Potential Spoilers ahead. Read at your own discretion.

"We're doing a routine check on the morrow. Be sure to be at the camp square when the horn blows. We move at first light."

"Yes sir."

The brown-haired mercenary left the small tent as quickly as he had entered. Marth remembered his face when she had first arrived in Askr. Evidently, the man was notorious for his sour expression amongst the members of the Order, his permanent scowl never leaving his visage. But behind the man's harsh exterior, Marth knew he meant well. She still remembered in her hazy memory that he was in fact one of the first heroes that offered to help her when she arrived in her weakened state. Of course, General Hector ended up being the one that carried her to the sick room.

Apparently the mercenary was a defector from Embla.

Marth had overheard the gossip of some soldiers in a neighboring unit on how the scowling mercenary once fought against them on the field of battle but had set aside his sword to fight for Askr's cause. Some said he was on a quest for revenge and had left Embla in order to meet his goal. Others claimed the stern-faced mercenary had a change of heart when fighting for the dreaded Embla and decided to fight for Askr.

Their side.

The good side.

Marth knew war wasn't as clear cut as many outsiders who peered in on assumed. There were no good or evil sides to a conflict. Every side thinks that their side was the good one, the side of justice, and that the enemy was the virulent poison that threatened their idea of justice. But Marth knew that even though war was a field of gray matter, sometimes there were irredeemable adversaries, ones that pledged themselves to nothing but sheer destruction for the sake of it.

Not conquest of any kind or a conflict of resources.

Destruction out of simple desire.

Thinking about such things stabbed at her heart, as she clutched at her chest instinctively. These emotions that swirled inside, had her memory begun to return?

She scratched further at her fleeting memories but the attempts were in vain. Her mind refused to recall anything further. With a sigh of defeat, Marth resumed straightening out her new set of armor. Ephraim had the entire set custom made from the respected smith of Order. It was the same man who had tried defending her during her brief audience with the High Council against the verbal abuse of the council member Mauder, the corpulent councilman and skilled blacksmith Wald.

Her slim, white fingers traced the brigandine that was spread eagle before her, her nails sliding atop the rivets that were embroidered onto the leather armor skillfully. A short-sleeved gambeson lay neatly folded next to the navy-blue brigandine, with charcoal vambraces resting above. While smoky, the forearm armor shone back her reflection with a hazy air. Marth felt lost in its gaze.

Marth felt lost and warped even outside of her own reflection in the armor.

Ever since Prince Alfonse had given her the news before the High Council that she was admitted to the Order of Heroes on the condition that she served beneath Lord Ephraim, she felt confused. She didn't feel that way at first of course. It was assuring for her to be placed beneath Lord Ephraim's leadership and in his personal unit but the expressions she received from the normally confident prince and the infamous lancer himself were less than promising. Before the Council had adjourned, out of the corner of her eye she saw Mauder glaring at her with a sinister smile. And it seemed that Ephraim had noticed it too as he stormed out of the council chamber without a word.

The initial joy she had began to recede once she began to ask questions as to what it meant when she was placed in Lord Ephraim's personal unit.

As a matter of fact, she couldn't even really call it that.

Ephraim's unit consisted of entirely one individual before Marth was assigned there. And it was the lancer himself.

After some more prodding, Marth eventually found out that Lord Ephraim's "unit" was actually a special task force of sorts that dealt with the Order's most dire and dangerous missions, with many of them being near suicidal endeavors.

The Spear's Head, it was ironically dubbed, with Lord Ephraim at the forefront of it all.

All alone.

Could that have been the root of his disdain for the Order?

It didn't help that Ephraim was nowhere to be found after the Council had adjourned. It had seemed Ephraim was incredibly bitter about having Marth being enlisted into his unit.

Even without Prince Alfonse telling her, she knew that Mauder had to have meddled with the Council in order to get her assigned in such a dangerous division. She still remembered the impression the caustic councilman left on her, the eyes he glared at her with when he had been forced to resign from his previous stance on her acceptance into the Order. If looks could kill, she would have been torn to shreds.

So perhaps this was his retribution for shaming him in front of the Council of the Order.

