Kilometers away from the Ylissean shoreline, just beyond sight of the coast, Aversa's flagship lumbered through the waves on its journey to bring the High Inquisitor to her task. Aversa's flagship, the Matriarch's Vindication, was easily the largest ship in the known world. Built in Valm Harbor from resources gathered across the continent over a laborious one and a half years, the Matriarch's Vindication was a galleon seventy five meters long, with a displacement of 2,800 tons. It was crewed by over one hundred and fifty people, and could carry an additional four hundred passengers. It was over sixty meters tall measured from the waterline to the ship's mast.

Having been built in Valm from shipyards commissioned by Walhart himself, it was only fitting that the ship be captained by a Valmese soldier from his empire. Captain Cassia was a middle aged woman with short, naturally gray hair, and a face strangely defined by both innately soft, kind features and features weathered and cracked by the stresses of a military career. Cassia was born a peasant, and though she longed to be a sailor, she had little chance before Walhart's rise gave her the opportunity. Cassia joined Walhart's navy as soon as it was founded. Through hard work and dedication she worked her way up to the captaincy of a caravel. Even then, Cassia was too low ranking to be deployed in the major naval engagements of Walhart's conquests, but this may have saved her life. She was left one of the most experienced sailors in Valm after Walhart was defeated and her superiors were killed, and so the Grimleal recruited her to oversee the construction of its own navy. Now the veteran sailor commanded the largest vessel in the seas.

But for all that, Cassia was not the most infamous or distinguished soldier on the bridge, and she was certainly not the most imposing. Standing by her side was Inquisitor Ascension, one of Aversa's inner circle. Like Dartsmoth, Ascension didn't hail from the Ylissean or Valmese continents. She was born in a subcontinent so remote that it was one of the last human civilizations subjugated by Grima. It was a place so remote that it didn't possess the complicated feudal civilizations of Ylisse or Valm, and was instead still divided into hunter gatherer tribes. Ascenion's tribe gave names that sounded more like poetic titles to other cultures, and she wasn't born Ascension. She was born Conception-Made-The-Sun-Shine-Dimmer, a name bestowed to her by her father after her mother died in childbirth. From an early age, Conception-Made-The-Sun-Shine-Dimmer strived to make a name for herself in the tribe, literally in the sense that she wasn't fond of her birth name. She proved herself a fearsome fighter, and so was made into a Holy Warrior, the highest honor in her tribe. This allowed her to take on a new title, and she chose the name Ascension to remind herself of a desire to become far more than what she started as.

When Ascension was sixteen, about eleven years after Grima was resurrected in the Ylissean continent, the Fell Dragon began its invasion of her subcontinent. Ascension and the other Holy Warriors were called upon to fight against the armies of Risen and Grimleal Enforcers, but Ascension didn't see doom in the Fell Dragon's arrival. She saw opportunity for something far greater. She betrayed her own people, and as such she earned a place in the conquering regime. Now she was one of Aversa's most trusted agents, and she was the highest ranking Inquisitor who couldn't use magic to save her life. Ascension's people had always valued physical strength, and she was no disappointment. She stood 2.1 meters tall. She had almost a third of a meter on Chrom, and Soleil's head wouldn't have gone up to her breasts. She dwarfed anyone else on the ship, and her arms were comparable in thickness to Cassia's thighs. When almost every other Inquisitor wore robes, Ascension wore armor of her own creation. It was pieced together from pieces of plate armor taken from slain foes, and the gaps were filled in by thick leather armor. At her rank Ascension could easily have armor crafted for her, but she much preferred to take trophies from her enemies. Ascension's armor was covered in sheathed throwing axes, and a war club almost as long as a normal sized woman was slung across her back. Her armor left her arms and legs exposed, and her feet were protected only by open sandals. All this skin was completely covered in black and blue tribal tattoos. Most of them had meanings only known to Ascension and her people, but the Mark of Grima was incorporated into the tattoos at eight separate occasions. Her head was covered by curly blonde hair that was raggedy and unkempt, save for a single braid by the right side of her face.

While Ascension's main motivation for joining the Grimleal was personal gain, she also had deeper, hidden feelings. Ascension's people were very spiritual, but she never had faith in their pagan gods. When the Fell Dragon came, Ascension saw it as the answer to humanity's quest for theological meaning, and she came to worship Grima as the Grimleal did under Validar. Since the Fell Dragon's resurrection, the Grimleal had went from a cult to a government, and many did not worship the Fell Dragon anymore. In fact those that did were looked upon strangely, and the few surviving members of the old Grimleal that still worshiped Grima were exiled. Many high ranking officials, including Gangrel and Aversa themselves, didn't trust them. Ascension always downplayed her beliefs when in the company of her superiors and equals, but she frequently made her zealotry clear to those she believed she had authority over. She also forced the soldiers under her command to share her beliefs, and over the years she had converted many of them.

