Chapter 25
Robin sighed through his nose, letting himself deflate a little as he stared down at his hastily-bandaged hand. He gave a weak cough into the back of his good hand and was quietly relieved to see no blood, although the copper tang of it still touched his tongue. The rag had once been the bandana he'd yanked off of Gaius' neck, although he assumed that the thief wouldn't want it back now. The cloth orange was filthy with blood, both his own and that of the refugees they had failed to save.
The tactician shifted against the railing he was leaning on, trying to get comfortable on the hard deck and failing miserably.
He ached. He hadn't been fit to lead the mission to the Fata Obstant, and he knew it. He had known it at the time, too, but had been too stubborn to listen to his own common sense. With a sad smirk, Robin realized he'd gotten used to Lucina being his voice of reason. Because of his pig-headedness, he'd gotten this world's Say'ri hurt, not to mention all of the Shepherds they had left behind nearly killed.
Say'ri was with Maribelle at the moment, Robin patiently waiting his turn. The very few Valmese healers that had survived were tending to the soldiers hurt during the Risen attack. Ragged priests and clerics, barely able to stand yet pushing themselves far past their limits for the sake of the wounded. Their altruism was truly inspiring.
The dead had been piled near the stern of the ship, awaiting proper burial rites. All except Liung and Nirath, who would be given separate services. Liung had been carefully put in his cabin. Nirath was currently lying on the deck in her wolf form, surrounded by the remaining wolves and Ita. With the deaths of those two, the refugees had truly lost their brightest. Say'ri was too wounded, in Robin's opinion, to lead adequately; not physically, but mentally and emotionally. She could pull it together for the people, of that he had no doubt, but only at great cost to herself. And Helia was just a girl, the same age as Lucina and the rest had been when they had travelled back in time. It wouldn't be fair to thrust the burden of leadership on her at such a young age, but they might not have a choice in the matter and the thought stung. This was exactly the kind of thing that Robin and Chrom had fought for so long to avoid.
"How are you holding up?"
Robin glanced up, Cherche smiling down at him tiredly. Her plate armor was splattered with gore and soot, but she had taken the time to clean her face at some point. He sat up a little straighter, returning her smile with an exhausted grin of his own.
"Just waiting my turn," Robin said.
Cherche nodded and knelt down in front of him, setting her axe aside. "Let me see."
The tactician just nodded and held out his hand, knowing from Virion's stories that there was no point in trying to argue with her. Cherche carefully peeled the sodden rag back, hissing through her teeth as she saw his ruined hand. His broken fingers had been set but were turning an ugly purple-black color with bruises now. The stump of his missing finger had stopped bleeding freely, but still oozed a small amount of blood. The edges of the wound were angry and red, no doubt already infected by some horrible Grima-tainted pathogen. The wrist itself was limp, broken bones grinding painfully every time he even tried to move it.
"I had Chrom help me set the fingers," Robin explained. "Well, the ones that are still there, anyway. This… is the first time I've left a part of me behind. It feels… odd. My hand feels too light. It's going to take some getting used to."
"We will need to clean the wound before Maribelle can heal it," Cherche explained.
"We barely have any water," Robin pointed out. "Maybe we use a fire spell to cauterize the wound?"
"Now I see where your student got the idea," Cherche rolled her eyes, standing. "I believe that I heard Basilio mention something about having some local liquor. I will check with him. Wait here. And do not set yourself on fire."
"I'm not going anywhere," Robin chuckled, settling back and rewrapping his hand. "And I'm not making any promises!"
"Yes, we all know what you're like with fire," Cherche sighed.
The older woman hefted her axe and rested it on her shoulder, already disappearing into the crowd before Robin could get the last word in.
"Damn, Virion was right, it is vexing how she does that," he muttered, still smirking.
The tactician grew somber again, though, replaying the exchange in his head. Cherche and Virion had always been older than the rest of the Shepherds, but it had been so easy to forget that fact. He had never seen the beautiful wyvern rider looking so… well, old. She had crows' feet and dark rings around her eyes. Her hair had lost its luster. The way she had moved, that brief, almost infinitesimal moment of hesitation before she hefted her axe, most people would have missed it. On a whim Robin glanced up, looking for the other Shepherds milling about the deck. Vaike moved slowly, wincing every time he bent down. Gaius was leaning against another railing, trying to catch his breath. Cordelia stumbled over her words as she spoke to one of the local soldiers, blinking a few times before trying again. Even Chrom was running a hand through his hair, fairly radiating exhaustion.
Then there was himself. Robin realized he'd never felt so old before. He knew, academically, that he wasn't as young as he had once been. But for him to feel so tired, so beaten down… even during the worst points in the Valm campaign nearly a decade ago now he hadn't felt this bad.
With a sinking feeling he realized that even out here, so far away from Valm, they were being affected by Grima's tainted essence.
Heaving another sigh Robin closed his eyes, deciding to try to meditate a little to deal with the pain from his hand and wrist. He had never been one for meditation or reflection when he had been younger, more a man of action, of planning and leading the Shepherds to victory. However as he had aged, and without the Shepherds there needing his constant babysitting, he had found himself more in need of the act.
Taking deep breaths Robin tried again to get comfortable, wincing as he jarred his hand, and allowed his chin to sink to his chest.
"Robin."
Inhale. Exhale. Robin let his mind empty. Given the circumstances it should have been harder, but he was well-versed in this action, and accustomed to ignoring his problems.
"Robin. Heed me…"
He ignored whoever was calling him. They could wait a few moments for him to find some measure of peace.
"Robin. Come find me…"
"Robin?"
"What? Agh!"
The tactician jerked upright, suddenly sitting up straight and bumping his injured hand against his thigh in the process. He blinked a few times, aware now that he had fallen asleep. Cherche and Maribelle looked down at him, and the wyvern rider knelt at his side with her brow furrowed in concern.
"Are you okay?" Cherche asked.
Robin waved her concern off, grinning a little as he made sure to use his good hand this time.
"Fine, fine," he assured them. "Just… resting my eyes."
Maribelle wordlessly knelt down next to him and he automatically stuck his injured hand out for her. She sucked a breath through her teeth much the way Cherche had at the sight of his ruined appendage when she peeled back the rag, pretty face contorting in a serious frown.
"You were muttering in your sleep," Cherche said quietly next to him. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I've been talking to myself for years," he laughed, wincing as Maribelle poked at his fingers. "I was just meditating. How's Say'ri?"
"Exhausted," Maribelle said simply. "It took all her strength to heal her burns. She will have scars. As will you. What lummox set these fingers?"
"That would be Chrom," Robin snickered. "At least he did better than the time Vaike tried to set his dislocated shoulder by himself."
