Chapter 16: Infinite Regalia, Part I
"Ghhn—! S-Son of a bitch!"
Normally, Chrom was far from the type to swear so viciously; in fact, he usually had a reprimand handy for Shepherds that would use such phrases in his presence. For instance, Sully used to get a lot of grief from Ylisse's now-Exalt before she mellowed into preferring "damn" over her usual, choicer words, and Chrom had asked Vaike to at least know what the words meant before he could use them, which had proven to be an effective deterrent. But this was an exception Chrom couldn't resist, as sharp explosions of pain seared throughout his left side, from thigh to shoulder—of course, centered at his days-old hip injury, through which blood began to seep—and a familiar urge to vomit began to rise.
Outrealm Sickness.
"Chr-Chrom!" Morgan's hands were on his right shoulder, trying to hold him steady. "Are you okay? Gods, why now?!"
Chrom was on all fours, gasping for air. His palms pressed into a cold tile floor while he dry-heaved uselessly.
The Outrealm Gate had deposited them inside a building, it seemed. A medium-sized square room, with openings to other rooms to the north, west, and east, and only the Gate to the south. What those other rooms contained, however, was obscured by shadow; only the Outrealm Gate itself provided a scant blue light to this room and nothing beyond.
What was unmistakable to Morgan—prickling her hair on the back of her neck—was the sound of shuffling metal resonating from the darkness.
"Shit, shit, shit," Morgan panted, since it wasn't like Chrom was in a state to reprimand her for saying that again, and he'd set a precedent for vulgarity already. "Chrom, stay with me. Gods, there's no way Outrealm Sickness is back already!"
Chrom labored less and less for breath, and the pain in his side was beginning to abate into numbness (which he wasn't sure was better). "…I… can hear something…"
"Yeah, me too," Morgan said nervously, glancing over each shoulder. "It sounds like armor. The halls are echoing, so it's hard to tell how many there are."
Chrom pushed himself to a kneeling position, favoring his right side. Panting, he tilted his head, listening. "It sounds like it's coming from—"
Then, the sounds ceased. Chrom strained to listen more intently. A question on his tongue, he opened his mouth, but suddenly, he froze up altogether.
Morgan didn't have to ask why. From the shadows—from all three directions—pairs of red lights were shining in the darkness. Dozens of pairs, perhaps.
Eyes. Inhuman eyes, glowing with solid crimson malice.
"We have to get out of here," Morgan breathed.
Chrom didn't dare move. His eyes darted between the many shadow-obscured enemies. "Back through the Outrealm Gate."
"I think the Bath Elixir wore off, Captain." Morgan tried to count their numbers, tried to fix them in her memory, but the eyes were not sitting still, they seemed impatient, they were not all the same height, her heart was pounding—she couldn't concentrate. Who knew if they were all two-eyed creatures anyway.
"I don't think they'll be sympathetic to that." A glint of the Gate's light reflected off of the breastplate of an enemy. Armor, for sure, if only a hint of it.
"This is gonna hurt real bad, Chrom." Slowly, carefully, her eyes not leaving the many red ones shrouded in blackness, Morgan looped both of her arms through Chrom's right one. "On three?"
"Just tell me when."
"Okay." She tightened her grip. "One."
Morgan was panting for breath.
"T-Two."
Sweat dripped from her chin onto Chrom's bare shoulder, running down his Brand. Chrom clenched his teeth.
"…Three!"
Morgan yanked Chrom to his feet, fear driving her, and she all but dragged Chrom away from the darkness. The rustling of armor returned, louder than ever, as the red-eyed monsters all advanced at once.
Morgan couldn't spare a look back. Holding onto Chrom as tightly as her terror-enhanced grip would allow, she leapt into the Outrealm Gate head-first.
As the Gate's arcane lights encircled her, Morgan squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath. Her grip on Chrom's arm did not relent during their brief transit. After that moment, the otherworldly lights coalesced into a range of colors—particularly green, the color of grass rushing up to meet them. Chrom tumbled from Morgan's grasp as she fell onto the Springrealm's green earth, catching herself on all fours and releasing her held breath.
She blinked her eyes clear, staggering to her feet. "G-Guard the gate!" she ordered weakly as she regained her footing. As she heard more footsteps approaching, shouts of alarm too, she fumbled around for Chrom; her hand soon found a hold on his arm once again, and she made to drag him away from the potential threats within the Outrealm Gate. "Chrom, are you feeling—"
Morgan froze, horror painting her expression. Chrom was also on all fours, like Morgan had just been; however, he was unresponsive to her call of his name. He was retching, violently. Uncontrolled vomit came again and again as he loudly—
Morgan recoiled, her hand leaving his arm to cover her own mouth instead.
Chrom paused, gasping in vain for air, but still his stomach refused to settle. His breath stopped once again—his throat clogging with more of it. Pitching forward once again, he vomited once more onto the grass.
Blood, just blood. He'd exhausted anything else to expel. Not limited to the vomit, either. Morgan fell to her knees, transfixed in abject shock as she watched blood flood over his chin, race from his nose, trail from his eyes and ears and—
"B-Bath Elixir!" Morgan forced herself back to her feet. "It's Outrealm Sickness! We need more Bath Elixir, now!" She turned to the people surrounding her, and pointed at the nearest two Shepherds, Donnel and Ricken. "You, you! Set up a tent and the bath! I want it ready in thirty seconds!" She turned to the next two, Laurent and Emmeryn. "You two, take Chrom there, now!" She turned to the rest of the Shepherds, all frozen in shock. "The rest of you: I don't know if they'll follow us through the Gate, but get ready for a fight anyway!"
With a leader at the helm and orders to follow, the Shepherds quickly went into action. Donnel and Ricken were already gone, and Laurent and Emmeryn looped Chrom's arms over their shoulders and immediately set off after the first two.
Morgan turned on the Outrealm Gate, trembling at the sight. She backed away from it, willing her nerves to settle.
Per Morgan's orders, Donnel and Ricken hadn't wasted any time. They were holding the completed tent's flaps open for Laurent and Emmeryn while they lugged Chrom through. The Exalt had fallen unconscious on the walk over, leaving him as a heavy weight for the two Sages to drag; as they eased him into the tent, Donnel and Ricken followed them in, undoing bits of his armor as well as relieving him of Falchion, lightening the load.
