Chapter 22
The still air was thick with cloying smoke, drastically reducing the already terrible visibility further. From where Robin stood, on a hill overlooking the Central Valmese Coastal Region just south of where Chon'sin had once been, it looked for all the world exactly like the scene from Mount Prism so many years ago. Except this time instead of pilgrims fleeing for their lives it was refugees. The flames, the smoke and the presence of Risen were all the same. Except, unlike the pilgrims at Mount Prism, these people had nowhere left to escape to. And this time he didn't have Lucina at his side for backup.
In her place instead Chrom gave him a quick glance, wondering what was taking the smaller man so long. Usually Robin could come up with plans in the blink of an eye, but age and the sudden sense of nostalgia had slowed him down. For a moment he considered letting Arya call their battle plans, but the people dying down at the beach didn't have that much time.
At the far end of the beach, spilling over another hill, was another far-too familiar sight: a seemingly endless horde of Risen.
"Take everyone, form a line at the northern end of the beach," Robin said finally. "Tharja, Ricken, Maribelle and Olivia will go with Victor and the other survivors and do what they can to help. Victor! Tell your leaders they're out of time and to get the water and the people onto the ships. We'll be the rearguard."
Chrom stepped past Robin, licks of blue fire beginning to spring from Falchion's blade.
"You heard the man, Shepherds! On me!" the Exalt roared, holding his blazing sword high, the blue flames lighting up the hilltop like a beacon in the perpetual twilight.
Before any of them could charge down the hill, though, a terrible bestial howl echoed around the beach, and a pack of giant wolves emerged from the fleeing refugees. Ita was at the forefront of the Shepherds in an instant, shoving Robin aside and looking down at the scene with wide eyes. After a moment's hesitation she cupped her hands to her mouth and released an answering howl before leaning forward and transforming, already bolting down the hill before she'd even finished. Hesitating only a moment longer than Ita had Robin processed this new development, watching as a small handful of wolf-shape-shifters tore into the Risen lines, an oddly familiar seeming white-furred wolf the size of a horse leading them.
"Go!" Robin urged the Shepherds. "They're expecting reinforcements now!"
Chrom led the charge, needing no further prompting, a small band of soldiers, warriors and misfits following him to stem the tide against the innumerable Risen, some more enthusiastically than the others. Just as they had practiced Femi and Arya hung back with Robin, watching as the wounded moved with the Valmese, Olivia watching over them with her slim sword already in hand. Robin was pleased to note that the dancer's grip was firm on her blade and her gaze clear, not letting her maiming at the hands of Maris a few weeks ago affect her on the field. For her part, Tharja cast a withering glare in the direction of the fighting but otherwise followed his orders.
He could hardly blame her for being upset about being left out of the battle plans; Dark Magic was responsible for the damage done to this place, for the creatures now assaulting the refugees. Tharja and Robin both had spent a long time trying to change public opinion of the art back in their own world, and to see it still so clearly maligned here would no doubt be grating for her. She would never admit it, but she had been proud of the advances that they had made for the often misunderstood magic's image back home. This probably hurt her as much as it was hurting him.
Giving his head a small shake, the tactician forced himself back into the moment. He was becoming far too easily distracted lately, a trait that needed to stop.
"Hang back," Robin instructed the two girls, moving himself now towards the battle. "Femi, stick to anima magic. I'd rather you not use any Dark Magic until we have a firmer grasp on what's going on here."
"But I'm a Dark Mage!" the girl protested, hurrying to follow. "It's literally in my title!"
"You saw what happened to the mages in Ylisstol," Robin snapped. "Do as I say. Arya, support her with whatever spells you can. I'll watch your back."
"R-right!" Arya nodded.
The two girls stepped forward, Arya flicking nervously through her newly minted spellbook while Femi already had her own open to a pair of pages detailing an advanced, customized version of an Elfire spell. They both looked nervous, no doubt worried about the fact that with Tharja and Ricken wounded, and Robin refusing to use his own magecraft, the two inexperienced apprentices would be the Shepherds only magic support.
With a wave of her hand Femi sent five brilliant bolts of flame into the Risen horde, too far back to be of any immediate help to the Shepherds and the wolf shape-shifters, but it was a start. The spells lit up the twilight beach with their brilliance, illuminating the Risen horde and marking their position for the enemy. Fortunately, the Shepherds and the local wolves seemed to be doing an adequate job of distracting the enemy, so they remained safe.
Arya, for her part, couldn't seem to get a grip on her own spell. Judging from what she was muttering Robin assumed that his apprentice was trying to cast an Elthunder spell; a little advanced for her level, but a perfect complement to Femi's Elfire. She managed the incantation and hand gestures perfectly, but because of her nerves Arya couldn't seem to get the mana to flow properly through her core and into her hand. Frustrated tears began to well in the corners of Arya's eyes as Femi sent another rain of flaming projectiles into the Risen horde, close enough to the friendly lines this time to actually be helpful. Robin stepped forward, resting a hand on Arya's shoulder.
"Relax," he soothed. "Breathe. It all starts with your breath."
The girl nodded, taking a deep, shuddering breath, then another, and a third before she finally began to calm down.
"Now, just like we practiced," he said.
"It's… hard to concentrate," Arya complained.
"I could poke you in the side, like when I was trying to teach you to shut out distractions," Robin offered with a grin.
"I think I can manage," Arya smirked.
"It's just like Plegia," he assured her. "Just take a breath."
She took another few calming breaths, flipping through her spellbook and settling on a simpler thunder spell, before repeating the same steps as before. Only this time Robin watched as mana coalesced in her hand and she sent three bolts of lightning into the Risen. Closer to a simple Thunder spell than the Elthunder that she was trying for, but Robin wasn't about to mention that fact.
"I did it!" Arya cheered, smiling up at Robin.
"You did," he nodded.
"Good job!" Femi added. "Now, is someone going to help me or am I just going to do this myself?"
"No problem telling who her teacher was," Robin muttered, earning a giggle from Arya as she stepped up next to Femi again.