"Do not remind me," Maribelle muttered, prodding at the skin around where Robin's finger had once been. "Do you still have the finger?"
"Nope, I was… too busy to go back for it," Robin admitted.
"Then I will be unable to do anything but heal the skin over," Maribelle warned him.
"Honestly, I would be impressed if you could regrow a whole finger," Robin smirked before glancing up at Cherche again. "Uh, I'm fine, Cherche. Really. You can go hover over the others now if you want."
"Actually," she said with that disarming smile Virion always warned him about. "I'm here to hold you down."
"To… 'hold me down'?" Robin repeated, eyes widening a little in fear.
Cherche just smiled as she lay her forearm across his collar, effectively pinning him to the railing while Maribelle held his arm, just above where his wrist was broken, in a vise-like grip. She pulled a small bottle out of a pocket, the local liquor judging from the smell. Without meaning to Robin twitched, and Cherche pressed down on him harder.
"This will hurt," Maribelle warned him.
"Are we sure I can't just cauterize it?" Robin asked, voice quaking.
"So that I can do this again with a burn wound?" she asked rhetorically. "No. Please do not move now, Robin."
To his credit, Robin managed not to scream when she poured the alcohol on his wound. Barely. However, so preoccupied as he was with his pain Robin totally forgot about the dream he had just had until he had it again that evening.
The next day they laid both Liung and Nirath to rest in separate services. The remaining wolves had milled about uncertainly after Nirath's service, seemingly lost without any clear leader, but Ita surprised Robin by taking charge and getting them out of everyone's way. He and Chrom leaned against one of the upper railings, looking down from the forecastle onto the main deck where Ita was busy bullying the remaining wolves into some form of training exercises. Chrom gave a small chuckle, and Robin glanced over at him curiously.
"Nothing, nothing," the Exalt waved him off. "Just thinking that you have a habit of attracting strange and eccentric types."
"Says he who brought the amnesiac home like a lost puppy," Robin shot back.
"Oh, one time," Chrom scoffed.
Both men sobered as they returned to watching the people who had come above decks slowly trickle back inside. Since the incident with the Risen attacking most of the refugees had been far more reluctant to venture above deck. Much of the cautious optimism the people had been displaying had evaporated, and the mood in the holds was muted. It was as if they were holding their breath, waiting for the next catastrophe. The people had given up hope. It didn't help that their remaining leaders were too wounded to stand and a shell-shocked girl who had barely spoken in the last twenty-four hours. Helia had shut down after the battle on the Dreadnaught, the girl almost catatonic as she followed Galle, Femi and Arya around, no doubt seeking solace in people her own age.
"Hey," Robin spoke up suddenly. "So… have you been having weird dreams since you got here?"
"Where did that come from?" Chrom asked seriously.
"Don't panic, I'm just asking," Robin said defensively.
"Alright," Chrom nodded slowly, unconvinced. "Then no, I don't believe I have. Nothing I can't put up to stress, anyway."
"Okay, that's good," Robin sighed, before pausing and grinning sheepishly. "So… you remember back before Valm when I went on that quest to find my lost memories and ended up following a mysterious voice to Plegia?"
Chrom gave Robin a sideways glare before sighing and running a hand down his face.
"I knew you were going somewhere with that question…"
"Yeah, yeah, but it wasn't what you were worried about," Robin said. "So, I'll need to sleep a few more times to make sure, but I think she's trying to call me again."
"From Plegia."
"Uh… yes."
"Where Grima, not to mention the majority of the Risen, are bound to be."
"Yeah, that sounds about right."
"And you want to… go there."
"Well when you put it like that it sounds silly, but yes," crossing his arms and looking back out over the ship
Chrom sighed again. "Robin, I do truly worry about you sometimes."
Robin shook his head, turning back to the Exalt.
"You didn't meet her, Chrom. If she's still there, whatever she is… she could be a powerful ally."
"If she's still there," Chrom shot back. "If you can even make it there. If she hasn't already been corrupted by Grima. If she even wants to help us. There's a lot of room for error in this plan."
"Hey, I don't have a plan yet," Robin sniffed. "If it were a plan there'd be contingencies, side-plans; I plan for plans."
"That doesn't make a lot of sense," Chrom pointed out.
"Neither does following a psychotic mage through a portal to an alternate version of our own world where we are all dead," Robin pointed out.
Chrom actually paused for a moment, before turning a weak glare on the grinning tactician.
"You know, my life started making a lot less sense when you showed up in it," he said slowly.
"And I thank you every day for taking me in and sharing my cosmic weirdness," Robin chuckled. "But we're getting distracted. She's calling, and I think we need to answer."
"We?"
"I just assumed you were coming with me," Robin shrugged.
"Damn straight I am," Chrom huffed.
"Ah!" Robin said, face lighting up as he held up a finger. "So that means we can go?"
Faltering, Chrom froze before he let out a long groan.
"Fine!" he relented, throwing his hands up in the air. "But if we die horrible deaths I'm holding you responsible."
"Noted," Robin laughed.
After the Exalt finished rolling his eyes and Robin finished chuckling they grew quiet again, watching the refugees beneath them.
"These people are on the defensive, Chrom," Robin said softly. "They're reacting, not acting. If we do this and it pans out we may be able to tip the scales in their favor."
"I know," Chrom said, grinning a little. "But I'm still making you explain it to the others on your own."
On the deck below Galle stood with his arms crossed, leaning back against the railing overlooking the low walkway on the edge of the ship. No one, not even the soldiers on guard duty, were braving the lower walkways, and even Galle was careful to keep one eye on the outside of the ship and the deceptively still waters.
A small gust of wind whipped a lock of his hair into his face and Galle brushed it back, relishing the small piece of normalcy that the wind represented.
"I think they're planning something," Femi said.
Galle glanced over at the young dark mage, where she was squinting up at Robin and Chrom above them. He rolled his eyes, going back to people watching. Beside him Arya and Helia both did their best to win at some sort of unspoken 'timidity contest' that he wasn't privy to, leaving his only conversation partner the mage.
"They're leaders. Planning is in their job description," he pointed out.
"I know," Femi said without looking at him. "I want to know what they're planning."
"I don't care."
"How can you not care?"
"Easy. Like this," Galle said, stretching out his neck and yawning for good measure.
Beside him Arya giggled a little while Helia barely looked up. Galle supposed that made Helia the timidity winner.
"What is it with you two lately?" Femi asked, finally glancing over at him.
"Why, what ever do you mean?" Galle deadpanned.
"I mean you and sir Robin," Femi huffed. "Ever since we left Valm you've been avoiding him."