With a heave, Emmeryn and Laurent lifted Chrom up and into the full bathtub, fully clothed, before depositing him within; some displaced water overflowed. Both Sages released gasps of exertion and slumped at the side of the bath while Donnel and Ricken moved to situate the Exalt comfortably within the healing waters.
"We should do somethin' 'bout his clothes," Donnel said. "Should we get 'im out of those?"
"Maybe you can, but I think I'd rather leave that to his wife," Ricken answered. "For now, let's go back to the Outrealm Gate, just in case." He looked back at Laurent and Emmeryn. "Can you guys watch Chrom until the coast is clear?"
Laurent nodded, while Emmeryn gave a winded thumbs-up; assured, Ricken and Donnel dashed from the tent. The two Sages just sat quietly for a while afterwards to catch their breath.
"Per… perhaps Morgan was right," Laurent said. "Maybe I am a bit out of shape…"
Emmeryn laughed, in concordance. "I've never been the athletic type, myself…"
Both of them chuckled weakly for a moment.
"Maybe we shouldn't be making jokes," Emmeryn said. "I mean…" Indicating Chrom, she didn't need to finish that sentence.
"Indeed." Laurent glanced aside at Emmeryn. "…Milady, it seems you're covered in blood."
Emmeryn looked down at herself. Sure enough, much of the right side of her cloak was drenched red, but when she examined Laurent, she saw that his left side was similarly bloodstained. "You too."
Laurent frowned, and both he and Emmeryn looked back at Chrom. Submerged to the neck in water, his expression was slightly pained. Emmeryn recalled the cries that Bath Elixir had elicited from him and from the Manaketes last time; the greater the affliction, the greater the pain, and having just gone through the Gate twice with no chance to recover in between, his dance with Outrealm Sickness today even outstripped the worst of Tiki's. She supposed it was a boon for him to be unconscious at the moment.
Though blood no longer seemed to be flowing from his every orifice, streaks of what Chrom had lost already were drying on his face. Emmeryn stood and leaned over him; sensing her intention, Laurent produced a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to the former Exalt.
Emmeryn dipped the handkerchief into the Bath Elixir and began dabbing at Chrom's face, attempting to remove the blood. He would require a normal bath later to be fully cleaned, but she would do what she could at the moment.
"So it appears the Bath Elixir has its limits," Laurent noted. "For him to feel the effects of Outrealm Sickness again, and so soon? Perplexing."
"Mm." Emmeryn was lost in thought while she absently wiped Chrom's face clean.
Despite the circumstances, this moment was something of an opportunity, wasn't it? Cynthia had said yesterday that Laurent would have better answers to Emmeryn's questions about the future. Why not now? "Laurent?"
"Yes?" Laurent stood up next to her, watching her task.
"You know who I am, right?"
Laurent frowned. "Of course. You are Lady Emmeryn. Er, is 'Lady' appropriate, or would you rather I use your former title?"
"I'd prefer 'Emmeryn'… but if you must use an honorific, then 'Lady,' please." Emmeryn glanced at him. "I'm curious, Laurent. I don't know much about… well, about the future. When I first joined, Lucina gave me a… a brief overview, and Cynthia and Brady gave me more details yesterday, but—there were some questions I asked that they said you should answer."
Laurent adjusted his glasses. "Hm. I suppose that is fair. Dismal though our future was, I tried to chronicle it as best I could. Should humanity survive, I reasoned, it ought to possess a manuscript of the world's darkest hour."
"And here we are," Emmeryn chuckled. "Good work, Laurent."
Laurent smiled.
"Then, since we have a minute…" Emmeryn turned back to Chrom, tilting his head so as to clean a different cheek. "Cynthia used a term I'd never heard before. 'Earth of Grima,' I think?"
"Grima's Earth, yes." Laurent nodded. "It was the final era of mankind."
"So it's a time period?"
"Indeed, from more than ten years hence." Laurent pondered for a moment. "Though… I suppose it was likely closer to twenty years?"
"You are uncertain?"
"Yes, actually. This time's history does not neatly match with ours, so it is difficult to tell where the divides in timeframes lie."
"What do you mean?"
Laurent fell quiet, adjusting his glasses again. "…I suppose, to answer that, it would be best to start from the top. In my studies, the earliest divergence from our own timeline begins with the Ylisse-Plegia War of over two and a half years ago."
"I see."
"Understand that, despite her cynicism at the time, Lucina's return to the past had made a difference from the beginning," Laurent explained. "In our world, you were assassinated in the castle of Ylisstol, and from there, the already-thin tensions between Ylisse and Plegia snapped. The nations warred for nearly four years before Ylisse finally claimed victory over the Mad King."
"Nearly four years?!" Emmeryn was aghast. "I-It would still be waging now!"
"Indeed. By Lucina's interference, your death was postponed—entirely prevented, as we later learned, but that is irrelevant. Rather than by an ignominious assassination, you instead gave your life willingly in order to prevent the loss of Ylissean and Plegian life both. By choosing this death instead, you earned the favor of the Plegian people and shaved years off of the war." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "On January the Eighth of that year, your assassination was prevented. On the Tenth, Lady Cordelia's squad was massacred and you were kidnapped. On the Thirteenth, the Shepherds finally took the fight to Plegia, encountering their first Grimleal opponents. On the Fourteenth, the plan to rescue you failed, and you seemingly sacrificed yourself; and finally, on the Fifteenth of January, Prince Chrom battled Gangrel directly and won the war with Plegia. The entire four-year war was contained within little more than a week."
"That's…" Emmeryn shook her head. "That's incredible, truly."
"Four years is a very long time," Laurent continued. "In this time, families were made and lives were lost. Not all Shepherds made it out alive, and that is a trend that would continue into the Valmese War. That war would be a bit more familiar to the present; the full war lasted almost two months in this time, and only a bit longer in our future. According to history books, it began with Valm's attack on Ferox Harbor and ended with Emperor Walhart's total defeat at Valm Castle. As you also know, Khan Basilio did indeed die in this conflict, as did many of the Shepherds. Those that remained returned home, hoping for peace but not being offered a moment's respite. And, here is where the timeframe becomes vague."
Emmeryn suddenly realized she'd forgotten her task, and immediately resumed cleaning her brother's face. "Do go on."