"How much further must we sail, Cassia." Ascension stated in a brutish voice. "I tire of sailing."

"Don't have your sea legs yet?" Cassia responded as she watched the helmsman sail the ship.

"I am eager for my task, and I cannot enact the will of Grima while stuck on this ship."

"Well you can always get out and push."

Ascension loomed over Cassia. "I have a pure connection to the Fell Dragon and its divine will, and I am a servant of its holy might. I walk the blessed path, and it won't miss a worthless little life such as yours. Watch your tone, Valm born."

Cassia could physically do little to Ascension, but she wasn't about to be bullied on her own bridge. "I don't have time for your gobbledygook, savage."

Ascension got so close that her warm breath could be felt on Cassia's neck. "What you say is heresy."

Cassia turned to face Ascension, and the marines by her readied their weapons. "No one cares about your stupid beliefs! Grima is not a god! It's a boss! A commander! Let me ask you this. If Grima is divine, then why does it need agents like us?"

"A god that uses tools is still a god. It is not our place to question providence."

"How convenient. You have an answer for every hole someone pokes in your beliefs."

"I have a way with words." Ascension stepped back, but she loudly cracked her knuckles. "Among other things."

"Get off my bridge, Ascension."

The hulking holy warrior snarled and walked off. Meanwhile the High Inquisitor herself stepped out into the lower deck. Aversa's exact attire changed from day to day, but her outfits usually involved a lot of revealed skin, black, and elaborate decorations. Her current outfit was a bit less revealing than what she had once worn thirty years ago, but only because her body was so covered in jewelry, as well as a feather boa, pointless spikes similar to what Grima wore in the Hierophant's body, and a flowing black cape. Becoming humanity's co-ruler had done little to curb Aversa's vanity. She was quite proud of her appearance, even if she needed illusion magic to maintain it. Biologically she was pushing on sixty.

Aversa moved very carefully, as it wasn't easy to handle the swaying of a ship in heels. She eventually made her way to a mopey looking young man standing at the edge of the ship with his arms crossed, looking out into the sea. The man had white hair much like Aversa's and also had her tanned, almost grayish skin tone. He wore black and purple mage robes more complex than what most Grimleal agents wore, but they were modest compared to anything Aversa had. "Thallius!" Aversa cried out as she fumbled for the edge of the ship. "There you are! I looked all over the lower decks for you! You need to be where I can find you! I didn't have a ship built so that I could aimlessly wander around it."

"You could always lose the heels, mother."

"Well you could always lose the attitude, love."

"Ugh, sorry." Thallius said in a tone that was anything but apologetic. "I hate being cramped below deck. Gaawds. Leave me alone."

"Listen." Aversa grabbed her son's shoulder. "I don't need anything from you alright, but I do need to tell you something. We're about to reach land, and that means you're going to start helping with my mission."

"Sure. Thanks for telling me that ships eventually reach land. I thought maybe we'd go into the air!" Thallius said in a condescending tone. Aversa only looked tired in response. In her youth she had been quite skilled with her own snark, but her son's brute force attitude to it had worn her down over the years.

"Gah. Listen here, you now stand among the ranks of the Inquisitors. I know you're being a huge pain right now because no boy your age wants to be around his mother, but you need to be more professional. When I say to do something, you do it. That's not just true of me. If any other high ranking Inquisitor, like Altman, or Dartsmoth, or Al-Amin, or Thomas, or Ascension asks you to do something, then you do it. Understand?"

"Whatever. Gawds."

"Just… just go find your sisters. Tell them we're about to make landfall."

"Okay mother." Thallius said in an infuriating tone as he rolled his eyes and walked away. Aversa sighed.

"Now did I really need to have children?"

Meanwhile Ascension travelled below deck, to where many of her soldiers were staying. Among those men and women was Sentzke. Though most high ranking members of the Grimleal looked down on those that actually worshipped the Fell Dragon, the Grimleal had a few agents charged with inspiring people to convert, and to reinforce people's faith. These were the deacons, though they were rare and few officials allowed them. Ascension was one of those officials, and Sentzke was tasked with keeping her soldiers devout.

