The Curse of Eternity
"So... this should be the last crevice in this cursed tomb. We clear out Forneus' laboratory, then... we somehow break to the surface. Is everyone ready?"
Alm let his words echo off the foreboding caverns, almost scared to breathe lest the rest of his company hear the iota of uncertainty plaguing his mind. Shaking such thoughts aside, he simply smiled with a nod, pressing his shoulder against the heavy stone door blocking their path.
It was an odd request really, all things considered. Here he was, not even the first King of Valentia for a hundred days before he was standing on foreign soil. His throne, his home, and all things Valentian lay a sea away, and the sooner they were done here, the better. Thabes, it was called, if he recalled the name correctly. It was an old capitol of some older town on the Archanean continent, long turned into ruins by forces beyond men.
That was the where.
As for the why?
A certain trio of Whitewings - Now reinstated in service of their native Macedonian country - had kept contact with their former leaders consistently after the war. After all, Valentia was an infant nation waddling towards prosperity, and having friends - vast sea be damned - would make politics a considerable bit easier. War seemed to be everywhere, and both countries were in a state of change. With Valentia unified yet unsure, all eyes looked to Alm and Celica.
For the first time in Valentian history, man foresaw the future not on the blessings and teachings of dragons, but from their king and queen. A man and a woman, just like them.
Strange rumors of foul magics and the restless dead raised eyebrows across Archanea and eventually, once word spread on the tongues of sailors, Valentia. With terrors having already staked their claim in Valentia, such news was not surprising, but nonetheless frightening in notion. With the newly-crowned Marth's manpower still leading recovery efforts in the mainland, there was neither time nor personnel to deal with village threats on the coast. Especially from something that had not yet been pressed to the Hero-King.
Of course, if a certain new king and queen were to quell one of the many problems on Archanea, there would be, quoth Palla, 'A finer reputation to be made of you and Valentia as a whole.'
...He hated long voyages on the sea, but after the last few hours? He would take sailing over Thabes for sure.
"We're ready, Alm," Celica spoke, shaking Alm out of his reverie. She didn't need to turn around, knowing that her confidence was fit to represent the others with her conviction. Giving a steady nod, the Valentian queen flashed a small grin as she slowly drew her sword. Beloved Zofia sang from her sheath, anticipating what would be one of the last fights it would ever partake in.
"Ready to leave this stinkhole, that's for sure." Tobin moaned. "Let's get this over with. Oh, how I miss my warm comfy bed..."
"Shut up you wuss," Gray chuckled, circling around to get into combat formation with the frontline units. "This isn't so bad... Actually, it is. It very much is... But shut up anyway."
With a heave, the doors were pushed open, revealing a grand chamber, torchlit yet dim. A pigment -most likely blood- painted the ground, giving the illusion of eyes running up and down the worn tiles.
"Aaaaand we'll look for another way out!" Boey exclaimed quickly, turning around immediately. Mae grabbed her husband by the arm and berated him lightly.
"Oh please! We've faced dragons, zombies, and dragon zombies! What could possibly-"
"Do you remember that beautiful sound? The first breaths of something greater than dragons? The first words of god!"
Grima jolted awake, a strange sensation filling his head as soon as he opened his eyes.
"What, even you get nightmares?" Morgan teased, already up. In her hands was two plates of breakfast but oddly enough, only one set of utensils.
"I... I think so," the human aspect admitted, staring upwards towards the ceiling before shaking his head. Morgan's smile dimmed noticeably.
"Yikes. It can't be that bad, right?"
"..."
"Oh."
"With any luck, it will happen again, and will probably make more sense. See, dragons, as far as I know, like to have visions. More likely it was a past or future event, far beyond my sentient recollection or mortal prediction. You would call it, uh, Déjà vu?"
"Sure. Yeah. Whatever."
"...Do I have to use smaller words?"
"Really? No."