"In the interest of clarity, I will lay out our timelines chronologically." Laurent had produced a notepad, and when Emmeryn glanced at him (surprised), she saw he had divided the page into two columns. He began with the left column: "Your time is divided into three notable eras: the Ylisse-Plegia War, the Valmese War, and the Conflict with Grima. Historians I've spoken to in Ylisstol are more taken with the names 'War with Plegia,' 'Conquest of Valm,' and 'Fate of the World,' respectively, though I disagree with the vagueness of those terms… But let's leave tangents aside."
He shifted to the column on the right. "The eras of our future past are slightly different: like yours, our world experienced the Ylisse-Plegia War and the Valmese War, but unlike in the present, the Conflict with Grima did not consist of small skirmishes across the globe. In your time, the conflict was relatively small-scale (if high stakes), as it never escalated to fully encompass multiple countries, and, more pedantically, there was no formal declaration of war. Whereas, in our time, the 'Conflict with Grima' was instead superseded by what came to be known as the Grimleal War."
A chill passed through Emmeryn.
"The Grimleal War was a bloody conflict that consumed most of the known world over the better part of a decade. Like the Conflict with Grima, the war is said to have begun with Validar's theft of the Fire Emblem following the Shepherds' victorious return from Valm. The weakened countries of Ylisse and Regna Ferox, as well as the now-Chon'sin-led Valm, united to face the threat head-on; the influence of the Grimleal was vast, and the coalition faced opposition at every corner of the globe." Laurent paused for a moment to take a breath; though he did seem pleased to be able to share his knowledge with a curious listener, this was a heavy topic to dwell upon. "…The Grimleal War never definitively ended, but it certainly did end. Retrospectively, most surviving humans considered the war's end to have been at the Battle of the Dragon's Table, at which Exalt Chrom and his closest friend, Robin, led an assault to kill Validar and end the looming threat of Grima once and for all. And—as you and I and all of the Shepherds are painfully aware—they failed. We now know why, all these years later."
Emmeryn had to pause, to close her eyes for a moment. She had asked for the truth, she knew. It was just surprisingly hard to swallow.
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No, please don't."
"Very well." Laurent adjusted his glasses. "Neither Chrom nor Robin returned from the Dragon's Table on that fateful day; it was nothing short of a miracle that Falchion even returned to Ylisse's hands. Princess Lucina, now Exalt Lucina, was merely a teenager the day the Fell Dragon first rose from the Dragon's Table. After Grima's awakening, the Grimleal War, if it could still be called that, took a sharp turn for the worse. This era—the post-war, apocalyptic era—is what we retroactively named Grima's Earth, in which the Fell Dragon had virtually-uncontested ownership over the world. Since our voyage through time, however, we have shifted to referring to this era as the Future Past."
Laurent removed his glasses to briefly wipe them down on a clean part of his robes. He frowned at the bloodstains he had to avoid. "Now… every era up until now has regarded a war. Plegia, Valm, Grimleal. This, Grima's Earth, was not a war, not so much as it was a gradual genocide of the human race." He replaced his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. "It was in this apocalypse that the New Shepherds arose by necessity: the children of the Shepherds of old, including, naturally, myself. We attempted to… be a beacon, as Lucina once put it, for the world to rally behind in such hopeless times."
"You couldn't even see the sun," Emmeryn murmured. "I can't begin to imagine…"
"Indeed," Laurent said. "And we were not without success, mind you, despite achieving no lasting victories. Thanks to Lucina's leadership and Morgan's tactical wit, we were able to recover the Fire Emblem itself from Grima's minions at one point. And though Ylisstol was a shell of its former self, we never truly lost the castle to the enemy, not even at our lowest."
"That's… good to hear."
Laurent thought for a moment. "…Grima's Earth began after the Battle of the Dragon's Table, and from a certain point of view, you could say that it 'ended' when we, the New Shepherds, traveled to the present to change our bleak future altogether. And we succeeded. Despite our dark past, we did indeed earn our happy ending after all. So, try not to dwell on it overmuch, unless you wish to learn more. As it is, however, that should answer your question satisfactorily."
Emmeryn smiled. Remembering what Cynthia had said, Emmeryn added, "…You should write a book."
"I am," Laurent stated matter-of-factly, taking Emmeryn aback. "Before the false Robin was found, I was speaking to publishers in Ylisstol." He seemed a bit sour. "I had to put all of my plans on hold for him. Knowing my luck, my negotiations with them will have dried up by the time we return…"
Emmeryn couldn't help but laugh.
Morgan stretched her arms high over her head, releasing a groan as she flexed stiff muscles. "Mmmalright." She sheathed her sword and took a calming breath. "They didn't follow us through. That's lucky." She turned to the rest of the surrounding Shepherds, all relaxing at the sight of Morgan's smile. "We'll keep an eye on the Gate, but it looks like they, whoever they are, would rather wait on us to come back. Now, until the Captain's out of the Bath Elixir, we don't have much choice but to hang around. Shouldn't take longer than a couple hours."
She glanced back at the swirling Outrealm abyss, its unearthly blue starkly contrasting the greenery of the hill it rested on. Mostly to herself, she mumbled, "Geez… The Annas weren't kidding about Infinite Regalia. I could feel strength practically radiating from whatever those monsters were." A shudder ran down her spine, and she turned away.
After brief delegations regarding vigil over the Outrealm Gate, Morgan, like the rest of the idle Shepherds, headed away. While most others were likely finding a way to burn some time (that didn't involve heading into the city; Morgan's orders precluded walking so far), Morgan headed for Chrom's tent. Ricken and Donnel had apparently had the foresight to set it up a good distance away from the Outrealm Gate, rightly so in the case of a battle erupting there, so she had a bit of a walk ahead of her.
"Morgan." Someone hurried to catch up to her, then matched her pace. Lyn and Morgan exchanged a brief smile and walked together. "I found something important."
"What is it?" Morgan noticed the papers in Lyn's hands. "Oh, right, I asked you to get an Einherjar headcount this morning. Is everyone accounted for? I'm guessing not, since you're bringing it up."
"No, everyone is accounted for," Lyn said, but her expression was still serious. "That isn't the problem. The problem is that I counted one hundred and two Einherjar among us, including myself."