"We've been kinda busy," he pointed out.
"I noticed," Arya mumbled.
Galle shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. It wasn't like he'd been purposely avoiding Robin, they had just been, as he'd said, busy. Organizing refugees and doing inventory of their remaining supplies, helping organize the refugee soldiers and helping with first aid. It wasn't an exaggeration to say that most of the Shepherds hadn't stopped since they had joined up with the Valmese.
"You should talk to him," Helia said, speaking for the first time that day.
Three Plegian sets of eyes snapped to the Valmese girl. She was looking up now, staring directly at Galle.
"There was a lot I never got to say to Liung," she explained in a small voice. "I never even got to… thank him. So, you should take the opportunity now. While you can."
"That's very profound, actually," Femi agreed with a sympathetic smile. "And especially true given our current circumstances."
"Alright, alright, I'll talk to the man when he's not busy with foreign royalty," Galle groaned.
"But… aren't we technically busy with foreign royalty right now, too?" Arya asked.
Slowly all three Plegians turned to look at Helia again. She grinned sheepishly under their combined gazes.
"There's… not a lot of others around my own age," she admitted quietly. "That's… not a problem, is it?"
Galle opened his mouth to say something sarcastic, but was interrupted by Arya showing a rare burst of assertiveness and elbowing him in the ribs.
"Of course not," the slim girl said with a cheery smile. "Right Femi?"
"Exactly," the dark mage giggled, grinning evilly at Galle.
"Yeah, what's one more woman to make my life hard?" he grumbled.
The girls giggled, Helia getting a few in too, and Galle was relieved to see her relaxing a little. The Valmese girl had been high-strung since the battle aboard the ship, and while he would never admit it the way that she had been about to fling herself into certain death had worried him.
He tuned out as the girls began chatting about something, content to lean on the railing and enjoy what few wisps of breeze actually blew out here on the ocean, and closed his eyes. Galle had actually never been on the sea before; he had worked in port cities, and had occasionally gone on the water near the coast when he'd been accepting deliveries from larger ships that wouldn't fit in the harbor, but he'd never been out on the open water like this. He had asked Mari to describe it to him once, and the thought of her simple yet poetic answers created a little bloom of warmth in his chest.
"Oh, Galle's thinking about his girlfriend again."
"He has a girlfriend?"
"Yeah, he gets that dopey little grin when he thinks about her."
"That's adorable! Who'd have thought he had a soft side?"
Galle gave a derisive sniff, then froze.
"Stop talking," he said, eyes suddenly wide open.
"Aw, why, you embarrassed?" Femi cooed.
"Shut up," he sighed, rubbing between his eyes. "Do you smell that?"
"Is it love? Because no, I-" the Dark Mage grinned before Galle cut her off.
"I'm being serious," he snapped. "Wait for a breeze… there?"
Arya gave a cursory sniff, moving to lean out over the railing.
"Smoke?" she asked curiously.
"Is it from the galley?" Helia asked hopefully.
Femi joined them at the railing, leaning out with Arya. Galle took another few deep breaths, finally catching a good whiff of the smoke. It was familiar, and not in a good way. The last time he'd smelled this was in Ylisstol. Fire eating wood, flesh and bone alike. It was not a nice smell, even if it was one that Galle would know anywhere.
"It's no cooking fire," Arya said softly, echoing his thoughts.
Galle spun, opening his mouth to begin barking orders and then closing it when he came face to face with Helia. She looked up at him expectantly, and a thought occurred to him.
"Well? What should we do?" he asked her.
"You're… asking me?" she said, genuinely sounding shocked.
"Say'ri is wounded and the others are gone," Galle pointed out. "Now would be a very good time to start acting like a leader."
On the deck around them the guards and those refugees who were brave enough to remain on deck were milling around as the scent of the smoke reached them, unsure what to do. Helia looked out over them and back to Galle and the girls. Femi and Arya both nodded encouragingly, but he just watched, waiting impassively to see what she'd do. The Valmese girl took a deep breath and smoothed her red tunic, closing her eyes and muttering to yourself.
"You are Helia of Valm, daughter of Walhart the Conqueror and General Pheros of Steiger, you can do this… you are Helia of Valm, daughter of Walhart the Conqueror and…"
She repeated this mantra a few times before looking up, a spark of authority in her eyes as she turned and strode out towards the milling guards.
"To arms!" she called, her voice strong. "Men of Valm, to arms! Prepare yourselves for combat! Station scouts on the forecastle deck and the port and starboard walkways! I want to know the second whatever is burning comes into view! Lookouts! Now!"
As she strode away Arya practically bounced over to Galle's shoulder and grinned up at him.
"That was almost nice of you," she said.
"I just didn't feel like doing it myself," he said with a shrug.
"I'll bet that's what it was," Femi teased, elbowing his ribs. "You big softie."
"Knock it off before I throw you off the ship," Galle deadpanned.
The smoke, as the passengers of the unnamed dreadnaught had found out nearly an hour later, had been from the wreckage of the ship that had been ahead of the Fata Obstant. The Ad Gloriam had been adrift and aflame, and the nameless ship had been forced to alter course to avoid it. They had passed close enough to feel the heat of the flames, the timber hull of the ship popping and crackling as the heat dried out the persistent seawater when they passed.
It had only taken Robin a moment to know that there would be no survivors aboard. The upper decks had caved in, the hull leaning and dangerously close to collapsing in on itself.
Then a few days later they came upon another lifeless, smoldering wreck. Then another. By the time they reached the Plegian coast they had passed the burned-out hulls of all the ships that had gone before them.
"Clarus," Chrom breathed, his knuckles white on the railing he leaned on. "I cannot believe a man that grew up in my kingdom, in my city, could do this…"
Next to him Robin gave a noncommittal snort, leaning down to rest his elbows on the railing. Much to his disdain the closer they came to Plegia, the worse the effects of his lingering Grima taint became. The tactician had steadily been growing weaker again. For the last two days he had been coughing up blood again, too. The wound where his finger had been had become swollen and an angry red color, black veins spreading out from the injury up his hand. His wrist ached, as did all of his old scars, and his head perpetually throbbed.
Chrom glanced down at the tactician as he blearily stared out at the distant coast, close enough now to pick out details on the beach.
"I can believe it," Robin slurred after a moment. "He came from somewhere good. While someone like me came from… there."
He finished the sentence by waving his bandaged wounded hand in the general direction of the coast.
"Are you sure you're up for this?" Chrom asked. "You could stay with the ship and go straight to Ylisstol with the others."
"Nah, you lot couldn't find the ocean if you fell off this ship," Robin chuckled weakly. "Besides, it's me she's been calling to. I will admit that I'm not really feeling a hundred percent right now, though."