The older tactician watched the two girls firing destructive spells into the horde of Risen for a time, observing the ebb and flow of the battle. The Shepherds cut a swathe through the Risen, even the wolves that had held the tide before struggling to keep up with them. And of course they would; by this place's standards the Shepherds were fresher than any warriors they had no doubt seen in years, if the survivors they had already met were of any indication. The other survivors were beginning to mobilize now, too, directing refugees towards the waiting ships and moving to form a defensive perimeter around the boarding area. Robin could see several weak points in their lines, though, clearly demonstrating that their leaders were no tacticians. The wolves from the initial charge had hung back for a moment when Chrom and the Shepherds had assaulted the Risen, but had begun fighting with renewed vigor the second they realized one of their own, Ita, was fighting with the Shepherds. Yet still more Risen poured over the hill in the north, flooding the plain and the beach…
Taking all of this into account Robin realized that they didn't have enough time to get the people onto the ships and make their escape. They were just moving too slowly, and there were just too many Risen. They needed something, some form of edge that would give them the time they needed…
Suddenly a blasting curtain of green wind magic threw Risen into the air from the Shepherds' front, Robin squinting to see what Galle was so desperately trying to-
A familiar Risen, wielding a black-bladed Chon'sinian sword and wearing matching dark armor approached the younger tactician, ducking and weaving through the spells…
"Oh that bitch," Robin growled suddenly, yanking his sword free of its sheathe.
It couldn't be… but, of course, Robin realized, this didn't have to be their future. This could have been any future he'd sent them to. Meaning this could very well be the future that Lucina and her cohort had abandoned, or an alternate future altogether. Which meant that the Deadlords, the Risen abominations that had taken so much effort to kill during the war, could very well still be alive.
Simia could still very well be alive here.
"Girls, move closer to the Shepherd lines," Robin instructed.
With quick, practiced movements he drew his hair back and tied it away from his face. Femi went to protest these new orders, but Arya silenced her friend with a shake of her head. She knew what this meant, what the look on his face right now meant. Something dangerous, beyond their skill, was facing them.
"Yes sir," Arya nodded.
Robin gave them a reassuring grin, the movement of his face crinkling the scar tissue above his eye that was usually hidden by his long hair, before setting off at a jog towards the fighting.
Memories of holding Panne as she slowly bled to death surfaced in his mind.
Memories of watching Henry waste away to almost nothing.
The scar across the bridge of his nose, the one she had given him in his own time, began to ache.
He couldn't use his magic. He was tired, and would be slower than usual. But he'd be damned if that bitch Deadlord Simia would hurt any more of his friends.
Of course, Robin would reflect later, it just couldn't be that simple, though. He'd barely taken more than a few steps, having just finished tying his hair back, when a loud roar shook the air, coming from somewhere past the hill behind the Risen lines. To his further dismay, the roar was answered by three more, similar cries, from creatures far larger than the wolves currently fighting the Risen alongside the Shepherds. The sounds sent the refugees into a panic, the tired soldiers doing their best to calm the crowds, but Robin could still see people being trampled. The wolves, too, cowered, all but the larger white one yipping and whining as they shied away from the Risen. The Shepherds seemed at a loss, too busy for the most part with their own fighting to pay much attention to the roaring.
Then the first of the creatures crested the hill, and Robin could see why the people were so afraid.
Risen manaketes. Grima had created one of the worst taboos, something that Medeus had done in ancient times that was spoken of only briefly in history texts as a horrible abomination against all that was pure.
Zombie dragons.
As he watched the first was joined by three more of the creatures, flesh sagging and rotten and bones showing through old wounds as they lumbered towards the ships. Four great zombie dragons, all easily the size of Tiki when she transformed and no doubt just as powerful.
Robin began to panic, an icy hand of fear clutching his heart. He hadn't felt this sensation in years. His breath began to come in ragged gasps, and he had to remind himself that Arya and Femi could still see him. He needed to be calm. He needed to be composed.
The Shepherds couldn't kill those Risen things without serious help. Chrom fought hard, and would no doubt give a good accounting of himself considering his Awakened status, but the others didn't stand a chance. The refugees didn't stand a chance. If he didn't do something, come up with some plan here and now, they would all die and he'd never see Lucina or Emmeryn again.
"Girls, move!" Robin shouted over his shoulder.
He then started to run towards the fighting, drawing deep from what little reserves of power he had left. Only to quickly decide it wasn't enough. With a deep breath he did the unthinkable, and opened himself to Grima's tainted mana again.
Risen fell into ash and dust beneath precise blows of Galle's sword and fist, whip-snap kicks simply adding to the general pandemonium of the battle raging around him. His particular brand of fighting was the exact opposite of Van's 'crowd control' style; his weapons were smaller, more precise, but just as dangerous. The pair had often gone toe-to-toe during their days as students, trying to find out whose style was superior. Judging from the body-count Galle was racking up he was inclined to think his style trumped the Ylissean's.
He ducked and weaved, dodging between blows and around Risen weapons. Every so often one of the mangy, ragged wolf shape shifters would cross his path, giving him an odd look before moving on into the melee. He stood shoulder to shoulder with the Shepherds Vaike and Cherche, sandwiched between the older warriors but still keeping pace with the veterans. Vaike was clearly holding himself back, eager to lose himself in the melee like the wolves but composed enough not to break ranks. To Galle's eye, though, it appeared Cherche was struggling; she wasn't used to fighting on foot for extended periods of time, and despite being an exemplary warrior for her age small tells were still starting to show. The way her axe dipped low before she brought it back to guard, the subtle scrape of her boots on the ground as she dragged her feet, the twitching of the corners of her eyes. She was out of her depth and it was taking a toll on the older woman.
Of course, it didn't help that none of them had properly eaten since they arrived in wherever they were. Galle honestly didn't care where or when they were, though, so long as they could get back to their point of origin.
He clamped down on that train of thought before he could think of Mari, snarling at the endless horde of Risen that were so weak he actually could let his mind wander. Fortunately, the Risen offered the perfect distraction for his frustration. He spun, practically dancing among the Risen now as he lashed out, actually doing a side flip to bring his foot smashing down on one of the encroaching creatures. As Galle rose back to his feet in a cloud of purple-black ash dust he backpedaled towards the sound of Vaike's shouts of encouragement and appreciation for his fighting style. He'd let himself get a little carried away, and needed to return to his position in the line before-
Galle froze, unsure of what he was seeing. An unmasked Risen was approaching him with a cruel smirk on its face. It was female in appearance, wearing bastardized Chon'sinian armor that looked to have been pulled from the nightmares of one of the Western smiths, and wielding a long, black-bladed katana. Aside from the glowing red eyes and the ash-grey skin she almost looked human.
