The Battle of Gronder Field was won.
Even as Seiros took that information in, something was wrong. Very wrong. She couldn't quite place what, exactly, but there it was, as clear as the new day. Even as Cichol went over the reports, about how Nemesis had escaped again – that part made her heart burn in her chest, and images of Zanado flashed in her mind – and how most of his army had been decimated, including the abominations that Nemesis had taken with him, she still couldn't shake the feeling.
I need to find Ashton.
"Are you listening to me?" Cichol finally asked, placing the parchment down on the perishable table as Seiros looked beside him and out of the tent. "This is important, Seiros. I would not recommend pursuing Nemesis as we are; while we have gained the upper hand, our army is too exhausted to give chase."
"Did you see Ashton, among the retreating soldiers?" Seiros suddenly asked, her voice quiet as she looked to Cichol. "Tell me, Cichol, whether you saw him or not."
Cichol raised a brow before his face darkened. "Much as I care for him, and how much I know you care for him, Seiros, there are other things we need to be discussing."
"Tell me, then," Seiros sighed, "the hour grows long and-!"
At that moment, a familiar face burst into the tent. Seiros looked up, her hand on her sword in an instant as Cichol followed suit, his face stern as he regarded the new arrival with suspicion. His gaze softened upon seeing dark hair, tied in a ponytail.
"Jasmin," Cichol said. "You do realize you are interrupting an important meeting, correct?"
"B-begging your pardons, I have ill news," Jasmin struggled, and Seiros and Cichol saw she was bleeding.
"Forget ill news, you are injured," Cichol said, turning to Seiros. "I will take her to the infirmary."
"No! No," Jasmin coughed, holding up a hand. "B-before you do so, my saints, you need to know. I saw him. Ashton, among the dead."
Cichol blinked, his gaze turning to Jasmin one more time as the temperature within the room plummeted. "Are you… certain?"
"T-they dragged his corpse away," Jasmin stammered. "It was Nemesis. The King of Liberation! I saw him! I know not why they took him, but-!"
"I need to go. Now," Seiros said, her voice ice cold as she pushed past Cichol and Jasmin.
The sun was just beginning to show over the clouds that had clogged the day before. Seiros' gold-accented robes glittered in the sun, her winged crown a beacon for all to see, and yet not a single person greeted her, none dared to approach her as she made her way out of camp. Even Cichol decided not to pursue her, not then. He trusted she would come back, no matter what she found, but he knew it would be difficult going forward.
Cichol had forgotten what a calming influence Ashton had been, and truthfully his heart ached at losing a friend, but what Ashton had with Seiros was deeper, and could cause worse damage. He prayed that the Empire would be able to withstand it, whatever the outcome would be.
A shadow was cast upon Gronder Field as Seiros flew through the skies, her wing beats almost sounding like thunderclaps to any looters down below. Her blood ran cold at seeing such devastation, but she could not find it in herself to truly care for it. The blood there paled in comparison to the carnage that Zanado had faced, and was still marked by.
Seiros' eyes scanned every corner of the field, until finally, they settled upon a sparkling object, almost too distant to see. But Seiros' eyes were far stronger than any human, especially in her bestial form, and slowly, she descended to the ground. It shook as she landed, water and mud splashing as she landed before her form changed. A green glow surrounded her, and a moment later, she was in her human form, looking down upon a warhammer.
It was the same warhammer she had commissioned Macuil to make for Ashton. So that he would be better able to handle himself on the battlefield. She stood before it, her fists clenched so tightly blood dripped from them to the ground.
"Ashton…" Seiros whispered. "You… you lied to me."
She approached the discarded weapon and knelt beside it, taking it into her hands as she feebly tried to wash the blood and mud from it.
"First, he takes all that we are," Seiros murmured, her brows twitching as she tries to maintain her composure. "My brethren, slain by his wicked hand. Then, he wars with what's left, as if to prove his dominance, to spit in the face of all we stood for."