"You don't say," Chrom said with a small smirk. "I trust you, Robin, even if some of the others don't. If you believe this will aid us and the refugees, then we need to risk it."
"Gods I wish I was so confident in my own decisions," Robin snorted, straightening. "And 'others don't trust me' is underselling it a little, don't you think."
Chrom snorted now, shaking his head and leaning back against the railing. Robin had intended to travel with as small a group as possible. Only himself, Chrom, Arya and the Deadlord. Then he had tried announcing this fact and all hell had broken loose among the Shepherds. Sully had started shouting something about Robin having gone off the deep end while Vaike had been laughing until he realized that Robin was being serious. A number of them had simply shown tired resignation, shaking heads or muttering to themselves. Owain had declared a new quest, and Tharja had quite confrontationally questioned his sanity. All of this had continued until Basilio had thundered for them to shut up, shouting over the top of the irate Shepherds so that Robin could explain himself.
In the end the group that was joining them was far, far larger than he was comfortable with. He, Chrom, Arya and Simia were still going, but now most of the others were joining them, too. Ricken had been first to sign up, calmly stating that with Robin out of commission they would need an adequate mage. Then Tharja had sneered they would have one because she was going. Olivia and Gaius had stepped forward at almost the same time, the dancer being quicker but shrinking back from the gaze that Gaius had shot her. The thief hadn't said anything, just shrugging and motioning her ahead, and Olivia had claimed that she would feel more helpful joining them. Sully had threatened bodily violence if she was left behind, and Maribelle had done much the same in a far more eloquent fashion. Then Owain had claimed he was 'channeling the spirit of his cousin', and that Lucina wouldn't let either Chrom or Robin out of her sight given the circumstances, so neither would he.
Those remaining had agreed to join the refugees and continue on to Ylisstol. Basilio would be in charge, and Idallia had actually looked relieved when he'd said they were staying. Femi and Galle had given concerned looks to Arya, who had smiled confidently at them in return. Cherche and Cordelia both looked uncomfortable with the arrangement, but had agreed to the fact that they couldn't well all go with Chrom and Robin; someone had to watch over the refugees.
"Sully was rather adamant," Chrom mused, replaying the scene in his mind.
"The word you're looking for is 'terrifying'," Robin muttered.
As he spoke the tactician ran a hand through his hair and winced as his fingers brushed the cracked skin on the back of his scalp. His hand came away with long threads of shite hair hanging off it, and Robin shook the hair off his hand, glancing up to make sure Chrom hadn't noticed. He shook his head a little before drawing his hood up and giving a tired sigh.
Chrom glanced back at him with some concern and led the injured tactician back down to the main deck. Robin took the stairs slowly, holding tightly to the handrail. Hanging from the side of the ship were the three rowboats that the Shepherds would be taking to the coast, Valmese volunteers waiting to the side so they could bring the boats back once the Shepherds were done. The rest of the group were waiting near the boats, their packs filled with supplies and gear for their journey through the hostile desert.
"This isn't going to be easy," Chrom declared. "Anyone who wants to stay with the refugees, speak up now."
There was a moment of silence before Sully rolled her eyes and snorted.
"Have any of us ever changed our mind?" she asked.
"No, but it makes me feel better about ordering you all into danger if I give you the chance to back out," Chrom chuckled.
The Exalt's weak attempt at humor went mostly ignored, Sully and Basilio both offering token snorts and no one else reacting. Chrom cleared his throat awkwardly, and Robin rolled his eyes.
"Make any last preparations," the tactician said. "Captain says they can't stay here too long, so we're in the boats in five minutes. Double and triple check your water supply; I sincerely doubt we'll find any potable water in Plegia."
"Place was already a dustbowl before Grima," Vaike said sourly.
Chrom seized upon the chance to get the group moving again and stepped forward.
"Exactly, so everyone makes doubly sure," the Exalt declared.
The Shepherds started to move, checking nearby bags and talking among themselves as Robin sidled up to Chrom.
"Have you even glanced at your own bags?" he asked slyly.
"That's what I have Cordelia for," Chrom shrugged.
As if on cue Cordelia appeared at his shoulder, holding a large travelling pack.
"Some of my husband's bad habits have worn off on me," she said, somewhat sheepishly.
"He'll never learn to take care of himself at this rate," Robin shook his head and chuckled.
His laugh turned into a cough, though, and he struggled not to double over as he waved off Cordelia and Chrom's concern.
"I'm fine," he assured them.
"Uh huh," Chrom nodded, unconvinced. "Arya! Come here, please!"
The girl in question perked up in the crowd where she had been saying her farewells to Galle, Femi and Helia, trotting over. The shackled Simia followed at a more sedate pace, a foul expression on the Deadlord's ashen face.
"Yes, Lord Chrom?" she asked.
Robin grinned a little as he watched her; she wouldn't meet the Exalt's gaze, but she hadn't stuttered. Progress.
"You are hereby in charge of the Shepherds' most important position," Chrom declared. "The 'Robin-watch'. Usually Cordelia or Lucina would be doing it, but it'll have to be you this time."
"Really, Chrom?" Robin deadpanned.
"The Exalt is being serious, this is a real thing," Cordelia said with a small grin.
"I don't know if I should be flattered or insulted," Robin admitted, quirking a brow.
"Shall I kill them, master?" Simia hissed, red eyes narrowing.
Robin snorted. "I would honestly love to see you try, but no. Shush."
"Just… make sure he doesn't do anything too stupid," Chrom said, turning back to Arya. "No jumping off flying pegasai."
"Oh, one time!" Robin groaned.
"And no traipsing through wolf infested forests," Cordelia added. "Or wandering off with the entire Ylissean Royal Family without telling their Commanders."
"Hey, those two actually went well," Robin muttered.
"And make sure he doesn't over-exert himself," Chrom finished.
"I am not a child!" Robin snapped, coughing a little again.
Arya was at his side in an instant, her hand rubbing comforting circles on his back.
"Please relax before you give yourself another coughing fit, sir," she said with a shy grin.
"They've ruined you," Robin deadpanned. "The others have ruined you. You used to be such a nice, quiet girl. I blame Galle. And no, Simia, you can't kill him either."
The Deadlord in question closed her mouth, her perpetual scowl softening almost to a pout.
"Cordelia, I'd like to leave a letter with you for this world's Lucina, if I could," Chrom said.
"That's our cue," Robin said, turning away. "I'm gonna get the first spot on the boat."
"I'm right behind you!" Chrom called after him.
"No rush," Robin muttered.