Sentzke was born to the same tribe that Ascension was from, and the two were distantly related. He was orphaned at a young age, and so the elders of the tribe named him. Traditionally orphans weren't given names until they were adults, and they were then given names based on their skills. After learning to live independently through manual labor, he was bestowed the name Barely-Lifts-Things. Barely-Lifts-Things shared Ascension's desire for a more significant life, and so went with her when she joined the Grimleal. Unlike Ascension, Barely-Lifts-Things never actually had a problem with his name, but members of the Grimleal in Ylisse and Valm would always give him strange looks when he tried to explain it.

Sentzke was a short, portly man. He had lilac hair that was receding at the top of his head, but he more than made up for it with a bushy beard that still had the remains of his lunch in it. He wore mage robes like many other members of the Grimleal, but he also had an elaborate white stole over them. Unlike most of the agents wearing his attire, Sentzke couldn't use magic at all. He preferred to let people think he could though, as in his experience they became a lot less polite after discovering his helplessness.

"Stand firm, my faithful! Though our war against the terrorists, rebels, and brigands that plague these lands is destructive, there is no need to fear. We need not worry about pain nor death, for we walk the blessed path. Grima's glory will spread across the world, propelling all who are worthy along the path to glorious salvation."

Sentzke was delivering his sermon to five teenaged girls, and they all looked like they'd rather be anywhere else. One finally shook her head. "What? What even is glorious salvation?"

"You know, salvation… that is glorious."

"I'm not buying it."

"Oh come on. It'll be great. Grima will give us cool stuff like, erm… food?"

"This is ridiculous."

"My word is true! I speak of divine and infinite glory!"

"What makes Grima divine at all?"

"Erm, well. It just is?"

"It just is?" The girl asked in a mocking tone.

"Well it's the size of a mountain, it flies around, it craps out zombies, and it can shoot lasers out of its bunghole. If that's not divinity than I don't know what is!"

"Who's to say there even is a Grima?!"

"What? People have seen Grima!"

"Maybe they just keep seeing birds."

"It's not a bird! People have spoken with the Fell Dragon!"

"Maybe they're making it up. Maybe it's all propaganda created by the Grimleal to keep us in line!" Sentzke didn't respond. He was paralyzed by nervousness as he saw Ascension walking towards the girl. "You know what I think? I think Grima is made up. It's just something the people in power use to scare us into doing as they say!"

Ascension walked towards her subordinate until she finally turned around to see her face, twisted with fury. "So? You say there is no Fell Dragon? You dare to suggest such a thing?"

The young woman was terrified, but not enough to silence herself entirely. "Well uh, it just doesn't seem like-"

Ascension grabbed her soldier by the throat and dragged her back towards the ship's bridge. Sentzke followed after her. He felt a need to try and save the soldier, but he couldn't muster the strength to actually say anything whenever he managed to catch up to Ascension, and so he ended up awkwardly stumbling after her as she made her way above deck. Ascension finally dragged the young woman to the bridge and threw her to the ground. In full view of everyone there, she drew her war club, shattered the woman's kneecaps with it, and then hurled her overboard. "HERESY!" She roared. The woman disappeared beneath the ship's wake, and did not resurface. Ascension then turned to a horrified Sentzke. "Be more mindful of your sermons, Sentzke. They're not working." With that, Ascension walked away, and Sentzke was left to his thoughts.

"Oh gods, oh gods! This deployment is going to get me killed!"

Gangrel paced back and forth, unsure of his words. In all the time since he had joined the Shepherds, he had never spoken more than a few words to anyone but Robin, and only because he had been so insistent on talking. He had no idea what Lucina thought of him, but she surely couldn't have had a high opinion of his actions. He crippled her aunt, maybe killing her in her original timeline, and antagonized her father so. Deep down he wondered if Lucina harbored a desire to strike him down, but he suppressed these fears. He had to talk to her. He just had to ask.

Eventually Lucina finally appeared and began to walk back towards her quarters, and Gangrel steeled himself to meet her. She quickly brought her head up at the sound of his footsteps, and she eased up only slightly at the sight of him. "Oh! Gangrel. I wasn't expecting anyone."

"Sorry. I… didn't know when else I could see you."

"Hmm? Is there something you need me for?"

"I…" Gangrel looked down at his feet, and he shifted uncomfortably. Lucina eyed him suspiciously. "I… erm…"

"What is this?" Lucina asked cautiously. Gangrel only briefly glanced back to her, but he could see she was about a second from turning around.