Grima rolled out of the bed, strolling over to the table where Morgan visibly flinched when he sat down.
"I assume the other plate is for me?"
"Of course not. Get your own food."
"Uh-huh. You know, I don't need to eat."
"Your stomach rumbling says otherwise."
Grima snorted, shaking his head as he sat down across from Morgan, taking her spare plate in the process.
"It doesn't rumble."
"Get your own-"
"Hush, before I take your fork too."
"..."
"..."
The only sound to be heard was Morgan chewing and Grima playfully levitating pieces of egg into his mouth. For a while, neither of them said anything, merely enjoying their meal.
"So how bad was it?"
"...Oh?"
"The nightmare."
"It wasn't a nightmare."
"Then what do you call it?"
"Do you know how long I've been alive?"
"I dunno. Hundreds of years? Thousands? You're not Medeus. And you're definitely not human."
"A number, Morgan."
"Several," she replied sarcastically.
"Not even I know, to be honest."
"Then why ask?"
"As immortal as we are," Grima explained, "Us Dragons have humble beginnings too."
"And here you are about to brag about it. Don't worry. Humans brag when they kill one of your kind off. Er, when we do, of course."
"...That's the one flaw in our existence. The gods... we were meant to be the perfect beings. But eternity has its downfalls."
"Madness," Morgan guessed.
"Madness."
Grima sighed, pausing his meal for a quick minute.
"Naga and I have watched humanity grow strong over the ages. Sometimes, they aspire to their potential. Other times, they fall short and collapse on their own undoings. Naga brings life, Grima brings death. In varying amounts of course. Every possibility has been played out by now, all except one."
"What do you mean?"
"You know by now, how the Fell Dragon needs a human vessel. Without it, it succumbs to the maddening spiral that is eternity, just like so many others before us. The duty of the Fell Dragon is to be the antithesis of Naga. But he must do it with clear mind and conscience, not as a mad deity blindly and wildly spewing death."
"Then explain the world I come from. The worlds you made me witness?"
"What you witnessed," Grima explained, "was the Fell Dragon finally falling into madness. What you saw was me reclaiming my freedom and the punishment that world suffered in return. See, it's not the dragon that's to blame for dooming humanity time and time again."
"It's... you. The Robin that was offered to the Fell Dragon to be his vessel."
"Dragons grow mad after a few thousand years, it's true. In the case of Naga and I, it compounded exponentially due to our presiding over the eternity that is time and space. Watch humanity fall, rise, fall, rise over and over... it... hurts, after a while. I thought nothing could hurt us once we donned that mantle. But no matter what happens, you can't win. Not even we can win against forever. It's maddening, and I'm glad I wasn't conscious for the majority of it." Grima smiled slightly, shaking his head in defeat.
"So you escaped it somehow? That doesn't make sense."
"Of course it does. Do you recall how Manaketes curb their fury?"
"Dragonstones. Mother and the others use them. To keep them human."
"Precisely. Dragonstones are special as they are something we can force our anger, our hate, our desires into. When such base emotions are curbed, we, like humans, are harmless. Cunning, yet calm. But unleash that primal factor, let it become you, well... That's where we all fall, eventually. Except Naga. She was her own dragonstone, in a way."
"But you didn't have a dragonstone, did you," Morgan realized. "You had Robin."
"Give a human all the things that make dragons go mad, and most of them die rather quickly. The power consumes them. But in very rare instances, in the case of our devilishly handsome vessel, they embrace the power. They transcend. That is the duty of the Grimleal. To offer the dormant Fell Dragon the key to using his powers without losing control of his mind. At the cost of the human vessel, of course."
"And?"