Behind him Arya and Simia followed, the Deadlord's shackles clanking with every step she took. Still, though, she didn't complain. Robin often found himself musing that it was nice to finally have a follower that actually did what he told them to, but the circumstances ruined his fantasy. They passed through the Shepherds and milling crew, the refugees giving Simia a wide berth as they passed. The Deadlord gave them a savage grin until Robin shot a glare over his shoulder at her, and she went back to scowling at the decking between her feet.
The small sloops, like the one that they had used to board the Fata Obstant, waited suspended in the air above the ocean, ready to be lowered as soon as the Shepherds were finished with their preparations. At the boat Robin was brought up short for a moment, but sighed and climbed aboard the gently swaying vessel.
"I've given up trying to argue people out of coming with us," he commented, sitting down. "But for conversation's sake, what's your excuse?"
Across from him Say'ri turned her single remaining eye on Simia as the Deadlord stepped into the ship, sliding into the seat next to Robin. Arya followed, wilting a little in the intense older woman's presence.
"I refuse to let that creature out of my sight," Say'ri said coldly.
"It's a better reason than Vaike's 'I'm getting seasick'," Robin shrugged. "But what about your people?"
Say'ri was silent a moment, her gaze drifting downwards as a look of pain crossed her face. Before Robin could utter the apology on the tip of his tongue, though, she spoke again. Say'ri's gaze snapped back up, fixing a baleful glare on Simia again.
"My people are gone," she said. "Mostly because of this creature. If there is something I can do to help the remainder of them… even something as foolish as chasing dreams…"
"Hey, we're trying to keep that part need-to-know," Robin warned.
Beside him Arya glanced up incredulously, her unspoken question clear. Robin, however, chose to ignore her curiosity for now.
"Well, get comfy and enjoy the 'following Robin's random nonsense' ride," Gaius said cheerfully, suddenly sitting behind Robin.
Arya and Say'ri both jumped, but Robin being used to this just glanced over his shoulder.
"Took you long enough," he smirked.
Gaius shrugged. "Hey, I'm not part of your 'lost puppy' brigade. Besides, I like to keep you guessing."
A weak breeze blew across the hull of the nameless dreadnaught, carrying with it the familiar scent of dust and sand and heat. Even in this gods-forsaken future, even after the world as they knew it had ended, some things never changed. The smell instantly made Galle scowl and spit off the edge of the dreadnaught. Even here he couldn't escape the phantom of his past.
"Charming," Femi muttered at his side.
"Force of habit," Galle growled. "I hate the smell of Plegia."
Unbidden, Helia gave a cursory sniff from Femi's other side.
The trio were watching as the sloops that the Shepherds were on slowly faded into the distant haze of the waves, bound for the very same place Galle detested so. Not far away the remainder of the Shepherds that were staying with the refugees stood almost mournfully, watching the same scene. The refugees still on deck had already gone back to their tasks, civilians being barred from the port side that the sloops had launched from for extra security. Not that many of the civilians had come above deck in recent days. Since they had passed the burning wreck of the Ad Gloriam morale among the refugees had plummeted, many seemingly just giving up.
"I don't smell anything," Helia said softly.
"Sand. And decay."
The trio turned to see Ita watching the boats not far from them, standing alone near the railing with her arms crossed.
"Oh," was all Helia managed in response.
"I'm surprised you didn't go with them," Femi commented.
"My people need me," Ita said, eyes flicking over to the dark mage. "They need a strong leader."
"Plus, Robin ordered her to stay here," Galle added.
Ita growled and spat, violently turning back to watch the boats. Her hair beads clacked at the motion, swaying with the movement.
"And why are you here and not there?" she snapped.
"Because Robin ordered me to stay, too," Galle shrugged with a small grin. "And I really, really hate Plegia."
"You hate your homeland?" Helia asked curiously.
"Please, don't get him started or he'll never shut up," Femi groaned.
Galle rolled his eyes, prodding the dark mage in the ribs. She retaliated with a small spark of purple lightning magic that missed his fingers by millimeters, the static tingling his fingertips.
If nothing else, their little journey to the 'future' had made Galle new friends. Something he'd have to rub Rance's face in when he got back.
"I had a rough childhood," Galle said. "Without knowing the history that can never actually happen here I can't really explain it."
"Why can't it happen?" Helia persisted.
"Because they won," Galle said softly, going back to watching the departing ships. "Robin and the Shepherds. They killed Grima in our own time."
Helia sucked in a small breath, leaning on the railing and watching the ships now, too.
"Every time I hear that it gives me a little thrill," she admitted. "The idea that he can be killed. That he can be made to pay for all of this. I had stopped believing. But…"
"They did it once, they can do it again," Femi supplied when she trailed off. "Right? We'd probably all just get in the way."
"Speak for yourself, manspawn," Ita scoffed, turning and striding away, her hair beads clacking again with the movement.
The trio watched her for a moment before Helia gave a sigh and went back to watching the sloops.
"Mila what I'd give for even a small amount of her confidence," the Valmese girl muttered.
"It's pronounced 'ignorance'," Galle smirked, still watching Ita. "And yes, I know she can still hear me."
Ita responded by flipping a very rude human hand gesture over her shoulder, not even breaking stride.
"Did…" Helia began, shooting a curious glance at Galle. "Did you speak to Robin? To apologize?"
Galle sighed, leaning back against the railing and looking down at the deck.
"No."
"Told you he wouldn't," Femi scoffed.
He shot the mage a glare, and she just smirked again.
"They'll be back," he grumbled. "I'll… do it when they get back."
Despite the advent of Grima's resurrection, or perhaps because of it, the deserts of Plegia had not changed much at all. After passing through the beach the Shepherds entered the southern badlands proper, many secretly grateful for the perpetual twilight surrounding them. The constant ashy dust mixed with the existing sand and grit, and now the entire party with the exception of Simia had tied scarves or rags around their faces.
With the scarves and the lack of harsh sunlight they were able to ration and conserve water far more efficiently than they had during their previous marches through the country, and they progressed at a steady pace. For a week Robin and Tharja led them through the desert, Tharja assisting Robin's navigation however she could. It had been a long time since either of them had been to their destination, and the previous time they had had a guide.
For a time, Robin quietly worried that they had gotten lost, and he had led the Shepherds to their deaths. However, on the ninth day Robin perked up, happily reporting that he had spotted some familiar landmarks. Tharja agreed, recognizing rock formations from maps she had studied in her own youth.
Throughout their journey, though, Robin's health continued to decline. By the time the Shepherds came upon the small, hidden shelter that Robin and his companions had found in the desert after their first war with Plegia he could barely stand unaided, and Arya had to half-carry him into the small domed house. He stumbled a little on the threshold, practically falling with his back to the closest wall and sliding to the floor with a relieved groan.