Deciding not to leave it to chance Galle focused for a moment, reaching into his pouch and snapping his spellbook open, the already-gathered mana forming an Arcwind spell that blew a large section of the charging Risen horde into the air, their bodies crashing to the ground with sickening impacts before dissipating to ash.
The unmasked Risen-woman barely broke stride as thick black hair whipped around her face, ignoring the spell like Galle would ignore a gentle breeze.
"Kid! Don't let the sword touch you!" Vaike called out in warning.
"It is cursed!" Cherche added, pausing only to bring her axe down in a scything arc through three Risen at once. "Any wounds form that blade will not heal!"
Galle swore a native Plegian oath under his breath, realizing that he was still too far away from the Shepherds' line and the other two were struggling to fill his gap. He threw another two Elwind spells at the Risen-woman before spinning to cast a third at his back in an attempt to thin the Risen encroaching on the Shepherds. Which, he realized, had probably been a mistake.
A soft clacking of lacquered plates was the only warning Galle got as the Risen-woman threw herself at him, silently lashing out with her sword in a perfectly-executed Chon'sinian stance. The only thing that saved Galle's life was the muscle memory from all the time he'd spent sparring with Mari, his sword flashing into place to catch the blow before impacting painfully against his chest and shoulder as she drove him back. Galle dug in his heels, pushing awkwardly against the blow. He'd had to twist, and his wrist was bent at an odd angle. The worst part was that the Risen seemed to know this, too, and chuckled.
The thought of a Risen having enough presence of mind to actually laugh at him sent chills down Galle's spine. When it spoke he actually flinched.
"Not bad… little boy…" the Risen woman hissed.
"Oh that's so creepy," Galle shuddered.
The young tactician expected the Risen to press her attack, and when she didn't he edged back a step. When she didn't follow he retreated a few more steps, their gazes locked. Before he could wonder what it was she was doing, still standing there motionless, smiling terrifyingly at him, a loud roar split the air, followed by three matching ones.
Galle didn't hesitate a moment longer. His resolve crumbling, he turned and high-tailed it back towards the Shepherds before whatever it was even came into view, doing exactly what Lucina had always taught them not to. He had shown his back to the enemy.
With a mocking laugh the Risen swordswoman launched herself at him, and Galle closed his eyes, expecting to feel the bite of her weapon in his back any second now as he skidded to his knees in an attempt to avoid her.
When he realized he wasn't dead he glanced up, looking over his shoulder to see the Risen woman frozen with an unsettling look of terror on her own face now. Galle looked around, noticing that more than a few of the Risen were quaking in what looked to be fear, but from what he couldn't see.
Until he spotted Robin.
Sword in hand the older man fairly blazed with magical power, excess mana bleed-off making his eyes seem to smoke as the mana mist escaped his body. Gone was the pall of frailty and sickness that had overtaken him since arriving, the white-haired man seeming newly revitalized in a fashion that Galle could barely comprehend. Until he lifted his hand, and black flames exploded amongst the Risen lines, incinerating almost all of the present attackers in one single spell.
"Get to the ships!" Robin boomed, his voice carrying a note of command Galle had never heard from him before. "I'll hold them here! Move! Don't wait for me!"
"Robin, what are you doing!?" Cherche called.
"Go!" Robin shouted, his voice like a thunderclap in the sudden stillness.
Not all of the Risen were gone, though, and more were pouring down the hill with what appeared to be colossal Risen dragons, of all things. A few staggering Risen that had survived Robin's spell fell to the Shepherds and the wolves before they began to retreat, Cordelia literally pulling a struggling Chrom away from the fighting.
"No!" he heard Chrom shouting. "Not again! Robin! Don't do this!"
"Kid! Move!" Vaike called to Galle, snapping his attention back.
But the young Plegian was transfixed by the sight of his former teacher walking so calmly through the ankle-deep ashes of the Risen he'd just slain. Deciding that he would be safe enough with Robin there, Vaike and Cherche turned to assist with the refugees, leaving Galle kneeling alone, bearing witness for the first time to his master's wrath. For each step Robin took the Risen woman took one back, her knees shaking as he approached. Eventually Robin stood above Galle, not even looking down at his former student, his blazing gaze never leaving the Risen woman.
"On your feet, Galle," Robin said softly, his voice momentarily returning to the old, gentle tone he'd always taken with his students. "Rule number one. Don't fall down on the battlefield."
And then he was gone, striding forward again.
Arya had once told Galle that she thought Basilio reminded her of an old god of war, something indomitable and unstoppable. He had secretly agreed with her at the time. Looking at the old Khan it was easy to see why he gave that impression; he was built for war, by a lifetime of fighting and harsh living. Watching how he fought, decades of experience distilled down to its purest form at the end of his axe just enforced that image. But Galle revised that opinion now. The Robin before him was a true god of war.
A few of the surviving Risen, shambling and limping now from the force of his spell, leapt towards Robin, more out of fear than anything else. Like terrified animals turning on their master. Such was the speed of his blows that it looked to Galle like he reduced them to ashes with naught but a glare, the afterimage of his blade flashing through the air the only clue that he had moved at all. Another torrent of magical flames licked at the advancing Risen, the lead two zombie dragons crying out in pain as another rank of the Risen were disintegrated by black-tinged flames.
And in the face of Robin's overwhelming strength the Risen woman fell to her knees herself, tears running down her blackened flesh as she looked up at him now looming over her.
"M-master?" she stammered, just loud enough for Galle to hear.
He couldn't see the expression that Robin made, but the way he flinched was all too obvious. There was a brief moment of indecision on the older man's part before he brought the pommel of his sword down on the side of the Risen's face, smashing her temple and knocking her out cold.
