(A/N): Oof, here's the next chapter of the series. I had a blast writing it and I hope it meets your standards. And now, without further ado, here's what you came for.
Potential spoilers ahead, read at your own discretion.
"That's… quite the stack of books you've got there Genny."
The cleric gave a disarming smile. "If you're going to stay with us, might as well read up on some history to avoid looking ignorant, yes?"
Marth had not expected her day to start off like this, least of all with Genny, of all people, and her sudden intrusion for that matter. It had been several days since their last conversation and Marth had grown worried that she may have perhaps prodded too much into Genny's private matters. Were her worries for naught, she thought otherwise. Their conversation from several days prior still echoed in her mind.
Because I died.
The very words sent icy daggers into Marth's heart. Telling a stranger one's life was one thing but to say that they had instead died was a completely different beast. How could anyone divulge such information so openly and still try to smile on? How could someone keep moving forward after coming across such a realization? These questions raced around in Marth's mind but she dared not to bring them up lest she hurt Genny.
But Genny showed no signs of spite nor woundedness. She was back in the same bubbly and kind-hearted manner she had when they had first met on summoning grounds. This was days after their initial conversation of course. Marth had felt rather guilty for digging at Genny that she in fact wanted to apologize to her.
She did not get her chance in the meantime.
Marth had asked around if anyone had seen the young cleric only to be met with the same answer.
"Genny? She's been tasked onto the battlefield."
As peaceful as this realm seemed, war had ravaged the world, just like Marth's own. Wounded soldiers lined the sick bay, officers raced to and from the barracks like ants, carrying what could only be assumed as intel and resources dedicated to the war effort. It seemed conflict was an inevitable end that followed her wherever she went. From what she had been able to deduce so far from several off-duty officers in the dining quarters were that two kingdoms, the one she was in and another, had been locked in conflict for quite some time on and off again. Seeing as how drawn and unyielding the fighting was, Marth had started to worry about the young cleric's wellbeing, especially after having been sent off from such a conversation.
While wandering the training grounds at night, an armored knight, the same man that had carried her up to infirmary, saw the listless way she carried about amidst her worries and had asked her what was troubling her.
"I… I think I may have wronged someone."
The man, whom she learned was in fact one of the army's celebrated generals, took her to the empty mess hall for a quiet drink and a chance to talk, something Marth was not very adept at doing. She stumbled many times in her conversation in getting her point across but the man was patient and listened intently, paying close attention to Marth's words and refilling her glass with warm lily-berry tea every time she downed the glass. It was quite the ordeal on Marth's end, as she had to tiptoe around the real meaning behind her worries.
Because I died.
How could Marth ever repeat those words with a straight face?
By the end of her confession, the man downed a glass of his own, with what Marth could only assume was something much harder and heavier than what she was drinking. Even so, she could see that the man showed no signs of being inebriated and had been listening to her intently.
"So, who is this person?" The knight finally asked, setting his glass down and meeting Marth's distant gaze.
Marth was hesitant but decided that she owed the man at least that much for even bothering to listen to her; it seemed everyone here was willing to lend a hand or and ear to help their fellow peers.
"Her name is Genny, the cleric with the orange hair." Marth said, a slight shake in her voice.
Then suddenly, the man burst into laughter. Marth had thought she may have made a mistake with her delivery but the knight's next response confirmed her suspicions wrong.
"The girl looks quite soft, huh?" The knight said, in such a soft tone that made his previous outburst seem like an illusion. "And I don't mean her hair. Lass looks like she wouldn't be able to hurt an insect to save her life and even the tiniest gust would break her. That's what you think, right?"
Marth hesitated for a moment. What the man had just said was an unfiltered river of thoughts and was perhaps even insulting to Genny but Marth knew in her heart that the man's words were in fact her own, deep-seated judgments as well. She slowly nodded.
The knight wiped his upper lip with a gloved thumb, his heavy-set armor ringing about the empty room with every movement. "She may look as frail as a lamb but she has the heart of a lion."
Marth sat on her stool quietly, setting down her empty glass.
"The girl is stronger than she looks." The general said. "Stronger than I could ever hope to be. Even after the death of Eliwood I—"
The man fell silent. Marth could see the distant forlorn on the general's face in spite of the man's ever-present grin. He chuckled to himself, a hint of sorrow hidden between his air-rippling laughter. "She has been here almost as long as Kiran himself and has borne witness to things you and I can't fathom nor handle. And yet, here she stands, taller than most could, ever ready to lend a hand to all."