The Shepherds all piled in one by one, quickly filling the small house. Chrom stopped in the middle of the circular room, looking around. Vaike wasted no time finding a small patch of wall and sliding his own back down like Robin had. Sully moved immediately to keep watch, eying the thin scaffolding balcony around the upper windows inside the house and climbing up. Say'ri gave a small relieved sigh as she sank onto the first chair she spotted. This continued until everyone was inside and secure, the mood turning slightly festive as they were finally given a chance to relax.
"Ah, by the gods it's good to be out of that dust," Chrom said as he practically tore the scarf off his face.
"How can it still be so hot when there's no sun!?" Vaike complained loudly.
"No wind," Ricken said helpfully. "Makes the whole place feel stuffy. Like a house shut up in the winter."
"It can only be a good omen for our quest!" Owain declared.
Robin glanced up, doing a quick headcount as he carefully pulled his own mask down to hang around his neck. He sat up a little when he realized that Simia was missing, but Arya appeared at his side before he could become alarmed.
"I told Simia to keep watch outside," the girl said tiredly. "She's hiding in the rocks above the house."
"Good call," Robin nodded, slumping back against the wall. "Good to see you've been paying attention."
"We'll rest here for the night," Chrom declared. "I want to take this chance while we have it; we'll move again in eight hours. Get as comfortable as you can. I'm assuming Sully's taking first watch. We'll work off the standard rotation after that."
"We're not far now from our destination, so resting is highly suggested!" Robin added from his slumped position.
The silence after Chrom's speech quickly became a familiar background murmur of camp, a sound Robin found both familiar and soothing. He watched as the Shepherds spread out, the women in the party claiming the rooms in the back while the men happily remained out in the common area. Ricken made a small fire in the central fire pit, the crackling flames doing much for the Shepherds' mood as they settled in around it. He witnessed all of this with a small smile on his face, content to just watch his old friends from the side until Tharja approached and knelt down at his side.
"Show me your hand," she said without preamble.
"What about your shoulder?" Robin asked defensively.
He moved to cross his arms but thought better of it.
"Hand. Now," Tharja repeated.
Robin sighed through his nose and held up his injured hand, still tightly bound in the cleanest rags they had been able to find. Tharja gently stripped the cloth away, Maribelle making her way over as the mage worked, and inspected the ugly wound.
Large black cracks had formed in the back of Robin's hand, the wound where his finger had been itself a deep, weeping red mess. The cracks on his hand mirrored the ones spreading beneath his hair on the back of his head, now creeping down the back of his neck. Tharja's own dark magic backlash had begun to spread, too, visible now on her shoulder beneath her bodysuit when she removed her cloak. The other mages, too, were beginning to tire and feel ill. The very world itself was poisoning them now, at an increased rate.
As the Dark Mage prodded gently at the cracks in Robin's hand he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, resting on the cool stone behind him. Tharja took another cloth and poured some of their precious water supply on it before setting to gingerly clean the wound.
"I can do that myself," Robin said, cracking one eye.
"And you would do it as poorly as you bound the wound, no doubt," Tharja shot back.
Robin rolled his eyes beneath closed lids, letting his friend work. Another set of footsteps approached, but Robin couldn't be bothered opening his eyes to see who had come over.
"How does it feel?" Tharja asked.
"A little numb, honestly," Robin sighed. "I wish you would have let me cauterize it."
"You would have made it worse," Maribelle chided softly.
"If we do not do something to stop this progressing you will lose the hand," Tharja said matter-of-factly.
Arya's gasp was joined by another familiar intake of breath, and Robin cracked his left eye enough to make out Say'ri standing a small way away now.
"Good thing I fight one-handed, then," he muttered. "Not like we can turn back now. How are you feeling?"
"Stop trying to deflect attention onto me," Tharja scolded. "I am not the one coughing up blood and being carried by a girl half my size."
"I'm not… that small…" Arya mumbled indignantly.
Robin couldn't help but smirk at his student's newfound openness around them. It was more heartening for him than anything else they had found in this world.
"Is there any way to reverse the infection?" Say'ri asked softly. "Or at least halt it?"
"Distance," Tharja said. "We need to get him back to our world, free of Grima's taint."
Robin finally opened his eyes as he felt his injured appendage pass into another's hand, Maribelle holding him gently as she ran her staff over the wound.
"This may not be of much help, but it is all I can do," she said, still managing to sound pompous even under these circumstances.
The tactician sighed again as some of the feeling returned to his hand.
"Much better," Robin sighed. "Now I can do the most important thing again."
"And that would be?" Tharja asked, clearly prepared to dissuade him from any magic or fighting.
Robin smirked, reached out with his injured hand and lightly poked the tip of Tharja's nose with his index finger.
"Boop."
The Dark Mage blinked a few times, utterly bewildered as the other women around him went from disbelief to trying to stifle their laughter. Maribelle recovered first, clearing her throat and standing as Tharja's confusion turned to a scowl. The Dark Mage shot up, too, glaring down at Robin.
"Yes, clearly you are feeling better," Maribelle said. "Call out to me if you feel you need my assistance."
"Were you anyone else you would have lost that finger, too," Tharja hissed dangerously.
Both women departed in opposite directions, Vaike wisely jumping out of Tharja's path as she headed directly for the back room that the fairer sex had claimed. Robin just chuckled, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes again. He heard Say'ri shift, moving closer and kneeling down beside him, opposite Arya. The older woman reached out, gingerly taking his hand, and before Robin could ask what she was doing he gave a hiss as something was pressed to his wound. He realized, without opening his eyes, that she was binding his hand again.
"I can do that myself, too," he said.
"Fie, but you were always terrible at it," Say'ri said, a small smile rising to her lips.
"Say'ri-"
"I know," she cut him off softly, hands momentarily pausing. "You are not him. Nor would I want you to be. But you are still my comrade, and you are still terrible at this."
"She's not wrong, a lot of dust got in there," Arya piped up.
"Not helping, Arya," Robin growled.
"Not trying to, boss-man," the former-thief smirked.
"Oh, they did ruin you," Robin sighed.
Say'ri gave a small chuckle, tying off the makeshift bandage around his wrist and rising.
"I will dispose of this on the fire," she told him. "Make sure he eats something to keep his strength up."
"I'm not dying," Robin groaned, opening his eyes just to roll them.
In response Arya plopped down next to him against the wall, already rummaging through her bag for whatever provisions she could find. Say'ri gave a satisfied not and turned away, leaving Robin alone with Arya now. The quiet murmur of campfire conversation brought another small smile to Robin's face, and next to him Arya paused and spoke without looking at him.
