The second the sun greets our faces, the sound of airships overhead greets our ears. I stare up at the sky and my stomach sinks with dread. Enormous war machines drift above, drowning out the sounds of the Stilshrine's guards murmuring behind us. The largest ship spreads its black wings with a smoky hiss, revealing an entire battalion of smaller ships beneath; I feel sick. Fran gasps, pointing to the left.
"There!"
"Smoke?" Vaan breathes. I feel the blood drain from my face as I turn to face the column of black smoke rising in the distance, right where Bur-Omisace should stand.
"What could it mean?" Ashe murmurs.
"It means we need to go," I snap, not waiting for her response before taking off in a dead sprint, running for the mountain refuge. Vaan is the first to catch up, Fran and Balthier not far behind. But I pay them no mind, my thoughts burning faster than a wildfire. The place I owe my life to, the place in which the Gran Kiltias resides, the place I left my brother to mourn... Gods above, if it's fallen, Vayne has far more to pay for.
"Why are you in such a rush?" Ashe asks, breathless.
"Long story short, I owe my all to that place," I call over my shoulder. "I'd expect you to be more concerned, Princess. The Gran Kiltias is the very soul who holds the power to tell you all you need to know to sit on your throne."
She shuts her mouth after that. My lungs burn with the frozen air and my legs ache with their relentless abuse, but I can't stop running. I can't stop picturing the blood, the fear, the screams. I can't be too late to stop this, even if it's already taken place. If only I could turn back time.
I skid to a stop at the entrance to the refugee camp, choking and gasping on air. My throat is tight, my eyes stinging as I look upon the sickening disaster swallowing Mount Bur-Omisace. A heavy rain begins to fall from the dark clouds drifting overhead. A kiltias drags himself toward us, clutching his bleeding chest as he chokes on his breaths. I crouch at his side, watching him falter and collapse on the dirt.
"To send their soldiers here and profane this place..." he coughs, crimson splattering to the ground. "Has Archadia no fear of the gods?"
I shake my head, straightening. My hair is plastered to my skin and I know my shirt is practically transparent at this point, but I can't bring myself to care. I shrug the heavy hand off my shoulder and charge through the rest of the fallen. Burnt tents and bloodstained weapons are scattered across the ground and pitch-black smoke stains the edge of the temple. People cluster in the shadows, thinking us to be imperials right off the bat. A young man clutches a crying girl as he presses a blood-soaked rag to his side, her mother wiping away her own tears. I take a deep breath and continue on, running up the stairs to the temple and pushing past the wounded guards. Larsa... The doors fly open and my heart catches in my throat.
The stone railings of the walkway are crumbled, tossed about like a tornado ripped the temple to pieces. A fire burns in the deepest corner of the room. And at the very front, lies the fallen, bleeding body of the Gran Kiltias Anastasis, a Judge looming over him. The others skid to a stop behind me. He turns and faces us, chills rippling down my spine. It's a helmet I recognize.
"Ah, our vagrant princess." I get the strongest feeling that he's not talking directly to Ashe, but the rest of our party doesn't seem to notice. "My dear Ashelia: swift has your lust for revenge led you to the Sword of Kings." He motions toward the Kiltias with his jagged blade. "You will surrender it to me. Too late, and to their sorrow do those who misplace their trust in gods learn their fate." He steps closer, the faintest shadow with orange eyes shimmering over his shoulder.
"There it is again!" Vaan cries, pointing. Seething Mist, the Judge stops before us, daring us to move.
"Fran, I don't like the look of that," Balthier says, catching his partners attention.
"This Mist—he holds a Stone!" she replies. "It controls him as it did Mjrn!"
"No!" the Judge laughs. "No, the power of manufacted nethicite is the power of Man! A weapon forged by his wisdom who would challenge the gods themselves! A fitting blade for a true Dynast-King. Raithwall did but pretend the title, a cur begging nethicite scraps from his master's table." He throws his arms out to the side. "Hark! Ivalice hails her true Dynast-King, Vayne Solidor! He shall defy the will of the gods, and see the reins of history back in the hands of Man! His time is nigh! The new Ivalice holds no place for the name Dalmasca. The stain of Raithwall's blood shall be washed clean from history's weave!" I scoff, raising my spear.
"I'm about done listening to this bastard babble."
"I'm with you there," Balthier mutters, his gun shifting in his grip.
"You'll pay for this!" Vaan shouts, rushing forward with his daggers.
Basch blocks the Judge's first strike, preventing him from him hitting Vaan. Penelo throws up a Protect spell to lessen the damage and Ashe rushes forward with both her sword and shield raised. The others are forced back when the Judge swings his swords around, whipping the blades about like they're weightless. I take the opportunity to dive right in, only to be shoved back against the wall, the Judge's forearm pressed to my throat. The smooth face of his helmet comes close to my face, his voice low when he speaks.
"Why, hello, Majesty," he sneers. I huff, shoving him off me and into Basch's blade.
"Where's Larsa?" I demand, slamming my spear across the edge of his sword.
"How should I know?" he counters, pushing back with twice the strength.
With unnatural speed, he springs into the air and brings both blades down over my head. He narrowly misses chopping my head off when I duck. Instead, his blade slices a clean cut down the side of my face; it's a miracle he didn't catch my eye. Fran uses her bow to block an attack and kicks her heeled feet into his face to back him off while I recover. Scrambling to my feet, I throw a fire spell toward the heavily armored soldier. Penelo sends a healing spell my way to stop the bleeding and I join Ashe's side, stabbing into a joint in the Judge's armor. Crying out, he turns to attack us; Basch uses this moment of weakness to send a blow into another chink.