Seiros hugged the warhammer, with tears falling freely from her face, yet her expression still did not break.
"And now, finally, he takes you as well," Seiros finished, her voice cracking finally. She stood up, still cradling the warhammer as if it were a child. "I will not rest, my dear Ashton, until you, and all that has been taken from me, is avenged. I will watch as the life drains from his eyes and flows freely upon the earth the goddess granted humanity. And then, I will join you, once our children and our children's children are able to grow freely in the radiant sun."
When she returned to camp that night, her battle dress was covered in blood, her sword glimmering like a fang in the light of the campfires, and still none dared approach her. Stories were spoken of a horrific massacre across the Airmid River, of people torched alive by the Immaculate One, all of them the retreating army of Nemesis. In her other hand, she carried a hammer that would one day be used to smash through the King of Liberation's defenses, and free the continent from his raids once and for all.
A year after the battle, Ella found Roland drinking wine against a fire. She hadn't been invited into the Aegir household, but she knew Roland wouldn't mind. In the long term, anyway; and even then, he was much too drunk to care even in the short term.
"Drowning your sorrows already?" Ella asked, her usually peppy voice a lot less so than it used to be. She sighed when Roland didn't answer. "It's barely afternoon, Roland."
"What else is there to do within this dung-hole of a city?" Roland rasped, taking another swig of his wine bottle. "Tell me, Ella, what the point of all of this is. Tell me about the endless battles we have fought in, tell me of the war that will never be won. Tell me of the chill that creeps into my bones at night."
"Drinking yourself to death like this certainly is gonna help, you know?" Ella said quickly, moving forward to take the bottle away from Roland.
Roland moved the bottle away greedily, glaring at her. "You shall not deprive me of the one thing that makes it easier to forget."
"You'll forget now," Ella replied, trying not to sneer at Roland's visage. The beginnings of a scraggly beard stretched across his face, and his eyes seemed glassy and unblinking, like a doll's. "But you'll always remember. You can't outrun this, Roland. What about what you said you would do? What about your wife?"
"A wife, decided for me," Roland spat, "a life, chosen for me. That is all there is to it, Ella. We do not control our destiny. I wonder if Ashton knew that, before he was viciously murdered in a battle for nobody and nothing."
Ella's face went stark white. "Don't say his name like that."
"Why? Who will speak out if I say his name?" Roland asked loudly, looking around the room as if to ask a group of ghosts to rebuke him. "Anybody? Anybody at all? See? Nobody cares. Nobody. All they care about is the Church, with some prophet that gave us ill portends. This Empire is less than a century old, and yet these problems are already sunken so deeply that the only way to remove them is through the roots."
"Roland, you're drunk," Ella said.
Roland let out an uncharacteristically boisterous laugh, slamming his bottle against the arm of his chair. "Tell me something I do not know, Ella! Tell me of the goddess and Nemesis! Tell me why we fight for a war we will never see the end of! Perhaps this is not a tragedy. Perhaps it is simply a prelude to the world's greatest comedy! The funniest performance this continent has ever seen!"
"Alright, that's enough out of you, Roland," Ella said, putting both hands on Roland's shoulders. "Look, just go to bed. I know it's afternoon but don't worry. I'll take care of things around here, alright? Just, calm down."
"You, of all people, telling me to calm down? This really is a comedy,"
"Am I wrong?" Ella asked.
"I think you do not understand the gravity of the situation. Not like I do. You are free to do as you wish; but for those of us who are…" Roland lost his line of thought and looked off into the crackling fire. "I used to sit with him right beside me here. We would talk for hours about nothing in particular. He was a regular guest within my household. It feels horribly empty in here without him."
"We both know that's the real reason you're like this," Ella pointed out, standing back. "Enough with this pessimistic talk. Do you think he'd want you to be like this?"
"He is dead. He does not want anything. You cannot want when you are dead," Roland remarked bitterly. "He left behind something. A hole where he used to be. I know not who the woman he vowed to spend the rest of his life with is, but if it is who I think it is, then we are doomed."