"Robin is indeed a suitable vessel for the Fell Dragon's power. But ideal as he was, he was never willing to do something so heinous in his eyes. My last memories of being human... I was forced with two Grimleal holding each of my limbs as we, like lambs on an altar, were sacrificed on the Dragon's Table. The madness took me quite instantly, and that's the last I can remember. But for the eternity that followed, my human heart fought and fought... it created a rift, eventually. After facing down Falchion so many times, it cleaved a path of clarity in my mind until one day, I could control the power I had at my disposal. Not as the Fell Dragon, but as the human I once was. And the human, like so many others, believed that Grima should die."
"You aren't wrong with that," Morgan snorted. "But just because we believe you doesn't mean we should trust you."
"Believe what you will. Not even I know everything. That's part of the reason I'm so invested in Valm right now. There has to be some texts in Walhart's castle that define my early days of existence. He wouldn't be so driven to stop Plegia if he didn't know what Grima could do. As vast as my knowledge is, it isn't infinite. There is yet history to learn. History that existed far before my existence."
"But you watched worlds form. You-"
"Remember that I was never conscious during the early ages of man. In the time after Medeus, something... happened. There has always been writings of Naga, but none of Grima. None so old as her."
"And you think Walhart knows something?"
"Walhart resides in what used to be the old Rigellian castle. Text, despite its fragile nature, retains valuable information. Information I need, and do not have."
"What I don't get," Morgan admitted, "is why we are stopping Valm, when they already know the true enemy. Wouldn't it be easier to access their library that way?"
Grima sighed, looking abstractly at the map behind them, then back to Robin's daughter.
"Walhart, unlike other men of his position, is driven to conquer the world. Most dictators stop at a few countries or a continent at most. Walhart... I feel the energy in his heartbeats. His desire to see others rise under his power and to cull to weak. That isn't the will of man. That's the will of something far worse."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you recall the formation of the then-Kingdom of Valentia?"
"Of course," Morgan nodded. "It happened during the events of the War of Shadows on Archanea. King Alm and Queen Celica slew the dragon Duma and freed their country from the influences of dragons."
"Yes. Duma... He was long slain by Alm, hence the name of this continent. But it takes a lot to fully erase a dragon. They pour their influence into everything: their teachings, their strength. And even after a few thousand years, I feel a faint corrupted power out there. Most likely within Walhart."
"You think that's how Walhart has his will to conquer? You think the essence of Duma sought him out?"
"I could be wrong, but were the matter be true, I wouldn't be surprised. But still, he must be stopped, no matter his power. Duma was not malicious. He believed in trials and adversity, not slaughter. But Walhart... If he has taken hold of Duma's energy, he may have been corrupted. Remember what I said about humanity that embraced a dragon's power?"
"They go mad?"
"Perhaps Walhart isn't mad, but he is indeed dangerous. He will conquer Ylisse, Regna Ferox, but Plegia? I sense a genocide. A full extinction of the Plegian race is at hand if we don't save them."
"Genocide. I thought you'd smile at that."
"I took no pleasure in doing my duty. Maybe the dragon part of me did. Not this part."
"Plegia deserves to survive. Their people have been corrupted by one too many."
"It is my homeland after all. It's my duty to save them, in a way."
"..."
"Yes, well, enough of that. It's barely morning and we have quite the march ahead of us. Oh, and whoever cooked these eggs has my compliments."
"Thanks," Morgan smiled. "It's weird, coming from you, but thank you."
"Oh? You're our mystery chef? Is that why you felt entitled to double portions?"
"...Yes."
"Then by all means," Grima smiled, giving back the plate that had plenty of food still left. "I can get my own plate."
As Grima rose, he noticed Moragn eyeing him suspiciously all the way to the tent entrance.
"What's your game, dragon? You've done horrible things to us. You think you can walk around so casually just because everyone else thinks you're my father? Just because we think you're human? You think after telling these stories that you somehow have our support?"
"...Of course not. And even if I told you I was here to make things right for humanity before I kill myself, you wouldn't believe me."
"You think that justifies the hell you've put us through? And what about Kana and the other Nohrian and Hoshidan children? They aren't even Ylissean and you dragged them into this-"
"Morgan."