"A hundred and two?" Morgan shrugged. "Well, I gave you Old Hubba's manifest as reference, so it didn't have Beatrice's Einherjar."
"No, I accounted for that. Old Hubba's manifest lists ninety-six Einherjar, clearly missing Seliph, Lena, Micaiah, and Leif."
"So there are two extra Einherjar?" Morgan scratched her chin. "That's weird."
"Three Einherjar," Lyn corrected. "Remember, Leila was killed. Old Hubba destroyed her card the other day. I expected to count ninety-nine Einherjar this morning."
Morgan felt a punch from Lyn's words. "Gods, you're right," she murmured. "I forgot about Leila. Shit…"
Lyn winced. "…Please refrain from such vulgarity, Morgan. It's unbecoming."
"You too? Geez, fine."
Lyn returned to the subject. "There were seven Einherjar not included in Old Hubba's records: Seliph, Lena, Micaiah, Leif, and, as I figured out, these three…" From the items in her hands, Lyn produced a trio of Einherjar cards. "Katarina, Clarisse, and Legion."
"The assassins?"
"According to Marth, there were exactly one hundred Einherjar in his family a century ago," Lyn continued. "These three assassins were not part of that family at all. They were in their cards for all that time until their theft by Shanna."
Morgan frowned deeply. "Marth said there were only one hundred Einherjar… Does this mean there could be more?" She turned to Lyn. "How many of the Einherjar are awake at the moment?"
"At the moment, twenty. The other eighty-two are in their cards, either slain during the battle in Gallia or returned to their cards by Old Hubba before then."
"Until we know more, we aren't waking up the rest of them," Morgan said. "There could be accountability issues we can't foresee if there are more Einherjar than we thought. I'm going to talk about this with Chrom later." Then, she waved dismissively. "…But until I do, that won't be high on my list of priorities. We've got too much else to worry about."
"I can agree with that."
Not long after their conversation wound to a close, they arrived at the only tent adorning the hill. Laurent was exiting the tent as Morgan and Lyn arrived, and he seemed to perk with interest at the sight of the tactician.
"I was hoping I would happen across you, Morgan." Laurent stood straight, staring dutifully at Morgan while she approached. As she peered into the tent to assess Chrom's condition, Laurent began to speak. "I suggest we send a better-prepared scouting party, ideally two units, into Infinite Regalia. Such a formation will allow flexibility (that a larger party wouldn't allow) and security (while a solitary scout would be much riskier). I suggest the units be…"
Morgan was barely listening past that point. Peeking through the tent's entrance, she watched as Emmeryn tended to the unconscious Chrom, and she released a short, relieved exhale. With Chrom's face cleaned of the blood he'd been covered in, he seemed peaceful. Morgan filed a mental note to remind Emmeryn to feed Chrom once he was conscious, to get that blood back—but she realized that a healer, of all people, wouldn't need the reminder. Morgan would just look condescending.
"Sounds good," said Morgan as she let the tent flap fall closed and she faced Laurent. From Laurent's reaction, it seemed she had interrupted him mid-sentence, but it probably wasn't anything important anyway. Not something she couldn't just ask about later, for sure. "I'm going to take Lyn into Infinite Regalia with me. We'll scout it out together."
Lyn nodded determinedly, while Laurent sighed. "I was recommending a thief, or someone otherwise light-footed," Laurent said, adjusting his glasses. "But I suppose you will do."
"Hey, if you want someone fleet of foot, Lyn's your gal," Morgan said. "And I've gotta see them with my own eyes. Oh, that reminds me: we'll need to bring our own light." She gestured. "Walk with me."
Lyn, Laurent, and Morgan started walking back to the Outrealm Gate.
After a moment of quiet walking, Laurent began to speak. "…While you are in the Outrealm, try to examine your opponents diligently. If combat ensues, however, retreat to safety as quickly as you can. That means—"
Morgan suddenly turned to Lyn. "Remember, when you're in a fight, swing your sword," she explained patiently, receiving a bemused look from the Elibean. "And if you're trying to kill them, aim for the parts that they need in order to not be dead. That's how you fight. You're welcome."
The three were all quiet.
Laurent scowled, adjusting his glasses. He got the point Morgan was making, but he wasn't trying to be patronizing. Morgan seemed so simple-minded at a glance, and had occasional impulsive moments that made it easy for him to forget that she was as capable as any Shepherd, if not more so. For that matter, she sure was snarky for such a capable Shepherd.
Laurent shook his head. "…How did you come to be so obnoxious?" he muttered aloud. "It is as infuriating as ever."
Morgan clicked her tongue chidingly. "Come now, Laurent! Surely, back in the future I was the same lovely charmer I am now."
"Yes, indeed," Laurent sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Amnesia hasn't changed you in the slightest."
Morgan grinned. "That's pretty good to hear, I guess!"
She, Lyn, and Laurent continued to walk.
"…I've never asked," Morgan suddenly mused, tapping her chin. "I still don't know my past, but you guys do. I wonder how many stories all you future-people must have about me?"
"You are included in that group of 'future-people,' you know…"
But Morgan was ignoring him. "Yeah, now this curiosity is really eating at me. Maybe next time I see Nah I'll ask her all about it."
They walked in silence a moment longer, confusion mounting on Laurent's expression.
"Why not me?" he asked. "I am right here, and we have a free moment. You may probe me with questions as you will."
Morgan waved dismissively. "No thanks, you'd probably phrase it all boring."
Laurent paused, his lips slightly parted in surprise. He took a moment to gather his words. "I… see."
His face molded in a perpetual frown, Laurent resolved not to speak another word for the rest of the walk. He could only take so much.
"…You know what." Morgan glanced at Laurent, grinning. "I think I actually would kinda like to hear your input. If you don't mind?"
Laurent was taken aback. He'd never known Morgan to backpedal, not when it came to making fun of him. And her smile certainly seemed genuine. "I, ah…" He straightened his glasses. "If you insist?"
"Yeah, I do."
"Hm…" Laurent held his chin pensively. "Well, as you may expect, you were one of the founding members of the New Shepherds. The name was even your idea."
"'New Shepherds,'" Morgan echoed dryly. "Really creative, future-past-me."