Ella raised a brow. "What're you talking about?"
"Can you not see? He had a Crest for years," Roland replied, holding up his bottle. "He never spoke of it to us, but I could feel it all the same. Where do you suppose he received that Crest from? Where do you suppose he was able to obtain a hammer of such glorious make from? Why would he not tell us about her? The man was with Saint Seiros herself."
Ella blinked before taking a few steps back, as if she had been slapped. "That… makes a disturbing amount of sense."
"Indeed. And with him gone now, likely by the hands of one of the Elites, there will never be an end to this war until either we or Nemesis lies dead. It was always going to be that way, but now I can finally see it. Her anger must be running hot, itching to tear them all limb from limb. And we are to be the ones sacrificed for her to achieve that goal."
"I think we've had enough pessimism for one day, Roland, don't you?" Ella said, her eyes narrowing. "I know I'm repeating myself here but drinking yourself into a stupor isn't gonna help."
"And I remember telling you that it helps me forget. Fine, then. I will do as you ask and fall into a dreamless sleep. Perhaps I shall not awaken, though I know that would be too merciful of that goddess."
Roland stood up, his chair creaking behind him as he took a few careful steps before nearly tripping. Ella was there in an instant, keeping him from collapsing entirely.
"Told you," Ella whispered. "C'mon, Roland, let's get you to bed."
Roland murmured to himself all the while Ella hauled him away, hoping that his wife wouldn't see him in such a state.
Saladin watched the life leave many people he could call friends as the wars against Nemesis continued.
Decades after the Battle of Gronder Field, and his bones had grown rigid and frail, his muscles had become far less than what they once were, and even his trusty axe, the sole symbol of his fealty to Saint Seiros and the church, gathered dust within the halls of the Knights of Seiros. He was too old to continue fighting; he had no been blessed with near-immortality that first generation crest bearers were given. He had fathered several children with an Adrestian woman, but none of them would be given the life they had been promised.
The next generation of Knights would occasionally come to him for guidance, but that became less and less often as the wars raged across the continent. The light days of his tenure were gone, replaced with the obsolescence he had always feared.
The old knight Saladin would never again take up his axe, it having been returned to the Knights and occasionally loaned out to one with a compatible crest. All he could do was sit at the end of the barracks he had once called home and watch young men and women march off into battles they would 'win', and a war they would never see the end of.
One day, his eyes never opened at all, and he was buried with little fanfare.
When Seiros looked upon her son, all grown up, she could feel the pinpricks of tears at the edge of her eyes.
In Imperial Year 90, the boy who had eagerly awaited his father and mother's return had grown into a strong man, his face becoming refined though never losing the finer features of his mother. His pointed ears were hidden by deep green hair, and his eyes shined with the wisdom of decades unchanging.
"Mother?" Arawn asked, staring at Seiros with narrowed eyes. "Is something the matter?"
Seiros was snapped out of her reverie, shaking her head after a moment. "No. I am fine, Arawn. What do you bring me?"
Arawn turned his head uncomfortably, his lips pressed into a fine line as he planted several pieces of parchment onto her desk. "Casualty reports, first and foremost. Our forces are depleted, but as always, Nemesis sustained greater casualties. He cannot keep his stranglehold on the northern regions for much longer. If we keep pressuring him, he will likely take to the field before long."
A dangerous fire flared within Seiros' eyes at that, one that made her son take a step back.
"Then my – our – vengeance is at hand," Seiros whispered. "It is almost done, my son. We will avenge your father. We will make him suffer for what he has done. For me and my own, for you, for every soul that has died under his watch, he will not live."
Arawn looked down, his lips quivering. For a moment, he didn't look like a man; he looked like the same child she remembered him being, the bubbly little boy who wanted nothing more than to see the world, his eyes widened with curiosity.
"I'm tired, mother," Arawn murmured. "I'm tired of the bloodshed. The fighting."