Even with her vague memories, Marth held much distaste for political affairs and its snare on virtually everything within its grasp. When politics were involved, everything, and everyone, became two-sided. A sword wouldn't lie to her but the one wielding it could. The shadow of doubt would be prevalent within politics' sphere and be impossible to avoid.

And that was true even in Askr.

Marth shuddered at the prospect of anyone finding out the secret she had to hold now. There were only two people in the world of Zenith that knew it. They were herself and the Emblian Prince Bruno. And he was adamant with her not telling the Order lest they fall.

Her identity was one thing, but this was another matter entirely.

It consumed her with guilt. How could she stand with other actual heroes with no shame when she herself wasn't one? Bruno had told her that the goddess had rejected her. The World of Zenith was judged over by the Silent Goddess and Marth knew nothing about her. While she may have scrounged bits and pieces of history regarding the world, Marth had heard little to nothing about the deity herself. And Ephraim's disdain for divine entities didn't help either.

But what gave her a small sliver of respite was the fact that she wasn't the only one who had successfully done the ritual.

Ephraim himself outright refused to partake in it and the brown-haired mercenary also declined any advancements on the subject. It seemed that he felt a tinge of guilt at once having fought against the Order and purposely refused to elevate himself onto the level of the actual heroes.

And in spite of this, the mercenary grew to be one of the more renowned officers in the Order, almost on par with Princess Sharena's repute and care with his own for his unit. Marth hadn't had the chance to speak thoroughly with the man but his reputation preceded him.

Which was why he was the joint commander for the upcoming mission.

He and Ephraim had been ordered to combine both of their respective units for the march on the Gate of Tellius with another sizeable division following suit. It seemed that Bruno's words had a profound effect on Kiran as he immediately brought forth a plan of entry into Tellius to the Council to gain their approval for "the things to come" as he put it. And so, the two division commanders were brought together to lead the operation and see through it to the end.

The mercenary captained a personal band of 20 soldiers, many who were skilled in various fields of combat and medicine. Marth had been overjoyed at the fact that Genny was a member of this division. It put her at ease to see familiar face when everything else was so unfamiliar to her. It also helped that the sour-faced mercenary's unit was welcoming in spite of the repute Lord Ephraim bore, perhaps even respecting the lancer for his prior deeds.

And it seemed that Ephraim also carried a measure of respect for the mercenary as well. There was an air of silent veneration when the two were speaking at the war council. Marth was worried at first that the two might butt heads but her concerns were for naught. There was mutual respect on both ends that she hadn't easily expected given the many rumors that floated around about Ephraim. Perhaps there were more good-natured people in the Order than Marth had given them credit for.

The two combined divisions amounted to 23 soldiers, two from Ephraim's unit and the rest from the mercenary's division. For such an important operation, the initial number of soldiers being sent seemed so few.

But Marth knew that Ephraim's fighting worth was easily worth companies and companies on end of soldiers. And the Order would be reinforcing them with more soldiers soon enough. There was nothing to worry about.

In fact, it seemed Ephraim was the one doing the worrying.

The set of armor that set before her was proof of that.

Marth saw nothing wrong with the current armor she wore. It was a bit on the lighter side but Ephraim had been the one that suggested she wear it, given the style of fighting Marth favored. He told her that she was light on her feet and needed to work that advantage to her favor and her current armor allowed that. It got its job done properly.

But Marth took a long look at what she was wearing. Sure, it was still functioning but in the end, it was a cluster of various pieces of ill-matching pieces that she had scrounged together over her original outfit that had been badly damaged after the battle at the Field of Fire. She used to be so exact about how she presented herself but now the notion slipped from her mind.

Had she begun to lose who she originally was?

Had the world of Zenith begun to affect her personality as well?

Marth shook her head, trying to cast away her thoughts on the matter. Quietly, she began to undress herself, unhooking and unstrapping the anachronistic pieces of armor and clothes that adorned her toned yet scarred body. Marth did not want to insult Lord Ephraim by denying herself with the armor he had prepared for her. Slipping into the light chest armor easily, Marth fastened the smoky vambraces onto her slender forearms.

They were a perfect fit.

"Haa…" Marth sighed to no one in particular as she felt the cool interior of the armor against her bare skin.

"Marth? Marth are you there?"

