring them had never been his job.

A boom came from the other end of the yard, and Ike whirled around. The keep spit out its fighters, five dozen of them, each one with a halberd aimed for his throat. They wouldn't give in, cornered as they were. Loyalty or death; that was the rule their former king, Roy, had hammered into their heads. And that had become their best excuse for continuing to swing their swords.

Ike grimaced and raised Ragnell. Now would be a good time for the promised reinforcements to arrive.

Soldiers streamed from the battlements and soldiers streamed out of the keep, and that was when the slaughter truly began.

Ike couldn't tell who he was fighting. Both sides wore the eagle of Pherae, some for Roy, some for his successor, and Ike was moving through a sea of crimson. Red blood lost itself on red doublets. Once or twice he thought he might have cut down a familiar face in the chaos. But the next soldier pounced at him before he could spare a look back. For each one he sent into the snow, two more emerged out of the wrangle to fight.

Soon, Ike had to take a step back for every step forward.

Ragnell weaved deadly patterns through the air, but he collected wounds too; a scratch on his upper arm, a near-hit against his left ear, a creaked rib when he moved on from the mace wielder with the severed arm too early.

The ground shook under armored boots. Ike spun on his heels and cursed.

He could call himself fortunate for his broad shoulders and above-average height, both of which had helped him in duels before. But against the mountain of a man he faced now, he better wrote off that advantage while he still had hands to write with.

Heavy armor covered the soldier from neck to toe, and the only reason he didn't wear a helmet was because you would have to be insane to try and aim at this guy's neck while his oversized battle axe waved in your face. One of Ike's men proved the theory when he charged. His body flew aside in two parts.

The oversized soldier advanced.

Nephenee stood at the edge of the crowd, in the soldier's blind spot. Her spear could land a solid hit, if she jumped high enough, she might pierce an armpit. Her eyes were wide.

And she waited for too long.

Another of Ike's men tackled the enemy's side. His sword scraped down the armor with a shriek, useless. The oversized soldier countered. His battle axe halved shield and man alike, splinters sailed, and Nephenee, paralyzed, still stood at the edge of the crowd. Easy to see.

And easy to hit.

One blow from the battle axe would shatter her helmet. The enemy turned towards her already.

Ike didn't waste time, reached for the halberd of the nearest dead soldier, and hurled it.

No one with half a decent education in weapon knowledge would be so idiotic as to throw a halberd; too heavy, the blade messed with the trajectory, and the steel point didn't pierce the enemy armor either. But the unconventional move convinced the soldier to let Nephenee off. Instead, he turned his dented, greedy grimace towards Ike. The world's ugliest grin widened as the soldier stormed forward. Ike raised Ragnell.

Wonderful. Some things never changed, and Ike's bad karma hadn't improved in the past months it seemed.

He ducked under the first swing, pounced, and rammed Ragnell into the soldier's midsection with all the strength he could muster. Ike earned a dent for his efforts and then an armored fist to the face.

He stumbled.

The bruised rib pressed against his lungs, and black spots exploded before his eyes like the perverted fireworks during the Empire's anniversaries. Ike still tasted the iron of the soldier's knuckles. Or maybe he had bitten into his tongue.

The soldier grinned. Ike spat out blood and mirrored his expression. Ah yes, the good old days. They had come to pay him a visit, dressed in the world's ugliest slab of meat and metal, and once again, he stood half a step away from execution.

People dropped into the snow left and right. Ike steadied himself.

The battle axe split the ground where he had stood a second before, a bone-shattering clang rung in his ears. Ike stepped over a dead woman in his retreat, friend or foe, he couldn't tell. Chainmail glistered. And then he did remember her face; the soldier at the opening winch for the gate. Ike had found his way back to her. The crank should be right behind him. His heel struck solid wood, and an idea sweetened the bloody taste on his tongue. This could work.

He parried the oncoming battle axe with Ragnell, once, twice, ate up the force with his arms until they quivered. Thrilled by the foretaste of victory, the oversized solider advanced, raised his axe overhead, didn't look where he was going.

His last mistake.

Where the soldier thought Ike would again block with Ragnell, he evaded. And as the battle axe fell, it lodged right into the winch. Splinters erupted, but the wood held. The oversized soldier gave his axe a jolt; the chain on the winch rattled but the wood still didn't relent. A growl, more pulling, no success.

Ike slid forward, turned, and slit the back of the soldier's knee. Blood sprayed; the leg gave in.