The man took another swig at his glass. "That's the life of a cleric. Giving up a part of themselves so that others won't have to."
The general, whom she learned was named Hector, left after that. He had invited Marth for a sparring match to wipe away the rather gloomy atmosphere but she politely declined the knight's kind offer. His last words threw Marth into deep thought that she could focus on nothing else.
Could that have been why Genny, in spite of how reluctant she looked, told Marth how her story ended? To spare her from finding out her ultimate fate by giving up her own so willingly? Was it mercy that led her to do that? The simple goodness of her heart? Marth had so many questions that went on unanswered.
Until now.
"Marth, I'm not intruding, am I?"
Marth was brought back from her lengthy reverie by a soft voice tinged with worry. Turning to her right, she saw that Genny had set her stack of books on the small table in her quarters and was looking at her, her eyes beckoning for an answer but her body worrying what that answer might be.
Marth shook her head and put on her most reassuring smile, an act once bound by muscle memory that had been forgotten since long ages past. "No, you're not. As a matter of fact, I wanted to speak with you."
Genny's face beamed and her eyes lit up, the previous anxiety that strangled her melting away. She almost seemed to jump with joy akin to that of a child receiving a heartfelt gift on her nameday celebration. "Y-you wanted to speak with me? Ohh… What is this feeling?"
Marth, closing the door behind her, then stood upright as tall as she could before bowing her head with such force that Genny was forced to take a step back.
"M-Marth? What's wr—"
"Please forgive me, my impertinence!" Marth proclaimed, her voice like a gale of wind and her posture unyielding. "I have trod unwittingly on a sensitive matter that I had no right in setting foot upon. Please find it in your heart to forgive me!"
The room was filled with an uncomfortable silence. No one spoke or moved a muscle. While bent over, Marth could feel cold sweat pool at her forehead. Had she ruined it all in the end? Was Genny purposefully acting the way she was in an effort to forget their last conversation and had Marth unwittingly brought up the subject again? Marth began to curse herself for acting without thinking yet again.
But a warm, gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder, an action that would had Marth at any other time jump right back onto her feet. Instead, it thawed the cold uneasiness that had flooded her body, dissipating any second thoughts from her mind. A equally tender laughter then broke the suffocating silence. The hand then slowly raised Marth up from her once unbending stance and met her a calming gaze.
"Silly Marth." Genny said, setting aside her mirth. "Why must you insist on beating yourself up over something so small?"
"But I—" Marth begun to protest.
Genny simply shook her head with an untroubled air. "While uncomfortable, it was only fair for me to do so. I found out about your story, you had every right to hear mine as well."
Marth was at a loss for a response. Hector's words from several nights before echoed in her mind.
"So, please." Genny smiled, patting Marth's shoulder. "Don't worry about it anymore."
"But you and I are total strangers." Marth whispered, turning her head to the side, unable to return the cleric's sentiment. "How you can be so…" Marth could not find the words to finish her sentence but Genny seemed to understand.
"That may be true." Genny agreed. "We've only known each other for several hours at most. Not even the friendliest of sellswords would tell their life stories within that time… But Marth?"
She looked back at the young woman.
"I pray that one day you can call me your friend." Genny said softly, smiling. "And tell me your story in your own words."
Marth stood there, taken aback by the cleric's words.
"In exchange, I'll forgive you of your self-proclaimed 'impertinence'." Genny replied, tilting her head. "Do we have a deal?"
Marth opened her mouth to respond but no words touched her lips. All she could do was nod meekly, but to Genny's delight.
"It doesn't have to be today, or tomorrow." The young healer said, taking her hand off of Marth's shoulder. "Only when you yourself are ready. When the time comes, I will listen, okay?"
"O-okay." Marth answered, finally finding her voice. "When the time comes, I will. I promise."
And that was enough for the young cleric. She beamed with such bliss that the previously awkward atmosphere seemed like a lie. She skipped back to where she left the books on table, flipping open a tremendously heavy-looking volume like plucking a leaf off of a twig.
"Now," Genny exclaimed with such fervor, her body seemed to shake. "Are you ready for your history lesson?"
Marth let out a cathartic laugh and began to walk to the empty seat by her.
Until there was a sharp rapping at the door.
Marth, as if her body were moving on its own, swiftly changed course and reached for the door's handle instead of the chair's neck. She opened the wooden partition before the knocking had even ended.
In front of her stood a bloodied and battered rogue, his brown hair matted down on the sides and caked with blood. It appeared as if it were his own.