Marth jumped at the soft voice that reached her ears. Quickly turning around, she saw an orange-haired cleric peeking her head through the tent flaps with her a worried expression that was due elsewhere.

"I'm not intruding, am I?" She asked. "I seem to be doing that a lot lately."

Marth shook her head. "It's fine." She adjusted the fasteners that were clasped to her forearms. Looking back at Genny, Marth saw that she was still standing by the tent's entrance, unmoving. From her face, it looked as though Genny was waiting for permission to enter. With her hand, she motioned for the cleric to make herself at home. She happily obliged and sat gingerly on the bedside stool.

"Did the captain ask anything of me?" Marth asked, her eyes focused on the tanned leather that was bound to her arms.

"Captain Raven?" Genny replied. "He has retired to his quarters for the evening. But didn't you hear the announcement?"

Marth looked at the young healer questioningly. "The what?"

"The announcement." Genny repeated. "Captain Raven told us to take it easy for the rest of the evening and allowed us to spend night in the nearby village if we wanted to unwind before the mission begins tomorrow."

Marth remembered seeing a small town that neighbored the Tellius Gate outpost when she had marched here several nights before. It was a quiet little hamlet that had survived the onset of the War of Heroes after remaining neutral from it all and still bustled with a homely atmosphere. In the back of her mind, Marth had quietly wished for a chance to visit.

"The captain said that?" Marth inquired. "I didn't know he was the easygoing type."

Genny giggled. "Beneath the scowl the captain is a kindhearted man. He has his reasons for always being so sour but he doesn't let that cloud his judgment. He cares for us deeply after all."

"I guess you're right." Marth nodded. She recalled what she had heard about the mercenary from before. "But isn't this still a bit too relaxed? The operation starts tomorrow."

Genny pointed a finger at the masked swordswoman. "Resting is an equally important part of your health as is your training Marth." She seemed rather passionate in her response. "Trust me, I'm a healer. And besides, Captain Raven's division is well-disciplined. No one here will be engaging in any overly frivolous activities such as tea time while we visit the town."

"… That's oddly specific Gen—"

"Anyway! Enough about my time with the charming mercenary—"

"You're doing it again."

Genny pounded her fluffy head with her small fists as her face shone with a lovely shade of red. Marth smiled to herself at the scene as Genny frantically shook her head and denied any further developments.

It brought her a small sense of normalcy.

"Unnh…" Genny cried to herself. "It's one thing when I'm writing… but I have to stop saying what's on my mind out loud…"

"So you're saying that the charming mercenary is on your mind?"

"HNNH!"

That seemed to be the killing blow as the young girl collapsed stiffly onto the cot, hands covering her face. It was like that of a small pet that was caught in the middle of doing something bad. She laid there unmovingly but squirmed a bit from time to time. Marth fought back the urge to laugh with all her might.

Instead of giving into the aches she felt rising in her belly, Marth sat down next to the stiffened girl whose body jumped at the sudden shift in the bed. Genny peeked slightly from in between her fingers.

"So what were you going to talk to me about?" Marth asked after judging that the cleric had calmed down a bit. "If it's for courting advice I'm afraid I am the least qualified for the job."

"I was going to ask no such thing!" Genny said adamantly, still hotly embarrassed. "I mean… something like that might help but—hey! That's not what I wanted to talk about!"

"Are you sure it isn't?"

"Ghh… your wit really knows how to get at people, huh?"

Marth smiled dryly. "Sorry, I'm not exactly well-loved for my humor."

"Uwah…" Genny wailed. "It's not fair for you to pass it off as something funny when it's actually something serious to me…"

"Oh…" Marth's mind raced to find something encouraging to say. "B-but I'm sure that it won't be a problem for someone like you, right?"

It failed.

"We wouldn't be having this conversation if it wasn't one!" Genny said despairingly. "Nnhh, why must this be so vexing?"

Genny was inconsolable at this point.

"I haven't been blessed with any assets." Genny complained to no one in particular. "Everyone thinks I'm but a young girl."

"But you ar—" Marth began to say before inadvertently looking at herself and realizing that she had no right to be saying anything either.

"Princess Sharena is blessed with such a graceful figure and so is Fir…" Genny continued. "But a lowly cleric like myself is like neither."