"You don't give yourself enough credit. The name instilled hope. The Shepherds, remember, were Ylisse's defenders, and later the world's. To distance yourself from the Shepherds of old by not simply recycling the name removes the stain of their ultimate defeat; thus, 'New.' Contrarily, invoking the name of the old Shepherds evokes the security they once provided. Thus, 'New Shepherds.' Quite clever indeed."
Remembering her conversation at yesterday's dinner, Morgan just nodded, accepting the praise. Wasn't like it was really her that Laurent was praising, anyway. "So, I was a New Shepherd, like you all?"
"Yes. As you may expect, you were our tactician. Truth be told, competent though you were and still are, I had my reservations with Chrom choosing you as Robin's successor the other day."
"Because I tease you."
"N—well, yes, that's very aggravating. But it isn't just that." Laurent looked away. "The last time I had followed your orders in battle was… a day I prefer not to remember. Your leadership reminds me too strongly of dark times."
"Even you prefer not remember the future?" Morgan asked. "I thought you were Mr. History." She snapped her fingers, grinning. "Mistory!"
"Clever. But you are not wrong; I rather pride myself in my objectivity when it comes to reminiscing on Grima's Earth. Still, even then there are moments I would rather not dwell upon." He composed himself with a quick breath and an adjustment of his glasses. "Yet, I have taken it as my duty to remember, so it does no good to shut off such memories. You see, I was under your command during your final battle…"
"Cool as that sounds, let's put a pin in that." Morgan gestured ahead at the Outrealm Gate they were nearing. "We've got work to do. Lyn, you're with me. Laurent…" She winked at the mage. "We'll talk more later, 'kay?"
"I…" Laurent nodded. "As you wish."
As the Sage left, Morgan stopped and faced Lyn. "I'm bringing a Fire tome or two. I need to be able to see exactly what we're up against. You'll protect me, won't you?"
Lyn offered her hand. "I'm with you all the way."
Confidently clasping her hand around Lyn's, Morgan grinned.
The blue lights of the Gate quickly molded into darkness. Morgan and Lyn both alighted gently on stone tiles, settling into a crouch and patiently waiting; unlike last time, the clinking of distant armor did not immediately become apparent, meaning their stealth was to good effect so far.
Lyn examined the three directions to go: left, right, and straight were all obscured, leaving no clear direction to start from. She glanced at Morgan for directions.
Morgan pondered her next move. From what she could tell so far, each of Infinite Regalia's rooms were square-shaped, seemingly laid out in a grid; since this room did not have an opening on the south side, that potentially made this the southernmost room? If that were the case, then going north would be heading into the core of the building. No, for a scouting mission, it would be best to stick to the fringes.
So Morgan met Lyn's eye and gestured at the western opening. They swiftly went for it.
Morgan squinted through the dark doorway, willing her eyes to adjust. The scant light offered by the first room's Outrealm Gate was not especially helpful. She reached for the Fire tome on her person, biting her lip and debating the option. The enemies would certainly be able to see the light from even several rooms away; creating light would mean throwing away stealth.
But what was the alternative? Fumbling around in the dark?
Morgan seized the tome and raised her other hand palm-upwards. Holding her breath, Morgan willed as little power from the tome as she could draw; rewarding her efforts, a small, swirling fireball flickered to life in her palm.
Morgan let the held breath go, forcing herself to calm down. Glancing at Lyn—the swordmaster had a hand on one of her blade's hilts at all times—Morgan gave a reassuring thumbs-up and entered the west room.
Morgan raised the light high. This room was empty, and now, with the light offering plenty of detail, she could see all the intricacies of this… plain, featureless room with nothing noteworthy in it. The tiles were kinda nice-looking, she guessed.
This room had an eastern opening—the one they had just come through—and a northern one, further cementing Morgan's impression that they were in the southernmost section of the building, evidently the southwest-most corner. Morgan indicated the north opening, and she and Lyn cautiously slunk there.
Morgan slipped to the left side of the opening, while Lyn stuck to the right. They both peered into the dark room with little success. Morgan raised her firelight, spreading faint light into the room, but not to good effect.
Morgan nodded at Lyn, and Lyn nodded back. Gritting her teeth, Morgan squeezed her fire tome, leveled her firelight at the dark room, and she pushed.
The harmless, but bright, fireball launched from Morgan's palm, spreading light into the adjacent room as it came to a halt several feet away—revealing the room's lone occupant.
Morgan and Lyn both bit back their next breaths, staring at the figure in the center of the room. It was a woman—Chon'sinese, perhaps? Certainly a swordmaster, given her dress and the sword sheathed at her hip. Her skin was pale, unhealthily so, but she stood straight, arms crossed over her chest. An unworried expression adorned her face, as her eyes were closed and her chin was turned down. Seemingly comatose.
Morgan and Lyn didn't dare move. The magical fireball Morgan had conjured still sputtered in the air about a pace away from the unresponsive woman, lighting most of the room nicely—which really just confirmed that the only thing worth staring at right now was the woman.
Morgan didn't really know how to react. It seemed she had an opportunity to escape at the moment, but then what would she have gained from this mission? 'There's a comatose swordmaster two rooms from the entrance?' Though provoking combat seemed even more unwise. We should just retreat a bit; we'll explore the room to the east of the Outrealm Gate. She and Lyn exchanged a look, nodded, and turned back.
"YOU ARE LEAVING. AND GONE SO SOON."
Morgan felt her hair stand up on the back of her neck. She and Lyn both turned back to the dimly-lit room, back to the woman. Her pose hadn't changed: standing still with her arms crossed. But her chin had lifted, and now, her eyes were open, fixated on the two intruders. Burning red.
"Sh-She can talk?" Lyn whispered.
"INTRUDERS COME. THEY NEVER LEAVE." The woman finally shifted; her hands both moved to the sheathed weapon on her hip.
"She talks funny," Morgan murmured, furrowing her brow. Louder: "Who are you?"
"GUARDIANS, NOW. AND NOTHING MORE." The blade glistened as it left the woman's sheath—and swiped through the hanging fireball, extinguishing the flame and leaving them in darkness.
Morgan's breath stopped as sight was stripped away from her; the sound of the woman's rapidly approaching footsteps instilled panic in her, and she fell backwards, scrambling away.