"It won't be much longer, my son," Seiros said, standing up. "The end is within sight. Can you not feel it?"
"We lost Aunt Hera when they took Fhirdiad," Arawn said, "Cethleann, my cousin – she was so badly damaged, she has entered a sleep from which she might never awake. When will it end? Please, mother, tell me."
"It will end when Nemesis lies dead. There is no other option," Seiros said, stepping forward. "Remember this, my son. Nobody but him is at fault for this. All of our pain, all of our suffering, it is his doing. Remember that every time you take your weapon and destroy his armies. Remember that every time something else is taken from you. Nemesis and his Elites, they are monsters, and we shall destroy them like monsters."
Arawn looked down at his feet, closing his eyes. "As you say, mother."
"Remember this, Arawn," Seiros said, placing both of her hands on her son's shoulders. "You are my cherished son. I love you. And nothing in this world will see me taken from you as well, or you from me."
"Father promised me something similar, before he left," Arawn replied, his voice cracking. "Will you keep this promise?"
"For as long as I am able," Seiros replied, taking a step back after a moment. "He is still with us, with you and I. And I will see to it that his tragedy is not repeated."
No more words were said between them. Arawn went to the battlefield, as always, leading the Knights of Seiros against Nemesis as a champion, his gleaming armor and hammer always within reach, always ready to turn the tide, heralding the Church as the dominant power on the continent. Few people saw the man beneath that armor, and by the time anyway did, it was already too late.
For when Nemesis was finally slain, and his kindred put to the sword, that champion was nowhere to be found.
In Imperial Year 96, the last stronghold of Nemesis' Elites was discovered and besieged. It was the last refuge of Lamine and her immediate companions; her family had safely evacuated and taken into custody. The same could not be said for the Elite herself, who was marked for death, with no possibility of surviving once the inner sanctum of her fortress was breached.
Said fortress was deep within the mountains of Fódlan's Throat, though it was clear she could not have been the one to build it; it was ancient, even by the standards of the Elites, and the architecture did not match anything anyone had ever seen. Nonetheless, it was besieged all the same, and not even the most alien fortifications could go against the storm forever.
For over a year, Lamine held out, weathering the power of the Adrestian Empire as best as she could, but eventually the lack of manpower and resources was too much, and in one massive assault, the fortress was sundered, and those who surrendered were allowed their lives. Lamine, however, was given no quarter. While her body did not adorn the walls of her fortress, she did not go gently.
Finally, after over seventy years of constant warfare, after the death of her lover and the disappearance of her son, Seiros could finally rest. Despite that, however, a part of her knew that something had been irrevocably lost. Whether it was her sanity, or simply the end of her family before it had even truly begun, she did not know, but she found herself entering the vault of the fortress all the same. She knew not what she would find inside, but something pulled her there.
If Seiros was losing her mind, then perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to meet her end in the dark below, away from the world that had taken so much from her.
Instead, she came across a new thing to live for.
She was accompanied by a small retinue of her knights. Seiros wasn't stupid enough to refuse their service, even in her fragile mental state. That was why her attempt was unsuccessful in its infancy. Nonetheless, she continued, passing by plundered gold reserves and weapons. No doubt they were the last horde of Nemesis and his allies – such ill-gotten goods would be turned over to the Empire and the Church, for the good of the continent.
After a time, however, tucked in the corner, sat a stone coffin. Such a thing would not be out of place; perhaps it had been an esteemed relative of Lamine, or one of the other Elites. What belayed its importance, however, was the glowing dot in the middle, with a small pane of glass near where the head would be.
"Stand by me," Seiros ordered, "and prepare for anything."
"Yes, Lady Seiros!" the leader of the knights replied, forming around her as she moved forward, her sweeping white robe fluttering about her as she leaned over.
The glass was slightly fogged, but a quick swipe later revealed the corpse inside.
The color promptly left Seiros' face. Her hand moved forward, as if to touch a face that wasn't there. Her eyes widened as a single name left her lips.