And then in a puff of ashes he was gone, disappearing before the Risen had even fallen to the ground. Galle stood there, lost for a moment until the first of the Risen manaketes roared, falling to the ground and exploding into a cloud of ashes and bones. Slashing through the ashes Robin leapt through the air at another of the creatures, the massive zombie dragon falling just as quickly in two neatly-bisected pieces. Where he landed, surrounded by the ashes of the Risen dragon as it fell around him the smaller Risen went flying into the air, more and more ashes following Robin's progress through the horde. Even when Galle lost sight of the man he wasn't hard to pinpoint again; all he had to look for was the clouds of ash and the broken Risen sent flying through the air. A third dragon fell, Risen actually trying to go back up and over the hill to escape from the tactician tearing their ranks apart now, literally singlehandedly. Risen easily twice the size of the tactician flew through the air, weapons and armor amounting for nothing before the one-man rampage. In a manner of minutes Robin had decimated the Risen more effectively on his own than all the Shepherds present had, than an entire army would have.
As he began to stalk towards the final Risen manakete a single voice cried out above the sounds of battle, cutting through the din.
"No! Stop! You'll die!"
Robin barely hesitated for a moment before launching himself at the behemoth creature, Galle's jaw dropping as he looked back over his shoulder and saw a panicked Tharja running towards him. Arya and Femi both followed behind the mage, clearly unsettled by her behavior.
"Robin!" Tharja shrieked. "Stop!"
Her cries were drowned out by the death knell of the final dragon, the creature disappearing in a cloud of ash. This appeared to be a signal to the rest of the Risen, who as one threw down their weapons and ran back the direction they had come. It had taken barely a few minutes, but the Risen were in full retreat now, yet another thing Galle never thought he would see. Robin stood motionless among the retreating Risen watching them go as his chest and shoulders heaved with his breathing. After a few more moments of observing their retreat he turned and began to walk back towards the boats, his eyes on the ground and his shoulders slumping. Tharja had reached Galle's position now, and she stumbled on one of the discarded weapons from a dead Risen. Galle couldn't help but be shocked by the state she was in. The usually unmovable Tharja was shaking on the verge of tears, her eyes wide and her skin so pale it was almost translucent. She totally ignored the fallen Risen woman, her eyes glued to Robin as he walked back towards them with his head bowed.
It had been a total rout. In less than twenty minutes Robin had, alone, torn apart the Risen horde and sent them scrambling for safety.
Galle's throat worked, trying to swallow so he could actually speak again as he climbed to unsteady feet.
Eventually Robin reached them, glaring down at the Risen woman in the silence that everyone seemed reluctant to break. Finally Robin spoke without looking up, his voice monotone.
"Galle, bind her hands and feet and-"
A loud crack split the quiet, Robin's head snapping aside from where Tharja had hit him.
"Are you out of your mind!?" she hissed.
"Probably," Robin said with a tired grin, finally looking up at them.
What Galle saw in his former mentor's face broke his heart. It wasn't some lingering phantom of the evil he'd been apparently fighting all his life, nor was it the overwhelming power he had just demonstrated.
Robin looked tired. So very tired, and so very human.
"You fool," Tharja muttered, the strength seeming to evaporate from her frame.
"Galle," Robin repeated. "Bind this… thing. Please."
He wordlessly moved to obey, digging around his pouch for the length of rope that Mari always made him carry. It had seemed strange at first, carrying something that he would never usually need, but now Galle was glad for it. He knelt down and began to tie the Risen's ankles together, the way Mari had taught him to.
"What… was that?" Femi asked in a small voice. "Sir Robin? How did you just do… that? You tore them apart! Alone!"
"Later," he said, waving the young mage girl's questions away. "I'll explain later. Right now I've only bought us a little time. There's more coming and I can't… do that again."
Galle glanced up at the older man's pause but said nothing, instead cinching the ropes tighter around the Risen's wrists. He paused for a moment when he realized that he was the only logical choice to carry the thing that had very nearly killed him, his stomach rebelling at the thought as Robin began to speak again.
"Galle, I'm going to need you to-"
"Carry it? Yeah, I figured," the Plegian sighed. "Arya, can you at least, like, help or something?"
In the distance, from atop a knife-edged hilltop, a robed figure perched and watched as Robin decimated the Risen horde single-handedly. The figure made a thoughtful sound under his breath, startlingly loud in the unnatural stillness.
"So I was right," Clarus mumbled to himself. "Fascinating. I knew you couldn't ignore it for long…"
For an indeterminate amount of time he had shadowed the Shepherds, curious to see how they reacted to the polluted mana of this clime. He himself had felt energized since teleporting here, as if he were a young man again. Yet the Shepherds seemed to be falling ill, Robin especially. As they had slept he had inspected the tactician, sneaking into their camp to get a closer look, and it appeared that the man had been forcefully blocking his mana, despite his clear predisposition for dark magic.
To see that Clarus was right, and his hypothesis that Robin would be far more powerful here was correct gave him a sense of satisfaction.
It gave him a greater sense of satisfaction that his other hypothesis had been correct, too. That Grima's siren song had called them here, that his experiments had drawn the attention of the Fell Dragon reborn.
Of course, Clarus knew they were somehow in an alternate timeline. It had been his own spell that had been hijacked, and Clarus was an accomplished theoretical mage. His skills lie not on the battlefield like so many others of his ilk, but in research and understanding. The only reason Robin's theft of his spell back in Ylisstol had worked at all was due to the airborne mana almost instinctively flocking to him.
Although how the Tactician had possessed the presence of mind to invert his summoning spell and turn it into a teleportation spell was beyond Clarus. Truly he was a rare talent, a brilliant mind.
As a researcher Clarus knew that calling the mana's behavior 'instinctive' was foolish. But that was how it had felt. He had tried to rationalize it as some other phrase; magnetic, irresistible, unstoppable. Yet all of those words weren't even close. It had been instinctive. Primordial. Right.
Grima's power knew its avatar, recognized it, so of course it would automatically coalesce around it.
Like now, as Robin used the power to annihilate the Risen threatening the wretched dregs of humanity still clinging to life in this dead land. It was fascinating just how tenacious humanity was. In the past Clarus might have felt a brief inkling of pride at the fact that they had survived so long, but now he just viewed the situation with cold detachment.