On one knee, not quite as tall, and with his axe stuck, the soldier probably cursed the fact that he hadn't brought his helmet. Ike gave him a heartbeat to lament his fate before he rammed Ragnell through the man's skull.

"With regards from the queen," Ike said as he drew back his sword. "For rebellious acts against the Empire."

The man dropped like a brick from the Black Wall.

The next wave arrived from the keep with the rattle of halberds.

Ike sucked in a breath and ignored the sting of his injured rib. He steeled his grip around Ragnell; one golden sword against an army. A stupidly large army for this stupidly small courtyard.

Somewhere behind Ike, people shouted, but he couldn't tell to which side they belonged. A gust howled across the battlefield and stirred the snow.

Halberds gleamed and boots hammered, too many of both. Ike readied himself.

But before he clashed with the flood, the buzzing of a bowstring cut through the noise. Less than a heartbeat later, an arrow lodged into the left eye of the soldier closest to Ike. A masterful shot.

While halberds clattered to the ground, and soldiers clutched their blood-spewing throats, Ike turned towards the gate where twenty riders entered with the rays of the winter sun. Each displayed the imperial crest. And in the front line, his bow raised for a second shot, rode Virion.

What a showoff.

But Ike spared rolling his eyes for another time. The promised reinforcements had arrived.

"Retreat!" someone from the other party shouted.

Under the hail shower of arrows, the enemy fell back. They carried the fight with them, stumbling over their massacred comrades, and left the yard with a hint of victorious silence. The keep alone wouldn't hold out for long. The pathetic Pheraens under Ike's command could handle the rest. Shinon, who was unfortunately still standing, could put his excess of energy to use for once and slam his perma-frown against the keep's doors.

Ike took a deep breath, brimming with the scent of spruce needles when Nephenee stumbled towards him. "I'm sorry," she said breathlessly, "I couldn't—"

"Don't mention it," Ike said.

"But I should have engaged that soldier. I had the opening to do it, I should have at least tried. Before he murdered another one of our men."

Ike looked over the bodies in the churned snow around them. "He's not the only one who didn't make it. That's his fault."

"But I—"

"Stop dwelling on it. You survived, he didn't. If that fact eats you up so much, use the energy for the next fight. You can seize the opportunity then."

Nephenee bit her lip and hesitated for a moment before she met Ike's gaze. "I will." And with a look towards the barred doors of the keep she added, "I should make sure we can capture the fortress' lord in one piece."

"Great. Then I guess I'm stuck with thanking the cavalry."

While Nephenee rejoined the rest of their fighters, Ike strangled a groan and faced Virion on his high horse.

"Took you long enough," Ike said.

"The hero of the story only ever arrives in the nick of time when the situation is most dire." Virion swung himself out of the saddle, and miraculously found the only spot on the ground not tainted by blood for his boots. "You are welcome."

Ike clipped Ragnell to his back. "I'm just surprised to see you of all people as our reinforcements. I thought you were sipping your life away at your villa in Persis. Or did you play one round of cards against Cherche too many and are now short on gold?"

"Such rude insinuations! My coming here is a mere favor to a mutual friend of ours. Although I am rather disheartened to have been palmed off with the task of errand boy. My talents deserve a more striking arena than this sorry fortress."

"If you're fishing for compliments, can it. I could have handled those soldiers without you."

"My, my, and to think I traded a free weekend with Cherche for another encounter with your brusque tongue. But I will generously look past your tone, considering your physical state."

Ike hissed as his bruised rib reminded him of its existence with a pang. "How considerate."

"Let me instead reveal the reason for my coming. I have a message for you, from the queen herself."

Ike frowned. But Soren, who had to have borrowed a horse from Virion and was passing the gateway, gave him an excuse to put the conversation on hold until he could figure out what kind of disaster had struck the capital this time.

"I'll listen to what she wants from me later," Ike said and marched towards Soren.

"One does not simply keep the queen waiting," Virion said. "Even you should know that."

"Yeah. The queen."

Virion raised his voice for a lengthy reminder of manners and etiquette, but Ike ignored him until the lack of an audience convinced Virion to perform his act somewhere else.

Soren clasped the hem of his robe, and he toppled more out of the saddle than he dismounted. He looked awful. A little too much like the sole survivor of a burned mage monastery. And with each Pheraen fortress and villa they had seized in the past months, Ike had found it harder to ignore the limp in his walk.