"Marth!" The rogue cried, his voice urgent and firm despite his injuries. "You're safe. Thank the Gods. Have you seen Genny?"
Marth nodded, motioning with her hand towards the healer standing behind her who had begun to pace towards the injured man.
"Thank goodness." The man exclaimed, relief flooding his strained words.
Genny reached the man and began to examine his wounds without a word as she looked up to face him. "Wh-what happened Matthew? Why are you—?"
The man quickly brushed her away with his blood-soaked hand. "Emblian invasion. A sizeable division has attacked our station here. The attack caught us off-guard. Even the boys and I didn't see 'em comin'." He spat a wad of blood onto the wooden floor. "Lord Hector has ordered all able-bodied heroes to assist in the defense. That means you too Marth."
Marth felt her heart race, just as it always did in the event of a battle. She nodded without saying a word.
"I know you've only been here for a several days but we're all out of options right now. The nearest band of reinforcements are horse's yard out and we need every hand that can wield a sword." Matthew said, almost apologetically. "We cannot let the Order fall here today."
"What are we waiting for then?" Genny barked, a tone that Marth had never expected from her. "People need our help!"
Genny quickly turned to face Marth before heading out the door. "Sorry Marth, looks like we'll need to postpone our lesson." She turned to the rogue. "Let's go Matthew."
Matthew nodded in earnest before turning to face Marth one last time. "Arm yourself with what you need and meet Lord Hector at the front. He's gathered whatever heroes that could still fight with him and personally leading the fight back to the invaders. Help him at all cost!" Matthew then scooped up Genny in his arms in spite of his injuries and bound down the hall with blistering speed. Marth blinked and both the man and Genny had all but disappeared.
Marth ran back into her quarters, grabbed the foreign blade and fastened it around her waist. It may not be the sword she was used to but she would make do with what she had. Checking the blade one last time, she ran out of the room, her legs running as fast as they could take her to her allies.
"URAH! One hell of an awakening, isn't it?!"
General Hector swung his fabled weapon Armads with such ease, it seemed to weigh as much as a bird's feather in his hands. Marth, while feeling that she had seen such prowess before, was in awe of the sheer power behind the man. He cleaved down foes left and right in his bloody whirlwind of death.
Marth parried an oncoming attack with her sword with such swiftness that it seemed the two blades had not even met, let alone touched. Swinging the sword back to counter-attack, because the blade, while sharp and beautiful, felt foreign in her hands, Marth only managed to hit her adversary with the side of her blade. Still, the man was hit was such force he laid limp on the grassy battlefield.
Marth looked up to see a sea of enemies still marching their assault on their brigade.
"I see an opening!" the red-haired boy roared, his sword blazing with a whirl of fire. He threw himself fearlessly unto the enemy.
"Just as we calculated," the archer said with an air of superiority as he unleashed a barrage of arrows into the bodies of any who dared oppose them. "Keep pushing!"
"Keep them coming!" The raven-haired man cackled with laughter, a strange madness enveloping him. Marth noticed his crimson, blood-stained sword for the first time. "I… cannot resist the urge! RAHAHAHA!" The man's movements were so fast, Marth could not keep track of him with the naked eye.
While General Hector and his monstrous axe cut down wave after wave, his stalwart comrades, a raven-haired swordmaster with a penchant for bloodshed, a dashing archer with golden locks and hawk-like aim, and a hot-blooded, red-haired youth wielding a flaming sword, cut down their foes with equal measure. Marth, while fighting alongside them, could only stare in awe at their skill. Was this power of a hero? Was this what it meant? She could only keep guessing.
Flames erupted, arrows flew by, and a merciless laughter echoed throughout the battlefield. It was a feeling Marth was already familiar with. A sensation that almost felt… natural. And before she knew, where once dozens after dozens of enemies once stood was now consumed in a sea of fire.
"Hold formation!" Hector bellowed, as he and his men held their ground. "Jeorge, do you see any more of them?"
The flames from the young boy's sword made the surrounding area catch on fire but the burning seemed to be controlled. It did not get in the way of the strike force nor did it endanger them when it should have. Still, the smoke from the flames clouded the area and hazed everyone's vision.
The golden-haired archer shook his head. "I cannot see anything beyond the flames but the enemy has stopped advancing."
Hector looked over to the frenzied swordmaster who still carried his look of crazed glee. "He's right." The man whispered, his voice gone soft. "I do not feel their fighting spirits any longer."
The boy extinguished the flames of his blade. "Nothing we couldn't handle, right Uncle Hector?"