The clash of metal on metal sent sparks through the air, briefly illuminating two blades far too close to Morgan. Lyn stood between the swordmaster and Morgan, their blades locked; Morgan continued to scramble away, increasingly more panicked.
Lyn gritted her teeth. Her feet had moved on their own, putting her and her sword protectively in front of Morgan. Now, unable to even see the opponent she was wrestling against but for her malefic red eyes, Lyn's mind was working quickly, trying to find a plan here. Whoever this woman was, she was strong, impossibly so; even empowered by the Sol Katti, Lyn had trouble matching the strength of her opponent. But she couldn't tactically retreat, as her instincts were crying for her to do; if she let the woman, the 'guardian,' win this exchange, then the guardian would again have the cover of darkness on her side.
Morgan knew she had to think quickly, but that shave with death was impossibly close. Without Lyn there—that would've been it. She would be dead right now. Her breath came and went shallowly. She felt light-headed… light—
Light!
Morgan fumbled through her robes for the Fire tome, quickly finding purchase on it (hopefully; she couldn't exactly tell it apart from any other tome). Scrunching up her face with focus, she raised her palm high.
A burst of fire spat forth from her palm, brightly illuminating the room before impacting against the ceiling and dissipating.
In that brief moment of clarity, with full view of her opponent, a number of questions ran through Lyn's mind:
The guardian's stance is unfamiliar. But does it favor aggression or defense?
Could the other enemies Morgan mentioned have seen that light? I would be surprised if they hadn't.
Is… Is this woman's weapon the same as mine?
The guardian backed away at the same time that Lyn did. Drawing the Mani Katti from her other hip, Lyn positioned herself in front of Morgan, a sword in each hand. "Do you have anything more permanent?"
"Y-Yeah, yeah, just gimme a second." Morgan was concentrating once again, this time trying to ease back the magical output of the tome again. Soon, a blaze erupted into being from her palm, and lingered there; forming a fireball roughly the size of her head, Morgan released it in the air, letting it float and passively illuminate the room.
The guardian still remained near her own room's opening, watching Lyn and Morgan impassively.
Lyn's eyes narrowed. "That sword…"
Morgan looked from the guardian, to Lyn, and back to the guardian. "Wait… That's the Sol Katti, isn't it?"
"It looks that way."
"Then… that means…" Morgan's heart sank. "Oh, gods, I know who she is." To the guardian, she called, "You're Simia, aren't you?"
"INDEED I AM."
"Deadlords," Morgan breathed. "Deadlords. Gods, they're the Deadlords."
Lyn didn't really care to ask for clarification at the moment. Morgan's tone conveyed all the information Lyn needed perfectly fine: big angry threat. She strengthened her grip on her dual swords.
Simia lunged forward, her Sol Katti bound for Lyn. Lyn swiped both of her swords at Simia's, deflecting the attack.
Lyn gasped at the exertion. She was right to put as much strength behind the deflection as she did; throwing her weight into the swipe was barely enough to parry. She couldn't keep up a pace like that if she stayed defensive.
So, Lyn twirled her weapons and dashed for Simia. The Deadlord backed away a step, shifting to defense. Lyn directed her twin swords for a killing blow.
Without adjusting her footing, Simia leaned away from the attack, successfully dodging the Mani Katti's stab. She methodically guided Lyn's Sol Katti along her own, redirecting the strike outwards.
From Morgan's dire proclamation of what Simia was, as well as the strength Lyn had experienced from the thing so far, she had expected Simia's dexterous defense, and as such had not committed too heavily to the attack. She twirled on her heel away from the Deadlord, keeping her space.
Simia took the offensive once again, applying three slashes of her sword to test Lyn's guard. Lyn did not bow under the pressure, carefully watching Simia's posture to judge her next move while blocking each stab. It was clear that Simia's attacks were not yet meant to kill; she was just feeling Lyn out.
I'm doing the same thing, after all, Lyn thought, and she made to attack once again.
Simia's eyes shifted, and her stance changed. While the posture seemed to leave Simia vulnerable, Lyn, still not knowing what to expect from her opponent, halted her aggression in the case of this being a ruse not possible from a human.
The reason soon revealed itself. A loud burst of sound and light erupted from behind Lyn, and a gust of sizzling electricity flared past, impacting with Simia. The Deadlord swept her blade along the beam of lightning, and it deflected into the wall with a cacophonic explosion, before she returned to facing Lyn in a properly defensive stance.
Morgan shook the lingering sparks from her fingertips, continuing to glare at Simia. Her Thoron tome glowed in her hands. "Didn't forget me, did you?"
Lyn grinned.
Simia quickly launched a new offensive against Lyn. Lyn exercised her twin swords to deftly repel each of Simia's assaults, confidence powering her defense.
Morgan raised her palm, another Thoron ready. Simia's eyes shifted once again to the magical threat. This time, Lyn pressed her advantage, diving in with both swords to capitalize on Simia's distractedness.
In a flurry of movement, Lyn felt a cold wind pass by, and Simia was gone.
Lyn blinked. No! She barely had time to turn around, already knowing she would find Simia behind her, heading for Morgan.
The sword was already falling. Simia was impossibly fast. Morgan couldn't react.
All the more surprising, then, when a beam of Thoron struck Simia directly in the chest, throwing her across the room to slam into the wall.
Morgan smirked, more electricity balling up in her palm. "That almost worked last time," she said. "The whole 'Pass' bait. But I'm onto your tricks, Simia. This isn't my first rodeo with the Deadlords."
Lyn sighed with relief, then turned back to the Deadlord. Simia's face was as impassive as ever as she picked herself up. Her robes were singed from the direct hit. Were it not for the magical resistance offered by the Sol Katti, she surely would have been run through by the powerful magic.
In fact—Lyn's heart fell—aside from the damages to Simia's wardrobe, it hadn't had much of an effect at all. The Sol Katti was powerful indeed, coupled with the durability of a Deadlord…
"Morgan, keep doing what you're doing," Lyn said. "Magic is helping, but finishing her will come down to me!"
"I agree!" The tactician readied her next attack.
Lyn immediately turned aggressive, spinning her two blades into action. Simia powered each attack away; realizing her disadvantage, the Deadlord seemed to be exercising her superhuman strength to intimidate her opponents. Certainly, the way each deflection pushed Lyn back a step was alarming, but Lyn had faced her fair share of superhuman opponents in her day. She remained calm and continued to pick away at Simia's guard with increasingly forceful slashes.