Marth began to feel slightly sorry for herself as well but over a different matter.

"Even you Marth!"

"E-eh?!" A startled Marth quipped. "Me?"

"You must have had all sorts of people lined up to see you!"

"N-not really…"

"You're lying."

"Ngh, No I'm not!" Marth snapped. "Maybe it's your tastes that are getting in the way?"

"My tastes are just fine." The cleric pouted.

Marth began to get heated up too. "Well, what are they?"

"Someone who isn't too young. A man that is mature, cares for me deeply, can look after me and treat me like a—hey wait, why am I even telling you this?!"

"From what I've heard, Matthew might fit the bill." Marth suggested.

"I already told you! He's too young for me." Genny retorted.

You're too young for anyone, Marth quietly thought to herself. "Then what of this charming mercenary fellow you're so attached to?" Marth asked. "What of him?"

Genny fell quiet for a moment. "He's perfect." She mumbled quietly.

"Wh-what?"

"I said he's perfect." Genny repeated dreamily. "He's a true gentleman and makes me feel so much at ease. He's quite the traveler as he and his troupe trot around the country frequently… I don't know if he remembers me or not but I have his face etched into my mind like a story manuscript. But most defining of all, the man can dance."

Marth paused. "Dance?"

Genny nodded. "His skill with his blade is on par, if not trumped, with the way he dances. It's like out of a painting, his dances. It's breathtaking how he glides across the floor like a swan upon a moonlit lake… when he danced with me, that time I felt as if I were a princess and that all my troubles were cast away as I was captivated within his arms and his movements…"

Now it was Marth's turn to be quiet.

"I knew of a similar man like that back when…" She began.

She stopped.

When those words passed her lips, Marth felt an inexplicable sense of pain in her heart.

Her memory wasn't clear but the pain was.

It stung with every beat.

"And I'm probably never going to be with him… Unnh…" Genny mumbled. "Enough of that. I've gotten so sidetracked from what I wanted to ask…"

Marth silently thanked the gods that she was wearing the mask. If she hadn't, it would have been a dead giveaway to what she had felt just now. She had finally gotten Genny to act more like herself without having to be worried for her sake. Marth wanted to do all that she could to lighten the girl's burden. She prayed that she wouldn't notice.

Clearing her throat, Marth shifted the conversation herself.

"So what did you want to ask me?"

"Oh, forget it all." Genny wailed, covering her face with Marth's pillow. "You're only going to tease me more."

"Come now." Marth pleaded jokingly as best she could, shaking the orange-haired cleric's shoulders gently. "I promise I won't."

"… You promise?" Genny asked quietly, peeking from the edge of pillow.

"I promise." Marth replied with as much sincerity as she could muster. "What is that you wanted to ask me?"

Genny sniffed. "W-well… I wanted to ask if you would have liked to go visit the town with me."

A sense of relief flooded Marth's heart. It seemed that her sincerity had gotten through to the girl. Smiling with satisfaction, she stood back up from the bed.

"Sure, why not?" She answered.

Then, like a force of nature, Genny leapt from the bed and practically flew around the tent with joy, much like how a child would react during the Winter Festivals. Marth couldn't help but smile at the young girl's innocent happiness.

"Then we have to get going!" Genny said explosively. "There are only so many hours left in the night!" She latched onto Marth's hand tighter than armor and immediately began pulling her to the tent's entrance. "We have so much to see, places to be, and people to see—eh, forget the last part—but we need get moving!"

"Genny, I get that you're excited but—"

Genny turned around, with most insulted expression she could draw from her innocent face aimed at Marth. "What are you waiting for Marth? But what?"

Only then did the realization sink in. But it was far too late to point things out. The tent flaps closed behind them and Genny's face went bright red, almost as red as it was when they were talking about her tea time partner. But this was a rather different matter from the latter.

The evening breeze gently whisked across the camp.

"Can I put on my pants first?"

(A/N): The first lighthearted chapter in the story! Quite the breath of fresh air to write to be completely honest. I hope it did not break the atmosphere too much. I wanted to give Genny and Marth some more screentime due to the lack of it in the previous chapters.

Thanks for reading!

Cheers.