"You're telling the truth, right?" she asked him quietly. "You're not… actually going to die on me, right?"
"I hadn't planned on it, no," Robin sighed irritably. "Gods, you're just as bad as the rest of them. Now give me food. Please."
The next day they arrived at more familiar rock formations, Robin grinning beneath his mask at them. A small path wound through the rock formation, plunging the Shepherds from the constant twilight into even deeper shadow as they passed. Ricken and Arya both made small magical fires with some effort; casting spells in Plegia was hard enough at the best of times, but now that difficulty was increased. To Robin's surprise it only took Arya a few moments longer than Ricken to add her own light. They came out of the small shadowed tunnel into a small depression in the rocks, almost a sinkhole filled with sand. Twin rows of broken, ancient columns led up to the familiar altar in the center of the space, and Robin gave a small sigh of relief.
"It's been a long time since I've been here," he said, almost to himself. "I was almost afraid we wouldn't find it."
"Who was with you last time?" Owain asked, walking alongside him.
"Tharja, obviously," Robin said, nodding towards the mage behind them. "But also Virion, Anna and Donnel. And this was where we met Fae for the first time."
"Hope she likes visitors," Vaike grinned.
"Chrom, front and center!" Robin called.
The Exalt came trudging wearily towards him at the head of the group, mirroring the rest of the party's fatigue.
"If we're going in it probably wouldn't hurt to have Naga's Awakened champion at the front with me," he explained.
"Well, they're your voices," Chrom said from behind his mask. "Lead the way."
Robin nodded, stepping carefully beneath the first of the ancient pillars. When nothing happened he nodded, satisfied, and began to trek towards the ruins with newfound energy. He slowed, however, when he realized that the ruins didn't feel the same way they had before. The first time they had visited the ruins there had been a feeling approaching sanctity in the place, a lingering sensation of calm and timelessness that had initially made the travelers uneasy. Now it just felt like the rest of the desert. Cold, stale and empty. Sterile, that was the word Robin was looking for. The ruins felt sterile, which was even more distressing as he recalled how wonderous they had been before. Until it struck him that the ruins all at once felt too sterile, as if this was intentional.
"It doesn't feel right," Tharja said softly, echoing his thoughts.
"What does it feel like?" Sully asked, instantly on guard.
"Nothing," Robin said. "It feels like… emptiness. Absence of life, of matter… which shouldn't be possible. Something's hiding this area, hiding whatever's here."
"Ooh, never could pull one over on you."
The Shepherds halted, looking up as one at the voice that called down to them. Above them, perched atop one of the many columns peppering the sands, was the figure of a young woman with long, billowing green hair. She sat casually, one leg dangling as she rested her chin on the knee of the other, her arms wrapped around her bent leg as she smiled down at the visitors in the twilight.
"Fae? Fae is that you?" Robin laughed. "I don't believe it! I'm so glad you're alive here!"
He took a few steps forward, stopping as the manakete slipped from her perch, smiling wide in relief. His smile faltered as Fae transformed mid-fall. His eyes widened in panic as she bore down on him, batting the nearby Chrom aside with her tail and stomping down with her foreclaw on Robin's chest, knocking him down and pinning him to the sand. She had never been as big as Tiki, but Fae was still easily twice the size of Nowi and Nah, and Robin resisted the urge to cry out as his injured hand was jostled. Then he realized he wouldn't have been able to anyway as Fae pressed down.
"W-wait! Stop!" Robin managed to croak.
"Begging already, Fell-spawn?" Fae snarled.
Robin grinned up at her, shaking his head slightly.
"Wasn't… talking… to you…" he wheezed.
Fae shifted, her draconian form taking in the scene around her. Tharja, Ricken and Arya all had spells primed and ready to release at the dragon. Olivia and Maribelle crouched not far from them, clearly intent on dragging Robin clear as soon as they got the chance. Leaving Chrom, Owain, Sully, Gaius, Say'ri and even Simia encircling the dragon, weapons drawn and pointed at her.
Surprisingly, it was the Deadlord that spoke first, her words a dangerous hiss as her red eyes glowed in the half-light. Robin had to resist the urge to roll his eyes when he realized Simia was holding a long Chon'sinian-style sword in both hands, totally ignoring the shackles on her wrists.
"Release the master and your passing will be swift," Simia almost whispered.
Fae pulled back ever so slightly, and Robin took the opportunity to gratefully suck in a breath.
"Stand down!" he shouted. "We're not here to fight! Fae, we're not here to fight!"
Some of the Shepherds shuffled a little, weapons dipping, but no one moved.
"You cannot fool me," Fae said, almost sadly. "You march here with human soldiers, yet you don't even try to hide the Risen in your midst? Hubris, fell-spawn. I will not let you pass, no matter whose face you wear."
"Lady Fae, please! Robin is not your enemy!" Chrom tried instead. "Look! I bear Naga's brand! I'm holding Falchion! Why would I ally with my sworn enemy?"
"Yet I know that Exalt Chrom is dead," Fae responded hotly. "Grima lies! Grima manipulates! I-"
"Robin is not Grima!"
Everyone turned to watch as Arya let her spell fizzle out, smoke still rising from her clenched fist as she stomped forward. She had a look of great distaste on her face, but as she got closer Robin could see she was blinking back tears. The girl stopped just shy of Robin's head, standing over him and glaring up at the dragon. Fae actually brought her draconian head down to Arya's level, matching her glare for glare.
"Really?" Fae asked, unimpressed.
Arya nodded, not breaking eye contact. "Robin is not, nor was he ever or will he ever be, Grima. Robin fought hard and almost died to avoid becoming Grima's host. He has suffered greatly to remain who he is, and to keep his own soul. He endured suffering I cannot even begin to imagine to not only save himself, but all of us. That's what you told me. Those were your words, not mine."
Fae seemed to stop for a moment, leaning slightly closer and narrowing her eyes.
"I have no recollection of you, human," she said at length. "Nor is Grima dead. You lie."
"She's actually not lying," Robin said from beneath them. "We're kinda… tourists?"
"We are from a different, parallel world where Grima was defeated," Chrom reiterated. "Make no mistake, we fully intend to kill Grima again. But we could use your help."
"Again?" Fae laughed. "You really expect me to believe that you killed him at all? It doesn't work that way! You cannot fool me! You all stink of his corruption!"
"From where I'm lying, so do you," Robin said.
Fae's gaze snapped down to him, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
"Everything does," Robin went on, before she could kill him for the insult. "That's what he does. Grima's power is coercive, a corruption, a cancer, and it's infected everything left in this world. Including you and including us. We need to stop him before- will you get the hell off me already!? I feel ridiculous explaining this from down here!"