Ike held the horse by its reins while Soren clutched the saddle for support. His eyes, which never missed a detail in or outside the pages of his books, were unfocused.

"Still the leg?" Ike asked.

Soren forced a pained smile. "The workings of the universe truly know no shortage of irony. After all your solo missions and all the cuts and broken bones of yours I had to treat, you are still standing here. And the one time I volunteer for the front line and engage with one of the Twelve, it turns me into a dead weight for you to drag along."

"You really think I'd be putting up with your words of wisdom if you were a dead weight? Your magic got me over the wall, that's good enough for me."

"Be careful, otherwise you might lose your thoughts in sentimentalities." Soren shook his head. "Any strategist would tell you that a piece that executes its function only fifty percent of the time is not worth keeping around. And I am telling you the same."

"Well, no sacrifice cripples the determined man. So stop it with that miserable face."

Soren's smile gained a little more warmth. "At least one of us has refused to change. And, although it pains me to admit it, you have a point. In a way, I can call myself fortunate to have walked away from that fight. After all, Gregor… did not."

Ike tightened his grip on the reins and looked sideways. The soldiers alongside Virion's escort buried axes into the keep's wooden doors in a halfhearted attempt to break through. At their pace, the task would occupy them for a while.

"We defeated Roy," Ike said. "That's all that matters."

"And what have we gained in this victory?"

Flagpoles with the Pheraen eagle clattered above. The same as ever.

Soren brushed his robe back into shape and straightened. The wind returned to twirl his hair. "My apologies," he said, "that was the pain speaking. We do have a reason to celebrate. After all, you can already see it from the battlements."

"What?"

"Tellius. Once we have secured this fortress, passage across the border will become a tangible possibility for all of your people for the first time in over twenty years. You may have evaded Nephenee's comment earlier. But is there no joy of coming home in you?"

Ike turned west. But the black boundaries of the yard blocked the view of Tellius' spruce forests. The scent of their needles drifted above the walls, it tickled his nose now and again, but in the blood-laden air, it might have been a product of his imagination.

"Not sure I'll get to go home yet," he said. "Virion's pestering me about some message from the capital. It's only a matter of seconds before he swings back around to remind me."

"I take this as my cue." Virion pranced into their conversation, ever the impossible display of courtly manners, stitched together by silk threads and rose water. "Prick up your ears and listen to what I shall announce you. The queen asks you, Ike, to return to Lycia as soon as your duties allow. I would advise to make haste."

"A new source of trouble?" Soren asked.

"Most likely." Ike rolled his shoulders; a futile attempt to lift weight from his bruised rib. "Fine, I'll ride back once we relieved the fortress master of his head."

"Do I really have to remind you of our orders and the specific part you seem to be forgetting?" Soren asked.

"He resisted capture, and through an unfortunate accident, lost his head in the process. Is that story good enough? I can cut through the doors of his ugly keep right now. It shouldn't take me too long."

"I am inconsolable, but the queen's request demands more urgency than that," Virion said. "And think of how my image will suffer in her eyes if the message she entrusted me with only meets deaf ears. If the queen calls, us loyal comrades-in-arms answer."

Ike pinched the bridge of his nose against his growing headache. Suddenly, the good old days of the rebellion seemed too far away.

"You should go," Soren said. "We can handle the remaining soldiers by ourselves."

Once more, Ike threw a glance west. But Tellius hadn't moved any closer.

With a weak curse only meant for himself, he mounted the horse Soren had used before. The mare scraped the snow, twice as eager to follow the eastwards road as Ike. Ahead, a growing mass of clouds promised more snow.

"Don't give Shinon any ideas," Ike said and tugged at the reins. The horse fell into a steady trot. "I'll see you in Lycia."

"Certainly," Soren called after him. "It seems we won't be running out of defiant lords and Roy enthusiasts to fight against anytime soon. The next mission is always a mere stone's throw away."

Hear, hear.

Ike buried his heels into the horse's flanks and escaped the shadow of the Black Wall. Tellius shrunk behind him, replaced by the barren winter fields of Pherae where invisible fires ravaged crops and villages and the weak minds of Pheraens alike. And somewhere in this vast country of futility, a squall brought sparks of a new war. Then again… had the last war ever disappeared?


A/N: I hereby re-introduce you to Ike! After the nine months since the events of Book I, he's still doing what he does best. Hopefully I'm not confusing you too much with new and returning characters amidst the changes the time skip itself has brought. If you have questions, please let me know! Favorites, follows, and comments are dearly appreciated.