Robin and the Shepherds, however… that was a different story.
"Breathtaking, isn't it?"
Clarus glanced over his shoulder at the sudden voice, red eyes glowing beneath the hood of his robes.
There was nothing there.
With a shrug the made went back to watching the Risen run in fear from the Awakened Tactician, studying the effect that the residual fell energy was having on his movements. It wasn't like hearing voices was anything new for the man; he'd been hearing them ever since he and Alvidian had begun experimenting on poor, young, misguided Galuc. Admittedly, though, those had just been whispers. Illegible, on the edge of his consciousness. This one had sounded as if someone-
"Ha! The nerve of you, deigning to ignore me!"
Clarus spun this time, coming to his feet with the movement, creating a small cloud of dust in the air.
Again, nothingness.
A soft chuckle, almost like a purr, came from the empty darkness just before him.
"Now, little human, where did you steal this power from?"
Clarus' eyes widened as he realized that the darkness wasn't empty. A bipedal shadow, slightly larger than an average human, hung darker than the surrounding twilight just before him. Relaxing his guard, Clarus tilted his head to examine the shade.
"And what are you?" he asked, his academic curiosity getting the better of him.
The shade chuckled again, seeming to recline in the nothingness.
"I am the salvation of this world, Servant. Come to me. Come to me in what is left of Ylisse. Come to me and serve your god."
Clarus smirked, inclining his head a little. "I always figured that you were where this power came from. It was you, wasn't it? You were calling to me, in my own world."
"You called to me," the shade said. "By touching my power, my essence, you called to me. And now I have answered. The Fallen Avatar was a fool in thinking his actions were anything less than my own machinations."
"You planned this," Clarus stated, impressed.
"Yes," the shade said, dipping its head in a nod.
"You will teach me?" Clarus asked, growing excited.
"What do you wish to know, little human?" the shade asked, drifting closer.
Clarus looked up to the shade, his red eyes fairly shining now.
"Everything," he whispered. "I want to know everything there is to know."
"Then come to Ylisse," the shade whispered, fading into the darkness again.
Clarus nodded, turning back to the ships in the distance as the last of the Risen retreated from the beach. Once more Clarus felt a smile tug at his dry lips, the broken skin splitting and a few drops of black blood falling onto his chin.
Nearly an hour later and Galle and Arya once again stood at Robin's side, watching their former and current teacher, respectively, being grilled by the other Shepherds.
"-out of your damned mind!? Thank Naga Lucina wasn't here to see you-"
"-promised you wouldn't do that again! You gave us your word and-"
"-stole all the good parts! You always take all the fun and leave none for-"
"Alright! Enough!" Robin snapped, quieting the noisy crowd. "Everyone can complain at me at once later! Right now, we should be focusing on getting the hell out of here!"
The majority of the Shepherds were gathered on the deck of one of the lingering ships, the rest having already pushed out to sea to begin their journey. The remaining refugees had all but ignored the Shepherds, the majority of the soldiers among them forming an ad hoc line around the landing site to let the civilians board the ships. A continuous, silent procession of filthy, ragged people shuffled up the gangplank and into the belly of the giant ship, a Valmese Dreadnaught capable of moving hundreds of people at once, most not even sparing their saviors a second glance. A few soldiers supervised their embarkation, but kept their distance from the strangers, content to keep a wary eye on them from a distance.
There was a moment of silence after Robin's outburst before Chrom let out a sigh and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.
"I didn't even think you could do that anymore," the Exalt said, his tone fairly dripping with fatigue. "What without Grima's power…"
"But we're not without it. Not here, not now. This merely confirms it," Tharja spoke up from where she was sitting at the back of the group.
Galle leaned around the crowd to regard the usually stoic Dark Mage matriarch, currently sitting next to a pale Femi, exhausted, wounded and bowed. She didn't look up, her hair hiding her eyes. All Galle could see was her mouth, set in a deeper scowl than usual. Silence met her comment.
"So… what? The big bad dark dragon has… revived? Is this that… future that Lady Lucina and her friends came from?" Galle asked when no one spoke. "Because I did not sign up for this."
"Galle…" Arya hissed.
"No! No, I've had enough!" Galle suddenly snapped, his voice rising. "Slavers and psychopaths set on taking over a foreign country? Sure, that I can deal with. That's what I was trained, trained by you, Robin, to deal with. Not this! Not monsters and possessed warriors, who almost killed us by the way, and… and… whatever the hell Clarus was! Not travelling into the future with no way to get home!"
He rounded on Robin, dimly aware he was shouting now.
"You said you'd dealt with this! You said you'd killed him, that there was no way for him to come back! So what the hell is this!? What the hell did you get me into, Robin!?"
"Galle that's enough!" Arya practically shrieked.
The Plegian tactician shook his head before running a hand through his hair. Without another word he turned away and stalked off, leaving the Shepherds to their planning. He pushed past the refugee soldiers, who had been mutely watching the altercation, before leaping from the side of the massive ship and using wind magic to slow his descent.
"Well, that took longer than I thought it would," Robin sighed. "I was expecting one of them to lose it much earlier. Wasn't expecting it to be Galle, though."
"Should someone go after him?" Arya asked in a small voice.
"Let him cool off. He'll be fine," Robin assured her.
"For now, our course is still clear," Chrom said, trying to get the meeting back on track.
"We need to get to Ylisse," Robin explained. "There are tales of Naga transporting heroes, Einherjar, to other worlds. While just stories, even myths are grown from a seed of truth. If we can get to Mount Prism and summon Naga again…"
"It's the best plan we have," Chrom declared, forestalling any more questioning or argument. "For now we should aid the refugees however we can."
"I will aid their healers," Maribelle announced without hesitation.
"As will I," Cordelia added. "Anyone with first aid training is welcome to join us."
"Teach is gonna go help secure the beach," Vaike said. "Anyone wanna come?"
"I'm in," Sully growled. "Sitting around doing nothing makes my armor itch."
"That's why teach don't wear none," Vaike grinned.