To everyone's surprise Fae actually did step off Robin, shuffling backwards and glaring at the man as he slowly sat up. Once he was freed Robin was wracked with a coughing fit, almost falling back down as he doubled over. Arya and Simia were both at his side in an instant, the girl holding him up as the Deadlord placed herself between Robin and the Manakete.
"I'm not Grima, and that fact is what's killing me," Robin said shakily.
The tactician went to continue speaking but faltered when he saw a perfect mirror image of himself step out from behind one of the columns.
"Ominous. Also, a little over-dramatic," his doppelganger said flippantly. "True, though. I can tell that much even from here. Stand down, kid. Boss wants to see 'em."
The draconian Fae gave the newcomer an incredulous look as he approached. The Shepherds, though, those who had fought against Grima in their own timeline, anyway, had a far more visceral reaction.
"Dammit! Form up! Protect Robin and the mages!" Chrom shouted. "Tharja, Ricken, give us some cover!"
The rest were already in motion, moving to protect the defenseless members of the group while the two mages began to prepare spells. The second Robin blanched, holding up his hands and rushing in front of Fae.
"Wait! Wait!" the doppelganger shouted quickly. "Clearly this was in bad taste! Okay, okay! I'm sorry! Hold on a second!"
There was a flash of light, and the second Robin appeared to shimmer and ripple, as if being viewed from under water. His features blurred and changed, until an exact copy of Owain was standing where the second Robin had been.
"Oh gods, like we needed a third one of him," Robin groaned.
"Hey!" Owain barked indignantly.
"I can do more, wanna see?" Owain's double laughed.
"Enough playing around, Xane," Fae sighed, suddenly in her human form again.
"Bah, you're no fun. Fine," the second Owain sighed.
The flash of light and rippling repeated, and the Owain copy was replaced by a tall, thin man with bright red hair. He was approaching middle age, his long hair falling halfway down the back of his deep red tunic, and he wore no discernable weapons despite having just been carrying both Robin and Owain's swords when he had been mimicking them. He gave the assembled Shepherds a roguish grin, reaching up to fiddle with the small white feather tucked behind one ear.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Xane of the Divine Dragons, at your service," he said with a small bow. "Now, as I previously stated before little-miss-sourpuss ruined my fun, my boss would like to have a word with you all. Except the Risen. That thing can stay up here with Fae. Don't eat it, girl, you know what those things do to your digestion."
Simia responded by narrowing her eyes and hissing, but Robin cut her off by stepping around her, limping forward.
"You're a dragon too?" he asked, in awe.
"Eh, kinda," Xane shrugged. "If I said I 'was' a dragon, would that be good enough for now? C'mon, we're burning daylight here, let's go!"
"Wait! Where are we going? Who are you?" Chrom asked, stepping forward with Robin.
Xane glanced back over his shoulder, heaving a long, theatrical sigh. The red-haired man turned, taking all the Shepherds in at a glance.
"Naga definitely didn't choose your line because of your family's intelligence, did she?" he muttered. "Okay, let me make this simple. My boss has asked me to bring you to him. I'm also supposed to mention that no harm will come to you or any members of your… party."
He hesitated at the end, gaze lingering on Simia. The Deadlord scoffed and spat in the sand.
"Okay," Robin said with a nod.
"Okay? Just like that!?" Sully snapped. "I seem to remember you havin' a bit more common sense!"
"When did Robin ever have common sense?" Ricken sighed.
"Anyone who doesn't want to come can stay here with Fae and the Risen," Robin said, rolling his eyes. "Anyone else can come with Chrom and I as we follow the… uh… weird… shape-shifting former dragon? I'm sorry, what are you, anyway?"
"I'm Xane, milord, and that's all that I am," the red-haired man laughed with another bow. "So, who's coming?"
There was a brief clamor among the Shepherds as it was decided that Robin, Chrom, Arya, Tharja, Owain and Olivia would go. Say'ri, Sully, Gaius, Maribelle and Ricken opted to remain with Simia, the Deadlord visibly unhappy about being separated from Robin.
"Alrighty!" Xane clapped excitedly. "Fae, play nice! The rest of you, follow me, please!"
The eccentric man set off with long strides, Robin and Chrom exchanging a glance before following after him. Chrom walked with one hand on Falchion's hilt, Arya never drifting far from Robin's side. Xane led them to the center of the ruins, where Robin remembered the foundations of where a great building had once stood made up a sort of altar. There was nothing at the center of the space this time, and with a sinking feeling Robin realized that there was no familiar magical resonance here.
"Okay, my new human friends!" Xane declared with a big smile. "This may be a bit disorienting at first but try not to throw up. Boss!? We're ready for ya!"
As he finished Xane stomped one foot in the center of the altar expectantly. There was a moment of silence as the Shepherds waited for something to happen and Xane chuckled, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head.
"Sorry, it takes him a little bit sometimes," the shapeshifter said. "He is kinda old."
As Robin opened his mouth to question who, exactly, they were waiting on he was seized by the familiar sensation of teleportation magic. Olivia and Arya both looked slightly panicked, and Chrom gave him a worried look. Robin just shrugged. After all, they had come this far.
There was a familiar flash of light and sense of displacement, and Robin and the others found themselves standing in a well-lit cavern.
Arya gave a low groan, bending over slightly and holding onto Robin's shoulder to keep herself upright. The tactician laughed, reaching over to rub circles on her back until the teleportation-nausea abated.
"Where are we?" Chrom asked, looking around.
"You are in the last sanctuary of the Manaketes, Awakener," someone said from behind them.
The Shepherds turned, coming face to face with a wizened old man in ancient robes, his long white beard falling well past his waist. Xane linked his fingers behind his head, whistling a little as he nonchalantly moved to stand behind the old man's shoulder.
"I am Gotoh, and I bid you welcome to our home," the old man said with a tired smile.
AN: I did say I was getting this story finished… even if it kills me. If I were a smart man I would have planned ahead, put Robin's dream-calling stuff into earlier chapters. Next chapter: DLC Map 1! Eeeeee!
ANNOUNCEMENT TIME!
Metallover's back, and in a big way! After a few months of soul-searching and rejection letters I've decided that this is where I belong for now, and I've got plans for the next few years' worth of stories. I'm rocking a (P)atreon account now, so check the link on my bio and give it a look! Please consider dropping a few bucks for my work, I'd really appreciate it. By doing so you'll not only be supporting me, but you'll be getting access to drafts, previews and exclusive video-blog posts! Also, like, chapters early and stuff. Maybe art? Original works? Who knows! It's gonna be great!