"Wait! Look, I know we don't speak much… at all really, but I… I have to ask you a question. Please."

"Okay."

Gangrel took a deep breath and straightened his posture. He looked Lucina right in the eye, but tried to maintain a non-threatening demeanor. "Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know! You know." Gangrel and Lucina both brought their eyes down this time, but Gangrel quickly looked back to her. "Why did you try to murder Robin?"

Lucina was visibly uncomfortable, but she didn't back down. "So that's what this is then?"

"I just, I'm sorry. After everything I've done to your family, I have no right to ask anything from you but please! I just don't get it! He's our leader. He's your friend! I thought you two were so close! Help me understand!"

"I had to! You don't get it. Robin is the key to Grima's rise. If I killed him, then my future couldn't come to pass!"

"But we're fighting to stop that, and we need him!" Gangrel tried to speak softly. "He's trying to help us. He cares about all of us, and he cares about you. How could you betray him?"

"Because, because-" Lucina briefly ran her hands through her long hair in frustration. "I would do anything to prevent my doomed timeline from coming to pass. I would do anything to spare my younger self what I had to go through. It's not personal! I love him, almost as much as I love my own father! I didn't want to do it, but I thought I had to. If he died, then Grima couldn't be resurrected. I was trying to save everyone!"

"So the ends justify the means? I thought that, you know. I thought that uniting the continent against Walhart was necessary, and I thought that anything I did to achieve that was justified. I was wrong. I became a monster. How… how is what you're saying okay? How could we betray our friends? They inspire us to fight. To keep going."

Gangrel had gotten to Lucina, and her soft and stoic composure briefly snapped. "You don't have any friends, Mad King!" Gangrel took a few steps back, and Lucina tried to calm herself. "I… I can't… I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I just… I just needed to know why."

Lucina stood up straight. "I don't have to explain myself." She looked Gangrel right in the eye. "Least of all to you."

Some three decades after the conversation he was remembering, Gangrel stood in his trophy room. He was staring at his "Shepard Slayer" outfit hanging on the wall, and specifically his eyes were drawn to Lucina's cape, a trophy of her he seized from her corpse. "Oh Lucina. For so long you were just that freaky lady always talking about doom, but then I started to see connections between you and I. We both lost our parents at a young age. We both grew up having to fight to survive. We both wanted to help the world, and we were both willing to do anything to achieve those goals. Why did we turn out differently? Am I innately mad? Was it your friends? Did they guide you into a better person? Am I like this because I was… alone?" Gangrel looked down at his feet. "I miss… I miss… I miss your sword! That was my FAVORITE trophy!" Gangrel drew his Levin Sword, and in his fury magical energy began to crack out of it. It struck Gangrel's various trophies and sent them flying around the room. "When will Courtney bring me back my sword?! When will Courtney bring back Kryczek?! Why are my henchmen such idiots?!" Gangrel threw his sword against the wall, and a blast of magical energy arced off it and hit him in the chest. This only made him angrier, and in his rage he looked around, grabbed the Ragnell, and started swinging it against the wall. "WHY DOES NOTHING EVER WORK OUT FOR ME?!" Gangrel eventually damaged the wall to the point where he could walk through it and into the throne room. He violently slashed at the air until finally throwing the sword at a palace guard. It struck the soldier, but his heavy armor protected him, and even then the man didn't lose his professional composure. Gangrel's attendant walked into the throne room to find him breathing heavily.

"Rough day, milord?"

"GAAUUUGH!"

"I'm not sure what to make of that, milord. One more time?"

Gangrel walked over to his throne and sank into it. "What is it?"

"It's your wife, milord. She's on her way to speak with you."

Gangrel's expression was far from happy. "Oh no. I haven't had time to prepare. Why didn't you warn me?!"

"She didn't give me much warning, milord. It was a… spur of the moment thing for her."

"Gangrel!" A piercing voice shouted from outside the throne room. Gangrel recoiled at the sound of it, and the voice repeated itself. He could tell that it was getting closer to him.

"Ugh. What does she want now?"

Gangrel's attendant made his way behind Gangrel's throne, basically hiding behind him. "Good luck, milord."