The group, minus those already on the beach, dissipated, quickly leaving only Robin, Arya, Chrom and the two Dark Mages sitting alone in the shadow of the ship's forecastle deck. The main deck itself was easily the size of most of the city squares Arya had seen in her travels, numerous carts being either tied down or lowered deeper into the ship. To see such emaciated people working so hard, so feverishly, was almost amusing to her until she realized that this is what she must have looked like to Robin and the others when they had first found her.
"Are they all gone?" Robin asked.
"Yes, you can collapse now," Chrom sighed.
Robin grinned, giving a weak snicker as he leaned against the rough wood of the ship, slowly letting himself slide down into a sitting position.
"Good," he mumbled, before giving a wet cough. "Didn't want them to worry."
"I think it's a little late for that," Femi muttered, earning a smirk from Chrom.
The Exalt quickly grew serious again, moving to squat at Robin's side and checking his pulse from the tactician's neck.
"How do you feel?" the blue haired man asked.
"Like crap, how do you think?" Robin chuckled.
"Is it like… before?" Chrom asked hesitantly.
"Worse," Robin sighed, his grin failing. "Much, much worse. But at least it feels like I'm in control this time."
Chrom nodded, standing and looking to the mages. "Tharja-"
"There is nothing you can do save let him rest," the older mage groaned, rising slowly to her feet. "But Robin, you should know that if you draw on so much of Grima's power again it will kill you. Without a doubt."
"I know, thank you," he groaned, rolling his eyes.
"I was saying it for his benefit," she drolled, nodding towards Chrom. "If you will not listen to me, I will simply have to find another voice you will listen to."
"Ha! Oh, you always did play dirty," Robin chuckled, leading into a weak coughing fit.
"Thank you for that insight, Tharja," Chrom said, stone-faced. "Arya? Do not let Robin cast so much as a spark. Tharja, would you mind joining me in finding the leaders of this exodus?"
"Y-yes!" Arya squeaked, amazed that the Exalt of Ylisse knew her name.
Tharja sighed through her nose, her frown deepening as she appeared to think of Chrom's request.
"Don't frown so much, you'll get wrinkles," Robin snickered weakly, head lolling slightly.
"Remind me why I try so hard to keep you alive?" Tharja deadpanned.
"I've been trying to figure it out for years," Robin laughed.
"Very well, Lord Chrom," Tharja said, pointedly ignoring Robin as she turned to Femi. "Girl. Stay with the fool. Ensure he doesn't do anything else to endanger his life."
"Yes, mistress," Femi said with a formal bow.
"And what will you do while we're gone?" Chrom asked, raising a brow as Robin began to push himself back to his feet.
"I'm going to question the prisoner," Robin said.
As he spoke Robin nodded towards the bound and gagged form of the Deadlord, lying prostrate on the deck. She simply sat, awake now, watching the Shepherds with her glowing red eyes. Arya had been trying not to look at her, but now that she did chills went up and down the girl's spine.
Chrom just shook his head. "Very well. I defer to your judgement on this one."
"Don't worry, Chrom, I won't make the mistake I did last time," Robin assured the Exalt, eyes narrowing as he beheld the Deadlord. "Once I'm done with it, this time I'll destroy it before it can cause any more damage."
Clarus pulled the hood of his coat low over his brow as he approached the teeming throng of survivors intent on escaping across the sea. So many filthy, unwashed people made his skin crawl, but he pushed those thoughts aside as he joined the crowd in quietly shuffling towards the beach.
He had thought of simply pushing his way through, but with the Shepherds spread out everywhere he wanted to play this closer to the chest.
How easy it was for him to sneak right under their noses, blending in with the wretched refugees as they fled for Ylisse.
How simple it was to allow them to take him directly to where he wanted to go.
The thought made him want to smile, but he curbed the compulsion. No one among the refugees were smiling. Most simply looked down at the ground beneath their feet, allowing the flow of the crowd to carry them towards the boats. Perhaps they had no energy left for anything else. Conditions for the average human would be deplorable, and judging from the gaunt state of the locals food was scarce.
The rogue mage took this fact into account, hunching himself over and doing his best to shrink in on himself, presenting as small and unassuming a form as possible. Thanks to the Shepherds, too, his cloak was tattered and worn. All it had taken was a few moments kicking the garment around in the dust before he'd approached the beach and he fit right in. Now he marched, mixed in with men and women and children, all marching towards the promise of a non-existent salvation. Close to his right side a family marched, a mother and father protectively sandwiching a young girl between them. To his left, what appeared to be a group of crippled soldiers, seven men all missing limbs and leaning on each other as they followed the crowd. Behind him he knew a young boy pushed an old wheelbarrow containing the legless form of some older male relative. Ahead of him more bodies, more injuries, more suffering that was utterly lost on Clarus.
The crowd continued its disordered, silent march towards the boats, and just as Clarus began to feel his impatience rising he heard a familiar voice.
"Well someone has to be in charge around here!"
"Oh will you give it a rest! You need to eat something soon, old man, because you're getting grumpy!"
"Ha! I was wondering when you would snap! It's about time I heard something from you besides one-word answers and complaining!"
"Oh yes, you frayed my patience to its end, hurrah."
He hesitated and glanced up, careful to hide the soft glow of his eyes as he scanned for…
"Idallia…" he muttered, the words a hushed whisper from his bloody lips.
There she was, sneering up at a giant of a Feroxi man as he laughed and slapped her on the back. She was just as dirty and exhausted-looking as the rest of the human refuse around her, but that same tired spark in her eyes still glinted. She was wearing her old cavalryman armor from the war, and had a strange scrap of cloth tied around her throat. She sighed, shaking her head and turning away from the big man as he plowed through the crowd again in a seemingly random direction.
Given the general slow pace of the crowd Clarus was afforded a number of minutes to simply observe the self-styled 'Merchant Queen of Themis' as she waited impatiently, for what Clarus couldn't tell. After a time another, younger man joined her. Clarus barely had to try to overhear their conversation, the crowd was so eerily quiet. A few of the other refugees looked up to watch the strangers briefly, but went back to shuffling along and staring at the ground beneath their feet.
"Galle, was it? What do you want?" Idallia asked coldly.
"My life back?" the young man spat.
Much to Clarus' surprise, Idallia laughed at this. The sudden sound made more of the refugees glance up again, but no one did or said anything beyond that.