Morgan held in her hand a ball of crackling magic that could level a small building, and it was only growing in strength the longer she accumulated power from the tome. Though it hadn't left much more than an uncomfortable burn on Simia, it served as a useful distraction.
For example, Simia was growing accustomed to Lyn's aggression, and was waiting for the Elibean to make a mistake. Lyn would not make a mistake, but she would certainly make it look like one: an attack that Simia could easily sidestep, leaving Lyn vulnerable but out of Morgan's way.
So Simia fell for the bait: she dodged Lyn's attack, readied her weapon, and started to press her imagined advantage. That was when Morgan struck.
The Deadlord realized the trap she had fallen into too late; though she attempted to bring Sol Katti to bear, the overcharged Thoron blast struck her dead-on and tossed her into the wall, weapon clattering from her grip.
With no obstructions left to her victory, Lyn finished the job. Mani Katti embedded into Simia's gut, and Sol Katti into her heart.
Lyn glared into the Deadlord's red eyes and pushed the weapons in deeper. Simia twitched, hands reaching in vain as if to remove the blades securing her death, but her expression was dissonantly impassive. Soon, her hands fell away from Lyn's twin weapons, accepting her defeat.
"MANY REMAIN."
With those last words, the red lights in her eyes faded, and Simia began to disappear. Like the Deadlords the Shepherds had defeated before, the body dispelled into a burst of purple miasma, painting the ground and wall.
Lyn frowned at what Simia had left behind. "'Many remain,'" she echoed. "…We have to return with what we've learned."
"And with what we've gained." Morgan grinned at Lyn, hefting the Deadlord's dropped weapon. "In case you wanted a new one?"
Lyn chuckled. "That may come in handy. In any case…" She glanced at the darkness; though their clamor had masked the sounds before, the distant shuffling of steel was now plainly audible. "The rest are coming. We need to leave."
"Right." Securing her grip on Simia's Sol Katti, Morgan ran for the Gate's room, Lyn following closely behind.
Morgan smiled as she entered the tent. "Hey, you're awake!"
Chrom still sat in the healing waters, mostly unclothed and sporting a dour expression. Anna and the three Manaketes also sat in chairs next to the bath, turning to face Morgan and Lyn as they entered.
"What did you two figure out?" Chrom asked.
"They're Deadlords." Morgan took a seat next to Nah (exchanging smiles), while Lyn stood nearby, crossing her arms. "Lyn and I even killed one of them, so only eleven to go. She wasn't any tougher than the Deadlords we fought a year ago, so while this won't be a cakewalk, it's not like we haven't faced this kind of challenge before. Also, we got this." Morgan drew the Sol Katti from its place on her hip, presenting it to the audience. "Just like the last ones, the one we fought was carrying a legendary weapon." She glanced at Lyn. "We got a couple legendary weapons from the Deadlords back then, too. Too bad Cynthia and I lost Gungnir and Mjolnir when we were fighting the fake Robin the other week, or we could fight fire with fire."
"Deadlords… That's something of a relief. At least they're familiar." Chrom crossed his arms. "I wonder where they come from. The only Deadlords we ever knew were raised by Aversa."
"We could ask her later. For now, though…" Morgan smiled. "You look great! How are you feeling?"
Chrom stretched his arms over his head, groaning. He then patted his left hip. "It's gone."
"The injury?" Morgan blinked. "Wow, already?"
"I've been in here for almost two hours, apparently. With the fragments of Siegmund gone, it could finally heal."
"…You don't seem as enthused as you should be."
Chrom's expression remained serious. "I'm… glad it's gone." Three days of suffering through Ephraim's stab wound had almost made him forget what free movement of his left arm was like. Looking down at his left hip, a discolored scar remained, but twisting himself in the water elicited no pain.
Still, he had far too much on his mind to be as excited as he knew he was supposed to be.
"And I feel healthy, too. Emm brought me food earlier. I'll be good to go soon. And when I'm done, I want you three—" He indicated the Manaketes—"to take baths, too. We need to make sure you three will be ready for a fight when we go back to Infinite Regalia."
Nah, Nowi, and Tiki nodded solemnly.
"Yeah, I almost forgot about that," Morgan said. "Do we know why that happened?"
"I don't have any guesses beyond the Bath Elixir wearing off," Chrom said grimly.
"Does it wear off over time?" Nah asked. "Or maybe it's because you traveled through the Outrealm Gate a certain number of times?"
"I only used it twice after the last bath I took, not counting the ones I just got sick from," Chrom said. "I would hope that's not the issue. I last bathed two days ago, which still isn't a long time considering how much of the Bath Elixir we have."
"How much do we have?"
Anna lifted the small bag she was holding. "This is it," she said. "Based on the portions we've used so far, if everyone bathes today, then we'll have enough for one, maybe two more per person after that. Either we need to somehow get more, or we've gotta find another way. Or…" She turned to the Manaketes. "…If we aren't splitting the Elixir four ways, then it'll last a lot longer."
"I'm not sure if she's suggesting group baths or leaving us Manaketes in Ylisse, but I'm gonna say 'no thanks' to both," Nah said. She frowned. "…I'll suffer through Outrealm Sickness if it keeps the others healthy."
"That's so sweet," Morgan said. "Buuut that's no good. Can't compromise your combat utility that way."
"Group baths wouldn't even be a viable alternative," Anna noted. "If all four of you entered a bath at once, you would only imbibe a quarter-portion of the Elixir. So it would still take four portions at once to heal everyone. Would save time, I guess, and as we all know, time is mon—"
"Anna's contractually-required daily cliché aside, what does this mean for us?" Morgan asked the room. "Optimistically, we'll be able to go six more days on the Bath Elixir we have. Discounting the Manaketes, Chrom could be combat-ready for four times that long, but I very strongly don't want to ditch the dragons. You guys are like trump cards."
"That's so sweet," Nah echoed dryly, "but that doesn't solve anything."
"I could ask Mother," Anna offered.