Gangrel's young wife threw open the doors to the throne room a few seconds later and stormed towards her husband. She was a young woman no older than thirty with fair skin, light blue eyes, and curly blonde hair that went just past her ears. Though her attire wasn't on par with Aversa's in extravagance, it was easily more decadent, and it combined the styles of a number of cultures. She wore a tight dress of silk imported from Chon'sin, and her jewelry was from Valmese fashion. Her dress was adorned with decorations of Ylissean design, similar to what Maribelle had once worn, and the Mark of Grima was sewn into her dress at several points, though as it was made with bright blue fabric and was sequined, it was anything but intimidating. The young woman made her way past the palace guards, ignoring the fact that they all stood at attention for her, and stopped in front of Gangrel. "Do you have any idea, any idea, what my hairstylist said to me?!"

Gangrel sighed. "No, dear."

"That bitch said my hair was fraying. When I asked her why, she said a woman my age wouldn't have hair like that if she were taking care of it. She said I can't take care of my hair! How dare she?! Mm mmm. No one talks that way to me! My father may have raised me as a lady, but I will claw that bitch in the face if she talks that way to me again."

"Yes, dear."

"Who does she think she is? I'm the Empress! My husband pays your salary! I will have you on the street! That's what I should have said to her."

"Yes, dear."

"And another thing! Your daughter ruined another one of my dresses this morning! She spat up on it! The new handmaiden said she wouldn't throw up anymore, but she did! That woman is an idiot. Where is the old handmaiden?"

"Grima murdered her, dear. That's why we have the hole in the floor."

Gangrel's wife glanced over to the hole, and she also noticed the hole in the wall Gangrel had created a few minutes earlier. "What is that?!"

"Err, well-"

"Stop breaking my throne room! Don't tell me one of those stupid ghosts you keep seeing made you do it!"

"Well uh-"

"Agh! You know my mother exploded on me when I told her we were getting married! 'He's so charming.' I said to her. 'He's not crazy anymore.' I said to her. 'I'll be Empress this way' I said to her. She better not have been right about you! You are not going senile on me! Nuh uh. I am not raising two kids!"

"Yes, dear."

"Do you have any idea how hard it is raising Emmeryn?! You barely spend any time with her! I'm the one that has to order the handmaiden to do everything! Do you think you'll die before she's old enough to remember you? Is that it? How nice of you to just knock up the young woman and then die of old age before you have to do any child raising!"

"Sorry, dear."

"Let me tell you something, sweetie. If you get too old to rule than I will put you in a home. I will not wait on you hand and foot if that's what you're thinking."

"Yes, dear."

Gangrel's wife stomped her foot on the ground. "Do what I tell you to do! Talk to that stylist, talk to the handmaiden, and fix the hole in the floor and the hole you just created! Then get me some new dresses, or make our daughter less disgusting!"

"Yes, dear."

Gangrel's wife finally left the throne room, and Gangrel let out a long groan. His attendant stepped forward. "Lover's quarrel?"

"Agh! That woman! Why did I marry such a young woman? She's got so much more energy than me! I can't argue with her. She'll just wear me down."

"Oh come on, milord. What happened to that man who through sheer force of will not only survived in the slums of Plegia, but rose to become king? What happened to him?"

"He got whipped into submission. That's what happened to him."

"So you're saying you wish you had a woman Aversa's age?"

"Ooh. I don't know about that. It's just that… I'm old. I'm getting old." Gangrel sank further into his throne. "The other night, the two of us were lying together in bed, half asleep. I looked over to her. She was wearing lingerie. She was so beautiful, and all I could think about was… was finishing my snack and going to bed. You'd think marrying a young woman is all fun and games, but it's not. It just reminds you of your own frailty. Your own mortality. She's… she's right. I'm too old to have fathered a child. I'll die soon. I won't get to see Emmeryn grow up. I'll leave my babies alone, just like I was when I was younger." A tear rolled down Gangrel's cheek. "I have another twenty years at most, and that's nothing from Grima's point of view. Aversa has only a few more years in her than I do. When the two of us die, what will Grima do? Will it find new rulers, or will it stop sparing us? What will happen to humanity? What will happen to Emmeryn?"

Gangrel's attendant was unmoved. "Speaking of the High Inquisitor, I have news, milord. Aversa's ship has been spotted not far from the coastline. She'll likely be here within twelve hours."

"What?! Why is she coming?"

"Rumor is that Grima has given her Black Authority. She can appropriate anything of ours that she sees fit."

"Agh!"

"Look on the bright side, milord. Maybe she'll appropriate your wife."