"Ha! Join the club, boy! None of us should be here right now, and it's all your damned teacher's fault."
"Actually, I'd say it was Clarus' fault," the youth, Galle, said, crossing his arms.
Clarus couldn't help but smile at this, ignoring the pain it brought his desiccated lips.
Idallia gave a long sigh, clearly thinking better of it as she began to cough and hack, the perpetual dust making its presence known again.
"Bah! Gods how I loathe this hell-hole!" Idallia fumed.
"Well, seems we won't be here much longer," Galle said. "With the view from the big ship you can see that they've already got about half of the crowd we saw when we arrived out at sea."
"I didn't notice," Idallia said, sounding bored.
"Tactician," Galle said with an arrogant shrug. "I'm trained to notice. Not… fight armies of demonic undead and dark dragons and whatever else this forsaken place has in store for us…"
Idallia smirked at this, the expression on her face giving Clarus an odd longing sensation in his chest.
"Then simply do what I am doing and find the biggest oaf to hide behind. There are a few of them among the Shepherds, I've noticed."
As she spoke Idallia let out a shallow sigh, clearly learning from her previous mistake, and looked away from the boy. Directly at Clarus. He ducked his head, hoping that his hood had been pulled low enough over his face that she wouldn't notice him…
"Yeah, I think your particular oaf has room to spare behind him. Idallia? Khan Idallia? What is it?"
Clarus silently cursed himself a fool, beginning to gather mana to himself when a thought struck him.
"Hey! You! In the hood!" Idallia called out.
The mage smirked and let out a wisp of dark magic to his side, the child wandering along in the crowd letting out a whimper before shrieking and falling on her face. As the crowd let fear take hold and retreated from the unexpected death Clarus allowed himself to be pulled along in its wake, catching one final glimpse of Idallia and the boy Galle as they knelt over the child's body, the stunned parents looking on frozen.
Then he was safely swallowed up by the press of bodies, still flowing steadily towards the ships.
On the opposite side of beach that Idallia and Galle were on Chrom gently pushed through the docile crowds of refugees, leading Tharja in the direction of what he hoped were leaders of some sort. From the deck of the great Dreadnaught they had convened on he had spotted what appeared to be a group of officers near the defensive line, which was where he and Tharja were headed now. He was guessing, though. There had been no flags, no tents, no unit cohesion. Chrom was simply following his gut.
"You know, we've never really spoken much," Chrom commented as they walked.
"And you chose now to rectify that?" Tharja asked, her tone indicating just how stupid she thought he was.
"No time better than the present," Chrom smirked over his shoulder. "How's your arm?"
Tharja glanced down at her injured arm, still bound in a sling.
"Fine," she said.
"Good," Chrom said, unsure of what to say next.
They stopped to allow a cart full of ragged and emaciated children to trundle past, Chrom's heart aching to see them so.
"Do not grieve for those not yet dead," Tharja said softly, coming to stand by his shoulder.
"You're right," Chrom nodded. "We can still make sure their suffering wasn't for nothing, and give them a better future."
"You are beginning to sound like your daughter," Tharja commented, beginning to walk again.
Chrom let out a laugh, jogging a few steps to catch up with her.
"I can think of worse things for someone to say to me," he said with an easy grin.
Tharja merely rolled her eyes, continuing on in silence.
After a time they finally managed to come upon the group of officers that Chrom had seen from the ship, surrounded by a ragged knot of other soldiers. Men in more mismatched armor from all the nations and dynasts of Valm were represented in this crowd from the looks of things, all with the same desperate and defeated looks on their faces. Chrom wasn't even sure they were getting close at first, considering how destitute the warriors appeared. Surely the leaders would have at least a little pride in their appearances. However, he realized they were getting closer when he could hear the yelling over the steady thrum of the crowd around him.
Namely, one familiar voice in particular.
"You can't possibly hold this line with the forces you have! Have you seen them lately!? Most of 'em can barely lift their swords! Pull them back, consolidate your line, show some gods-damned sense-"
"I've heard just about all I am willing to take, you gorilla! Be silent! If you wish to join the exodus then so be it, but do so quietly-"
"Boy, I'm here to save your pathetic exodus!"
"Khan Basilio!" Chrom called out, pushing through the crowd of tired soldiers.
The large Feroxi glanced up with his one good eye from where he had been looming over what appeared to be a Valmese officer. The young man in question looked almost like a child playing at dress-up, the armor was so large on him, but he held himself up and sneered at Chrom in true Imperial Valm fashion.
"Ah, more rabble," he frowned. "Either fall in line or get on the ships. I have no time for-"
"Make time," Chrom cut him off, turning to display the Mark of the Exalt on his shoulder. "I am Exalt Chrom the First of the Haildom of Ylisse, and I demand to speak to whoever is in charge here."
Chrom felt bad about coming across as so heavy-handed, but sometimes it just made matters faster to play the 'I'm royalty' card. A ripple went through the gathered soldiers like someone had dropped a stone in a calm pond in response, a spark of life returning to their exhausted eyes. Whispered conversations in all the languages of the Valmese continent spread out around them. The word 'Ylisse' was repeated again and again in the conversation that sprung up almost instantly, leaving Chrom to look around nervously and wonder if being so careless had been a good idea after all. Even the officer that Basilio had been arguing with looked at a loss, torn between what he saw as his orders and some form of hope.
"Is it true?" someone from the crowd asked. "Are you from across the great sea?"
"I, uh…" Chrom mumbled.
He almost leapt out of his skin as Tharja stepped up to his shoulder, glaring down her nose at the assembled soldiers beginning to crowd in on them.
"Yes," she snapped, her usually cold voice harsh. "We are. Now where are your leaders?"
Another ripple went through the crowd as members broke off, looking for whoever was in command. As they did the officer Basilio had singled out stepped forward as if in a daze, the big Khan not far behind him with a frown on his face. Chrom took the moment to lean over to Tharja, unable to suppress his grin.
"I didn't know you could even talk that loud," he whispered.
"I've been a teacher for five years," she muttered, looking away to hide her embarrassment. "Now hush before you spoil the illusion."