"Not now." Chrom shook his head. "We can try that later, but at the moment, I want all hands on deck. If the enemies in Infinite Regalia are really Deadlords, then we'll need all the Shepherds we can get. For now, that's that." Chrom gestured out of the tent flap. "You're all dismissed; I'm going to get dressed and meet you by the Gate. Nah, Nowi, Tiki: take turns in the bath, twenty minutes each. Anna: relay Morgan's report to the Shepherds, and let them know we'll be heading into Infinite Regalia in an hour."
Anna saluted. "Roger that!"
Morgan was waiting outside as Chrom exited the tent. Assuring himself that Falchion was secure on his belt, Chrom made for the Outrealm Gate, his tactician in tow.
Morgan thought she'd have something to say, but as they walked, the silence grew thicker. She didn't have any more information to report, and her usual quips and teasing seemed wholly inappropriate after yesterday.
Even Chrom, usually not the type to read into such silence, soon found the absence of Morgan's humor palpable. His own spirits weren't exactly high, either, but without Morgan's usual personality, the darkness settled heavier.
"Morgan," Chrom said, trying to grin at her. "Lighten up, would you? That's an order."
Morgan averted her eyes, not answering. His hypocrisy was bleeding through.
They walked for another moment in silence, until Morgan, at last, broke it herself.
"Chrom… I need to know something."
"What is it?"
"Do you feel…" Morgan trailed off, tightening her hands into fists as if trying to physically grasp at her thoughts, to sort them into coherent words. "Do you feel the same… anxiety… that I do?"
Chrom was still trying to seem upbeat. "At the moment? Nah, I feel fine."
Morgan pursed her lips, then opened them. "I mean… Do you have this nagging doubt, this really really strong feeling, that we're wrong about Dad? That dread about whether he's actually alive or not?"
Chrom's expression finally returned to a sour grimace, and he shook his head, temper growing hotter. "Stop it, Morgan. There's no room for that kind of talk, not now."
There was her answer, she knew. He definitely shared her doubt. The Chrom she knew would have answered with something encouraging, not deflecting.
She didn't say anything else on their walk to the Outrealm Gate. Nothing else needed to be said.
The party of Shepherds was not immediately hounded by Deadlords as they entered the dark Outrealm, so Morgan had the party split in three. One went west, one east, and one made to move due north.
Morgan and Chrom took the lead, weapons at the ready, as they moved to the north. Morgan took a deep breath and casted a fireball deep into the unfamiliar room ahead, revealing its contents.
Three Deadlords stood ahead of her, all standing as impassively as Simia had previously done.
No—one, one was exactly—
"Simia?" Morgan breathed. The one on the left, unmistakable. While the rightmost Deadlord seemed to be a mage, and the central one was heavily armored, the swordmaster on the left was clearly the same one Morgan and Lyn had defeated just hours ago. "She regenerated?"
"YOU STAND NOW IN INFINITE REGALIA." The voice was metallic, inhuman, as it rang through the quiet, dark halls.
Morgan blinked. She hadn't heard that many syllables from a Deadlord before. "Who are you?"
"THE GUARDIANS OF THIS OUTREALM."
While Simia on the left and the mage on the right (likely Ovis) remained dormant, the central Deadlord's eyes lit up, and it uncrossed its arms, taking steps closer.
Chrom and Morgan both held their weapons at the ready, but the armored Deadlord halted several paces away, planting the butt of its lance into the ground and facing the newcomers. Seemed it only wanted to talk.
"THIS PLACE IS NAMED 'INFINITE REGALIA' BY RESULT OF OUR EXISTENCE," the Deadlord proclaimed. "WE WIELD LEGENDARY WEAPONS OF YORE, AND WITH THEM, WE DEFEND OUR REALM UNCEASINGLY. WE OUTLAST EVEN OUR OWN DEFEAT."
"Infinite Regalia," Morgan whispered. "Gods, that's why Simia's back. And regalia…" She eyed the guardian's lance.
"I AM MUS, LEADER OF THE DEADLORDS," said the armored Deadlord. "WHY HAVE YOU COME? DO YOU SEEK TO TEST OUR MIGHT?"
Chrom frowned. "Test…? Interesting choice of words. Well, not if we don't have to." Determinedly: "We know our friend was here. Robin came to this Outrealm several months ago. I need to know where he went."
Mus did not answer for a moment. His scarlet eyes bored into Chrom's, analytical.
"…YOU ARE THE SHEPHERDS. YLISSE'S GUARDIANS."
"Even the undead know us? That's flattering."
"I HAVE YOUR ANSWER," Mus claimed. "YOUR TACTICIAN DID COME HERE, AND DID ESCAPE WITH HIS LIFE. I WILL GRANT YOU THE ANSWER YOU SEEK, SHOULD YOU PROVE YOURSELF WORTHY OF IT."
Chrom's heart skipped a beat at Mus's response, but a bad taste entered his mouth regardless. "…You mean combat."
"WHOLEHEARTEDLY." Mus tapped his lance against the tile floor. "THIRTY-SIX DEADLORDS FILL THESE HALLS. SHOULD YOU DEFEAT US ALL, TREASURE AWAITS YOU—INCLUDING THE PRECIOUS TRUTH YOU SO CRAVE. YOU HAVE THIRTY SECONDS TO PREPARE."
Mus tapped his lance on the floor again, and runes of light encircled him, warping him away. Simia and Ovis finally opened their eyes, and they backed out of the room, leaving the Shepherds alone.
"Okay," Morgan said. She took a shivering breath. "Thirty-six. N-Not twelve. Holy crap."
"We can do it," Chrom said. "We have more than twice that number."
Light suddenly flooded the room, causing the Shepherds to wince and cover their eyes. When they adjusted, they found that chandeliers had been lit overhead. Visibility in every room.
"They really want a fair fight," Chrom mused. "This is going to be tough, Morgan, but we can do it." He placed his hand on Morgan's shoulder, gripping it tightly. "Morgan." Finally, a genuine smile came forth. "This is what the Shepherds are good at, remember? We can do this. Just tell us where to go."
"I—" Morgan nodded vehemently. "I will!" She whirled away, back to the rest of the Shepherds, already barking commands.
Chrom ran his fingers through his hair, surveying the movement of Deadlords in distant rooms. "…I'm much more comfortable now, heheh. Maybe I'm just meant for the battlefield." He patted his hip, smiling a bit. "And more than ready for it, too. Let's do this."
Continued...