"Oh gods damnit! Grima is sending her because it doesn't think I can kill Chrom and Ophelia! That's what this is! Aversa didn't tell me because she doesn't want me to hide my assets! Damn it!" Gangrel ran his hands through his hair. "Okay here's what we're going to do. We can't scramble to hide things because Aversa would get suspicious, but we can make one last attempt to kill those two. If I prove to Grima that I can carry out its will, then Aversa will go away, and I'll get my things back."

"You've tried before, milord. What will be different about this time?"

"I'm done sending assassins and enforcers. I'm sending an entire army this time! Let's see them get away from that. I need my most trusted officer. Where is General Rouchfort now?"

"He's leading his personal army, the Outriders."

"Contact him and have him transferred to the 2nd army. I need to send him out before Aversa gets here."

Deep within the Rockpile, two Grimleal soldiers stood in a guard tower overlooking the courtyard. Below them the prisoners went about their daily activities. In the distance was a fight of some kind. Two prisoners traded smuggled goods below the tower, and another was using a smuggled tool to pick at a weakness in the stone work. The two soldiers could see everything. They just couldn't be bothered to care.

"So the warden says I can have the time off for the holidays."

"Really? That's great."

"Wait get this. I can only have it off if none of the guards from before the riot ask for those same dates. He says they should take priority because they've been through a lot of trauma."

"So you won't even know until the last minute?"

"Nope. What a load of bull. Stupid Caeldori and her stupid riot. She's ruined my schedule. This used to be a good job. The prisoners knew their place and you didn't have to do much work, but then Altman and that ghost lady came."

"I hate that ghost lady! She freaks me out. You never know if she's watching or not."

Tharja's spectre slowly rose from the floor behind the two men. "Really?" She stated in a feminine but heavily distorted voice. "How could I make improvements then?"

Both soldiers threw themselves as far away from her as they could. "Agh! Ghost lady!" The first soldier cried. The second one put on a faint smile.

"Heh, you? No! We were talking about the… other ghost lady. The uh, less pretty one?"

"You're quick with your tongue, boy." Tharja phased through the man. "It would be a shame if anything were to happen to it." Tharja flew over the courtyard and deeper into the facility. She passed through walls and even parts of the mountain itself until rising into Altman's otherwise concealed laboratory. Altman stood reading over several papers. He didn't react to Tharja's arrival, but she knew better than to think she had finally snuck up on him. Tharja had made a lot of strange alliances in her time. Even joining with Chrom was an unusual decision for her. Of all these alliances though, joining with Altman was easily the strangest of all. Tharja watched him carefully. Altman's unusual combination of robes and armor was fairly unique to him, and the pitch black with bright golden trimmings formed a strange dissonance. His glaive appeared entirely ceremonial at first, but on closer inspection it was reinforced. Everything about Altman's appearance seemed designed to mislead, to make it difficult to ascertain his true purpose. His robes made him look like a mage, but the plate armor over them implied that he fought physically. It was hard to tell if his glaive was practical or ceremonial. Even if someone knew that it could be used in battle, they'd assume Altman was purely a physical fighter, but Tharja could feel dark magic radiating from his body. Altman himself was a tall but lanky man. It was hard to see his hair because of a hood he always had on, but from his eyebrows it seemed to be brown. He would normally be rather dark skinned, but he was unnaturally pale from a lack of sun exposure. He seemed to have a naturally thuggish face, and there was a dissonance between it and his eloquent voice, as well as the professional manner in which he held himself.

Altman waited for several seconds before finally speaking up. "Tharja." He said without looking up. "Do you have something to share, or is this your idea of a social visit?"

"Spectre. Tharja died thirty years ago. I'm a spectre now."

"Ah yes. It's just a strange thing to call someone."

"I overheard a conversation between prisoners. They're planning on smuggling wine into the prison."

"Hmm. Let them. We'll appropriate it when it arrives. The guards could use the morale boost. Was that all?"

"For now."

"Wait, spectre. One last thing before you go." Altman finally put down the papers and turned to his visitor. "It's not that I forget you don't want to be called Tharja, it's that I just have far more respect for you after you revealed your true identity to me."

"Oh?"

"I don't look favorably on your service to the Shepherds, but you were a powerful dark mage. You were well known for your experiments and power. You're an asset to Project: Xenologue."

"Aww. Thing for witches?"

"Not witches, but Plegian dark mages. I have a great respect for them." Altman looked down. "You see, a Plegian dark mage helped me become a part of this government. I was born a peasant in Ylisse, in a small and very isolated village. I always had a mind for curiosity, but there was little to do there. I was twelve when the war between Gangrel and Emmeryn began. A squad of Plegian soldiers lead by a dark mage came to pillage us, but the people fought them off. We slew them to the last man, save for the mage."