The general nodded as he firmly slapped the boy on the back. "Your father would be proud Roy."
"I wouldn't go for anything less." Roy said, his voice solemn.
Marth sheathed her sword, the blade easily sliding back into its sheath, given how clean it still remained after the battle. She stepped out towards the field of fire. With every step, the growing flames receded from her, as if it knew not to touch her.
The battle had been won. But why was she filled with such a feeling of uneasiness?
Then, the ground began to shake and the wind began to howl. The flames that were once tame began to rekindle themselves and climb higher into the sky. Marth, unsteady, fell to her knees. As she struggled to raise herself back onto her knees, she was met with an ear-deafening shriek.
And with its wicked fangs, the cry clawed out from the deepest recesses of Marth's memory when the fell demon had dived right—
Marth's legs froze, her arms hung limply by her side. She tried forcing her lifeless limbs to move but with every attempt, they simply hung there like a puppet with cut strings. She screamed at her arms to pick herself up, she screamed at her legs to run, Marth screamed at herself to move, but no sound came.
Just emptiness.
With all her strength, she raised her head for one last time only to be met with a storm of oncoming riders, by wind and earth, and so many that they and the smoke hid the sun.
It had felt as if time had stopped.
Marth could not move nor could she hear. The perpetual cries of her allies in that moment would never reach her. Her arms would not pick her frozen body up. Her legs would not run away from the onslaught that awaited her. She could only see the fate that awaited her with every drawing breath.
"…"
"Move out of the way or get run over girl."
A cold hand came to rest on her shoulder briefly as those words broke through to her ears. And as Marth turned to face the speaker of those words, they were already gone. And where the oncoming cavalry and fliers should have been never arrived. Looking up, she saw a blurry figure, smothered in flames and brandishing a flaming lance breaking through her would-be killers.
With his flowing sea-green hair, tattered and burning cape, and spinning wheel of fire, the man almost looked… beautiful. His bloody dance of death, while gruesome, flew with grace and allure that carried an air of beauty, painting a terrifyingly frightening work of art. His lance was his brush, his adversaries his ink, and the battlefield his canvas. The blood that flowed from the earth and skies, the murderous intent behind each strike of the lance, the maddeningly beautiful movements of the lone warrior, Marth was captivated by his bloody requiem. She was no longer frozen just fear, she was also frozen with awe.
Wave after wave of what appeared to be a waterfall of foes, the man never faltered or stumbled. His five-pointed lance's heads met their target every time and none managed to set a step past him. Dismembered limbs flew by like petals and blood flowed like an unending river of crimson but the man did not yield. His dance was not yet over.
After what seemed like an eternity, the fatal piece ended and the fire had been snuffed away, like the lives of all those unfortunate enough to dare stand in the man's path. The flames that once engulfed the man's spear whisped away. The embers that stuck his cape and armor still flickered, glistening the blood that coated him and his weapon. He swiftly turned and marched away from the battlefield. Marth tried to meet the man's eyes but they eluded her own.
The man was at the point of passing over her. She could not fully understand why but she wanted—no, she needed—to get his attention.
"You saved me." She tried to cry out, but it only came out like a whisper. Out of her peripheral view, she could see the outlines of her allies rushing towards her but her attention lied elsewhere.
As quiet as her voice was, the man must have heard her as he stopped in his tracks.
Marth grunted as she tried to pull herself up as much as she could to get a better view of the lone man. "Who are you?" she asked, her quiet voice cracking. "You're another one of these heroes, aren't you?"
The man briefly turned his head over his shoulder before looking away. He remained still.
"After all I've done…" The man said finally, his voice like silk, a stark contrast from his jagged appearance. "Me, a hero… Haah, what a funny world."
Marth felt her vision darkening but she had so much more left to ask. Why was he body giving up on her when she needed it most?
Using the last of her strength, Marth forced out, "How am I supposed to thank you without knowing who you are?"
Out of the corners of his face, Marth could barely make out that the man was… smiling?
"I go by what people like calling me. But I'll give you the most popular one."
He paused. It felt like an eternity to Marth.
"I am called Lord Ephraim, the scourge of Renais."
Marth's world turned dark, her vision and hearing failing her.
But not before she heard one last phrase.
"Sister-killer."
(Author's Note): Oh boy, that was a blast to write. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it. It went through multiple revisions and drafts before I found a version I thought would flow well. Hopefully it'll stay that way. Thanks for reading, stay tuned for more.
Cheers.