"Thanks for the save," he muttered, still grinning as he straightened again.
Tharja said nothing, making a strangled growl as she stepped back from where Chrom met face to face with the young officer now.
"When Victor came back we… we thought he had lost his mind," the Valmese man said. "But… is it really…"
"I am Chrom," he declared, rising to his full height. "And I have come to-"
"Lies!" a voice cried out suddenly. "Deception! Chrom is dead!"
They all spun to where a furious woman in Chon'sinian armor was pushing through the crowd, the promise of violence fairly radiating off her. Her robes beneath cracked and scored armor might once have been white, but were as ragged and filthy as the rest of the refugees. Her long dark hair was pulled back from her face, revealing a harsh visage marred by a large leather patch covering her left eye and most of that side of her face-
"Oh Naga, Say'ri, is that you?" Chrom asked, his eyes widening.
He barely had time to finish his question before he was forced to duck, the woman in question having swung at his face with a vicious right hook.
"Deceiver!" she snarled, catching herself and drawing back, reaching for her sword. "You are not him!"
"Girl, get a grip," Basilio thundered, stepping forward and clamping one great paw on her shoulder. "Take a look! You can't fake the brand!"
Chrom turned to show off his shoulder, stunned almost silent by the future Say'ri's ire. There was no doubt in his mind it was her; her bearing, the fire in her eyes, these were the same as the idealistic young freedom fighter that had joined them back during the war with Valm. But now Say'ri had aged, forced to fight against a doomed future. She froze, studying Chrom's bared arm. When it appeared she wouldn't be taking a second swing at the Exalt, Basilio released her and moved to Chrom's side with Tharja. Say'ri looked up, confusion warring with something else on her face, something that Chrom couldn't place. She turned her gaze first on Tharja and then again on Basilio, blinking in disbelief.
"Lady Tharja… Khan Basilio… you are both… alive?" she muttered in disbelief. "It… is it truly? Fie, but I saw you all die! To Walhart and to… to Grima…"
"It's… complicated," Chrom said, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. "If Robin were here he'd explain it better, but… ah… we're from the past."
Say'ri flinched when Chrom said Robin's name, but otherwise remained silent.
"A spell went wrong and transported us, and a number of others, to this future," he went on. "We're… trying to get home. Uh… Say'ri? Are you okay?"
"I cannot believe my eyes…" Say'ri mumbled, her remaining eye wide.
"Eye," Basilio corrected with a smirk, earning a glare from Tharja. The big Khan shrugged and grinned. "What? It's a common mistake. I still make it myself."
Say'ri shook her head, clearly at a loss. Behind her the press of soldiers parted to reveal a filthy Ita, leading another wolf shape-shifter with her. The shape-shifter that had travelled with Robin's band looked incredibly pleased with herself, grinning her fang-filled smile as he tail swished back and forth. The other shifter, an older woman with long white hair, her face marred by an old claw scar that started just below her lips and ran the length of the right side of her neck, was clearly a local. She was also far older than Ita, her once-pretty face lined and aged, sunken and hollow just as the rest of the refugees.
"They speak truth, good Queen," the wolf woman assured Say'ri. "I smell it. There is no deception in the manspawn's words."
"Ita. Who is your… friend?" Chrom asked.
"My Queen, Nirath," she said, puffing her chest up with pride.
"A Queen of burned forests and ghosts," Nirath laughed bitterly. "To think the last of our kind was shown up by a runt. Ah, how we have fallen."
Ita seemed to beam at the backhanded compliment, but Say'ri ignored the exchange.
"If what you say is true," the Chon'sin queen said slowly, "Then you have come… to save us?"
"It's on the to-do list," Basilio shrugged. "I wouldn't pass up the chance to tangle with Grima again."
"Again?" Say'ri parroted.
"Indeed," Tharja said, her voice carrying again. "We have come from a world where Exalt Chrom and Robin worked together to cast the Fell Dragon back into the abyss!"
Frenzied whispering broke out around them, and Chrom turned to the Dark Mage.
"Tharja, what are you doing?" he muttered urgently.
"Getting us transport," she muttered back.
"Exalt Chrom has been awakened! Grima will not be able to stand before him!" Tharja went on.
There was a moment of dead silence before the gathered soldiers broke out in a ragged cheer, many hefting their weapons or helms, or simply throwing their hands into the sky.
"Fie, but is it true?" Say'ri asked over the tumult. "Have you truly been Awakened?"
"Yes, but…" Chrom mumbled.
"Then there is yet hope!" Nirath laughed, swaying and leaning on Ita's shoulder.
The younger wolf looked shocked for a moment before reaching around to support her exhausted monarch, her toothy grin returning.
"How many of you are there?" Say'ri inquired over the cheers, her face clearly showing her relief. "Is it just you three?"
"No, a number of us are patrolling the perimeter with your men, and the rest should still be on the ship with Robin and-"
"Robin!?" Say'ri shouted, grabbing Chrom's shoulders desperately. "He is here!? Where!?"
"On the… big ship?" he replied, taken aback.
Say'ri took a moment to digest this, and then she was gone, shoving her way through the celebrating crowds so fast Chrom was left to wonder what exactly had just happened. Behind him Nirath smirked, the old wolf-woman shaking her head as she stood on her own again.
"It is good that she is here," the older wolf said. "Many will be glad to see Chon'sin's king return from the dead-"
"What!?" Chrom, Basilio and Tharja all shouted in unison.
And then Chrom's eyes widened as it hit him. In the original timeline Robin had married Say'ri and they had had Morgan. But Lucina had altered events by coming back in time, meaning that Robin had never married Say'ri in their own timeline.
Which meant that Robin had a very confused Say'ri rushing towards him.
"Oh, this is going to end badly," Chrom groaned.
AN: I'm not dead! I just burned out again.
… I wanted to have this story finished by the end of 2017… so much for that plan… I swear to Naga we're almost there. I know progress has been slow. I just to have the time to work on writing like I used to. Can you believe that the Self Insert has officially got more reviews than this story now!? C'mon, guys, that's just sad! I don't make a habit of begging for reviews like this, but let's get some more reviews happening on this story please.
Follow me on Twitter for updates and interaction and stuff! - metalloverCAB