"Intel?"

"No. Oh no. You see my particular village had a hatred of magic. They wanted him to stay alive so that he could suffer. For weeks they tortured him. I remember falling asleep at night to the sounds of his screaming. Oh how they hated him, but I saw an opportunity to learn about magic. It fascinated me, and he could teach me. Whenever I could I would bring him food and water. I would loosen his bindings. I did everything I could for him, and he did tell me a few things."

"He couldn't possibly have taught you much."

"No, but one day he said something to me. He thanked me for everything I had done, and he said he sensed something in me. He said I had a natural affinity for dark magic."

"The Shadowgift?"

"Yes. He said 'Little one, you will do great things one day.' I never saw him again after that. The next day some of the men in the village dragged him into the forest. He didn't come back, and they wouldn't say what happened. I highly doubt he's still with us. I never forgot what he said though. Two years later I ran away and crossed the border to join the Plegian army. When Grima took over the world later that year, I became part of the newly formed armed forces of the Plegian Administrative Zone. Now here I am. I serve the High Inquisitor directly."

"Aww. It always flatters me when men tell me I remind them of dead mentor figures."

"You trusted me with your backstory, so I told you mine. Our working relationship needs to be built on trust. You see, spectre, I need to know that I can trust you."

"I'm helping you aren't I?"

"But why?"

"Because I'm tired of being trapped in this state between life and death. I want my body back."

"So you don't care about the Shepherds?"

"What does that matter?!"

Altman was normally very good at reading people. Tharja's lack of a face made it difficult for him to figure out what she was thinking, but he smiled as he finally got her to expose her emotions. "It matters because Severa was once your comrade. You used to fight side by side. Project: Xenologue needs a living person who passed through an outrealm gate. If we capture her, we can experiment on her. If we study the radiation her body was surely exposed to, then we can understand the magic Naga used to open outrealm gates. We can open our own outrealm gates. These experiments will be invasive. She is not likely to survive. Are you okay with that? Can you help us capture her?"

"I don't care about her. I don't care about any of them. All that matters is getting my body back."

"Do you care about your daughter? Your husband?"

If Tharja still had a face, it would be twisting with fury. "Be mindful of where you take this conversation, Altman."

"It is relevant. Like I said, this working relationship needs to be built on trust and honesty. The Grimleal know that Noire was your daughter, but we don't know exactly who your husband was. Who was he?"

Tharja hesitated, but she decided that answering would be easier. "Gaius. His name was Gaius."

Altman smiled. "Ah! Kryczek analyzed the psychological profiles of the Shepherds extensively, and he developed an algorithm for predicting relationships. Kryczek's algorithm predicted that your most likely sexual partner was Gaius. I'll have to tell him to give himself a pat on the back."

"What is the relevance of this?" Tharja demanded.

"You were honest with me, so I'll be honest with you. You're aware that I summoned the Deadlords to accompany Inquisitor Dartsmoth right?"

"Yes."

"As you may know, the Deadlords are powerful warriors that have appeared throughout the millennia. Their identities are always the same, but they have to be reincarnated from people that have died. When the Shepherd's fell, Gangrel and Aversa informed the Grimleal where the bodies were. My predecessors had the foresight to gather the bodies of the Shepherds that had passed through the outrealm gates. They couldn't find the bodies of Cynthia, Severa, or Nah, but they found all the other second generation Shepherds. That's ten bodies. They also found the bodies of Yen'fay, the only first generation Shepherd to go with Lucina's group through the outrealm gate, and Priam, who passed through an outrealm gate from another world entirely. That's twelve bodies. There are twelve Deadlords."

"You turned the Shepherds into the Deadlords?!"

"We experimented on the corpses to learn what he could about the radiation they were exposed to until no more data could be acquired from them. We didn't want them to go to waste, and the Deadlords are stronger when reincarnated from powerful warriors."

"I can't… I can't believe this."

"Your daughter Noire became Draco. Priam became Tigris. Yarne became Anguilla. Yen'fay became Simia. Gerome became Equus. Brady became Ovis. Laurent became Gallus. Morgan became Lepus. Inigo became Bovis. Kjelle became Porcus. Owain became Canis. Lucina became Mus."

"I… I…"

"See, this is what I'm talking about. I'm afraid you may resent the Grimleal for that, but remember that we did not kill them. We just didn't want the bodies to go to waste."

"Right." Tharja said blankly.