"Ashton?" Seiros whispered.
"My lady? Is something the matter?" one of the knights asked.
Seiros remained silent for a few moments, her eyes scanning the coffin. She did not know what manner of technology was at play, but she didn't care. She had finally found his body. She looked for a latch, or a keyhole, or anything that might open the casket. She found none. She wasn't desperate enough to open it with her bare hands; something was preventing her from doing so.
What if he is…
"Send a message," Seiros said, her voice low. "I want Saint Macuil here, now. Until he arrives, we will garrison this fortress. No one comes in or out. Am I understood?"
As if noticing the dangerous edge to her voice, or seeing her expression, the knights obeyed. When they left her, Seiros stayed at the coffin's side, unwavering in the face of her greatest failure.
"He's alive?"
"For what constitutes 'alive', in your definition," Macuil stated, walking around the coffin.
It was telling that of all the Saints that entered the war with her, the remnants of her brothers and sisters, Macuil was the only one who remained until the end. Cichol saw to healing Cethleann, and Indech had vanished almost as soon as Nemesis laid dead. The thought of her most acidic companion being, in the end, the most stalwart and loyal was an irony she almost couldn't bear.
Macuil stared down at the coffin, sneering as he saw Ashton's bloodied face within. "I had hoped I would never see this cretin again."
"Macuil."
Macuil raised a hand. "You need not fear me, Seiros. I shall not harm him. I doubt I could even if I tried. This is… why, this is Agarthan technology."
Seiros' eyes widened at that.
"In reasonable shape, as well. I wonder where Nemesis could have procured such a valuable artifact?" Macuil openly wondered. "I would not recommend opening this thing by force. You were right to call for me. This artifact is likely the only reason why he is still alive right now. Otherwise, he would have died of his injuries a long time ago."
"What is it doing to him?" Seiros asked, moving to the side of the coffin and placing her hand upon it, the one that still held the silver ring Ashton had gifted her. "Is there any way to… release him? I want him back."
"Prying him out of his coffin will just kill him," Macuil replied, crossing his arms. "Whatever technology that is keeping him alive will be gone. I cannot say for certain, but I believe it is mending him, healing the damage to his body and soul. And when it is finished, it will release him."
"How long?"
Macuil shrugged. "Who can say? Ten years? One hundred? A thousand? Ten thousand? This is Agarthan technology, Seiros. None of our race has seen this kind of thing for who knows how long. Even I only know of through my travels, and only through secondhand accounts. Sothis did not leave much left that worked, and what did was highly coveted, for a time."
"So he lives, and yet I cannot…" Seiros' voice cracked. "All I can do is look upon him, and not touch him? Is this to be further punishment?"
"Call it whatever you want. The fact of the matter is that he is alive, but for how long he shall remain in this state can only be guessed at. I thought you would be happier, Seiros; your human toy remains alive," Macuil grumbled.
Seiros' lips trembled for a moment before her expression became stony. She moved forward, causing Macuil to scoff.
"Do whatever you like with it. I do not much care," he said, before walking out of the vault, his footsteps echoing in the darkness.
Placing her hand against the cool stone again, Seiros felt something within her mend, even if only slightly.
"I will stay by your side, my dear Ashton. And when you awake, and when the goddess walks this world once more, then can we begin what we promised."
So after this chapter, I might be going on a bit of a break. Not because of anything bad happening in real life, but because I think I'm a bit burnt out on FE. Which makes sense, because I have been writing for FE for damn near three years straight, with two completed longfics under my belt. So, don't be surprised if there's no update next week. Which there still might be because I have a hard time keeping my word on these things lol, and who knows, maybe I'll suddenly feel really good and pump out the next chapter in a day or two.
Then again, I might just continue writing that Elden Ring fic I've been posting like hell the past few weeks. Who knows.
Here's a link to our Discord server: discord .gg/9XG3U7a
See you guys whenever I update next!