With a final slashing flurry, Vaan gets his attack in and dives back when I plant the heel of my boot into the Judge's chest and send him flat on his back. He scrambles to his feet before I can stop him, but this time, his movements are wild. Just like Mjrn. He slashes at nothing, his breathing ragged. Colorful Mist leaks from his armored frame. Light tears into his chest and he screams, falling forward on his knees as tendrils of mint green light burst from his breastplate. Once the lights have faded, he falls onto his back, an empty shell.
Quickly, most everyone rushes toward the Gran Kiltias, hovering over his dead body. I kneel beside the empty armor lying on the ground. Balthier crouches beside me, tracing a hand over the heavy steel. Sighing, he shakes his head, disgusted by the smell of disintegrated flesh.
"Looking for something?" I ask, scrubbing at the blood on my face. My loose hair curls around my face as it dries and I brush it back, raising an eyebrow at the pirate. He shakes his head.
"Nothing much. You?"
"Just thought I'd say 'Go to Hell' to the poor sod," I shrug. He nods, getting to his feet and motioning for me and Fran to follow him. I huff, dragging my tired muscles up and after him.
"He set his very bones about with manufacted nethicite," the pirate mutters, earning Ashe's attention. "The Gran Kiltias?"
Penelo sighs, shaking her head. Suddenly, she straightens.
"Wait—what about Larsa?"
"Gone." I turn to see Al-Cid limping toward us with his attendant clinging to his side. "Spirited away by Judge Gabranth."
"At least it wasn't Vayne," I mumble.
"They're on the same side," Vaan snaps. I raise an eyebrow.
"Does that make them the same man? Listen to a woman who knows what she's talking about." Huffing, the boy hurries toward the envoy from Rozzaria.
"You okay?" The attendant helps Al-Cid settle on the floor.
"So, he was here," Basch mutters.
"Ah, as for our young lordling," Al-Cid continues. "He went along—to avoid trouble, you see. But Judge Bergan had other ideas."
"I can see that," I scoff, glancing at the Judge's armor.
"He flew into a rage, and I was left to fend for myself." Oh, cry me a river. "Please, Princess. You must permit me to take you back with me to Rozzaria." Ashe kneels beside him, frowning.
"So that you can protect me?"
"I would lay down my life at a single word, to be sure, but I harbor no maundering delusions of valiant grandeur. Vayne has our War Pavilion jumping at shadows. They favor a preemptive strike. But you—you will convince them otherwise. You will see that they do not start this war."
"This I cannot do," Ashe replies, shaking her head. "Forgive me. But my errand here is not yet done." She stands, fists clenched at her sides. "I must wield the Sword of Kings, and with it bring an end to the Dusk Shard."
"Ah, this Stone," Al-Cid sighs. "Do you even know where it is?"
"I can venture a guess," Balthier cuts in. I cross my arms, waiting for the man's explanation. He knows far more than I gave him credit for. "The Draklor Laboratory. In Archades." My heart sinks, and it must show on my face because he stares at me a bit longer than usual. "The empire's weapons research begins and ends there. How soon do we leave?"
"But won't it be heavily guarded?" I counter, frowning. He raises an eyebrow.
"Of course. You of all people should know that, Shae." I ignore the stares from Ashe and Basch and huff.
"We could be killed the instant we step foot in the city," I bite back. "You honestly think it's wise to send Ashe into the depths of Archades at a time like this?"
"Emphasis on 'could'," he retorts. He turns back to Ashe, repeating his question. "How soon do we leave?"
"At once," the princess nods. She turns back to Al-Cid. "As for matters in Rozzaria... I bid you luck." The attendant pulls the Rozzarian politician back to his feet as he speaks.
"So you would leave each to fend for his own. Let us hope that you are not disappointed." He starts to leave, only to glance once more over his shoulder. "Ah, that's right. Larsa left a message: 'The differences between our two lands will fade before the shared dream of men.'" He pulls his sunglasses out and places them on the bridge of his nose. "My leave I take."
We trail out behind him, passing by the nu mou bowing outside the temple in respect for the late Gran Kiltias. Among the crowd, I see nothing of Malachaius; I can't bring myself to feel anything for the nostalgic old fellow. I shake the thought away as Ashe turns to Balthier.
"How do you propose we reach Archades? Archadia's borders will be well guarded for fear of Rozzarian invasion. We dare not approach by air."
"And their navy will see that the coast is watched as well..." Balthier muses. "No, we go afoot. We'll cross into Archadia in the Salikawood. We can reach the wood any number of ways, but the easiest is to head north from Nalbina."
"At that rate we'll past by the outskirts of Rabanastre," I add. "So it's like we're doing one, long backtrack."
"There is a hunter's camp just beyond the Salikawood," Fran nods. "The camp sits within Archadia's borders, so Imperial patrols should be sparse."
"Getting that far should be half the fun," Balthier continues. "Let's be sure we go prepared."
"And you're certain we can't take any sort of vehicle?" Ashe asks, frowning. "It'll be far too long on foot alone."
"We have chocobos," I point out, sighing. "But any sort of machinery would be caught all too easily. Archadia has the best of the best when it comes to technology." I turn to Balthier. "Although... We could hitch a ride to Rabanastre, couldn't we?"
"Did you see those forces earlier?" Balthier counters, shaking his head. "No, they're not yet far away. We'll buy a group of birds and take them as far as they'll go, but that's all we've got."
"Gods above," I sigh, throwing my face back to feel the rain. "Let's hope we survive the walk, at least."