"Anyways, I have work to do. I just want to show you that we can trust each other. If you're honest with me, then I'll be honest with you." Altman walked out of his laboratory, and Tharja was left alone.

"Oh… I don't… my daughter. Oh Gaius. At least you don't have to see this."

Back in the town Chrom had called his home for twenty years, Donald the bartender walked to his house after a long day of work. He opened his door to find a rather troubling sight. His wife and two young daughters were in the company of a strange white haired man, with sunglasses made from thin cuts of smoky quartz. "Honey I'm… uh-"

"Wait, sweetheart!" Donald's wife said through her laughing. "Let him finish the story."

Dartsmoth nodded. "Alright, so the lady turns to the judge and says, 'The timber wolf ate my baby!'" Donald's wife and children broke out laughing.

"Oh, Dartsmoth. Your continent must have been a crazy place."

"Yeah, it was that. Don't miss it much though. The women here are far more lovely."

"Ooh, Dartsmoth."

Donald's pride made him step forward, but he was very uneasy about the man in front of him. "Erm, can I help you, sir?"

"Oh! You must be Donald!" Dartsmoth got up from his chair and walked out with his arms outstretched in a friendly manner. He had notably abandoned his black robe, and now wore a very light colored one. "I've heard so much about you from your wonderful family here." Dartsmoth turned back to Donald's wife and smiled. "Mind if we have a quick chat?"

"Not at all."

"Oh, thank you. And thank you for being such a gracious host."

Donald's wife giggled. "Oh, erm, my pleasure."

Dartsmoth approached Donald and patted him on the shoulder in a way that wasn't at all reassuring. "Come on, mate. This won't be long."

"Who are you?!" Donald said in a tone that was initially demanding, but he quickly lost his nerve as Dartsmoth shoved him along his own home.

"This answer your question?" Dartsmoth lifted up his sleeve to reveal the Mark of Grima tattooed on his arm. "My robe used to give me away, but I fixed that problem."

"Oh gods! Please don't hurt us!"

"Oh, Donald. You have a wonderful family. It would be unfortunate if something were to happen to them. See Donald, you don't have any rights."

"What?!"

"I did some digging, and turns out you're far more than just a bartender. You were a soldier in Walhart's Empire, and Walhart was no friend of the Grimleal. That makes you a war criminal. After you deserted, you became a brigand. That makes you a criminal! You never faced justice for your crimes. I could have you processed, Donald."

"Please don't!"

"But I won't do that to your family. Not if you help me." Dartsmoth adjusted his sunglasses. "Now I need you to tell me everything you know about a man named Mercer."

Within a small building known only to Courtney, Inquisitor Federov and the former Lord Lieutenant watched through a glass screen as Inquisitor Rayhanah walked over to a solid metal cage. "Why are we doing this?!" Federov cried out. "Why are you being so brutal?!"

"I don't know how to work with Kryczek's neural conditioning. I need to start over. We have to get her as feral as possible. Then we can build her from the ground up."

"She needs to eat something! It's been three days! Her injury hasn't completely healed yet."

"She can eat when she's vicious enough to take the cheese by force." Courtney pounded on the glass. "LET HER OUT OF THE CAGE!"

Rayhanah nodded and opened the door, and E-13 slowly stepped out. She was completely naked. Her head had bandaging where she had taken her injury, but the bandages clearly hadn't been changed since they were applied as they were still bloody. Her front and back were covered with bruises that looked like they came from a whip. E-13 walked very slowly, and she seemed to be terrified of everything. Eventually her eyes fell to a slice of cheese on a plate at the end of the room, and her gaze was fixated on it from then on. She slowly got closer and closer to the cheese, but she didn't run right at it. Inquisitor St. John was standing in front of it, a riding whip in his hand. E-13 circled him, always staring at the cheese.

"For Grima's sake, Courtney! Please let her eat something!"

"If she's hungry, then she'll get the cheese herself."

E-13 finally sprinted for the cheese, but St. John struck her with the riding whip. At first she was undeterred, but he struck her over and over until she fell to her knees crying. She didn't give up entirely though, and she forced herself back to her feet. Her whimperings were replaced with a feral shriek, and she tried to tackle St. John, but he savagely beat her with the riding whip until she finally fell over, still conscious but defeated. Courtney shook his head. "She's not going to get it. PUT HER BACK IN THE CAGE! She can try again tomorrow."

"Please let her eat!"

Courtney shook his head. "She can eat when she's vicious enough to take the cheese by force."