The girl shut up.
"When it's my time to go, after I'm sure humanity has earned its place above the dragons, I will personally allow you to stab me my human heart. I will let you release whatever pent up rage you have into my dying corpse. I will grant you the honor of landing the final blow on me. But until then? Let me fulfill Robin's wish to save Ylisse. And one more thing..."
Grima opened up the tent, his smile more menacing than anything else.
"Don't you dare get in the way of letting me save Naga."
Xander had been riding for nearly 12 hours now, and while his heart still yearned for action, his horse needed rest. Pulling off the trail, he dismounted and tried to make sense of where he was. Slumping against a tree while his horse drank eagerly. Pulling a map from his saddlebag, he deduced that he was still a long way from Nohr but growing closer and closer to the border. Once he crossed the Valmese coast, he would be on Nohrian soil. It was strange, how these foreign continents melded - Valmese coast seemed to fit perfectly with Nohr's western border. It certainly warranted some research into Nohr's geographical history, that was certain.
Xander's horse ceased drinking, ears flickering.
Horses. Multiple. And riders.
Xander almost dove into the brush, but remembered his mission. He was a prince of Nohr, not some scum hiding behind a disguise. He saddled up, riding out to meet them.
"With any luck, they'll be Nohrian knights and recognize me."
Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to block the road since Xander had yet to gauge their numbers...
"A lone rider? Out here?"
They rode closer to Xander, who remained still. Four of them. All heavily armed and armored.
"This isn't Valmese colors. This looks like one of those Nohrians!"
"I am Nohrian," Xander announced sternly. "Who might you be?"
"One Nohrian against four Valmese. Heh."
"Against?" Xander asked.
"Yes, against. Or did you forget what your king did to our people?"
"What King Garon does is not my place to judge," the prince replied, curious as to this new development.
"Then allow us to demonstrate," the lead knight challenged, drawing his sword quickly.
Xander quickly brought his horse back, retreating back from the path as he drew his spare sword. Siegfried lay quiet by his saddle. As dire the situation was, it wouldn't be necessary to reveal his heritage. Weren't Valm and Nohr allies? Unless... treachery?
"You would kill a Nohrian, that much is certain. But why?"
"Why? When Nohr rose from the Valmese Sea, Walhart saw in them strength. Our Emperor offered your starving people food! Do you know what they sent in return? Faceless! Slaughtered our refugee camps. Those that we couldn't rebuild a home for! And then he dares to 'ally' with us, under threat of wiping out even more of our villages?"
"So Nohr and Valm being allies is-"
"Bullshit!" The knight charged, and Xander parried his blow as their horses passed each other. The other three knights stuttered around, not knowing whether to follow their leader or to remain passive.
"What are you idiots doing! Kill this Nohrian! Avenge our families, damn it!"
"Cease this nonsense," Xander ordered, keeping his distance from the angrier horseman. "Clearly you are in knowledge of something I have none of. Why are Nohrian troops fighting alongside Valmese ones against the Ylissean League? Are we allies or not?"
"You really don't know, do you? Well, good. Now Nohr gets to know what getting stabbed in the back felt like!"
Siegfried left its sheath with a flaming cadence.
"Now where'd you get a sword like that? No matter. Prepare to die, Nohrian!"
"I am Crown Prince Xander of Nohr. General of her army, and first son to her King. Now you will comply with my questions or I will exterminate your squad and move on to the next group of soldiers that I come across. Why is Nohr fighting alongside Valm?"
As the four horsemen charged Xander, the crown prince felt more than remorse as he prepared to fire off a bolt of energy. This was murder, wasn't it? Valm and Nohr were supposedly allies, but here they were at each other's throats.
All the more reason to hurry to Windmire. Surely something was amiss. And these riders were certainly proof of that.
Siegfried never held back. Her wielder could at least wish their souls peace.
Laslow and Peri watched at a distance as Xander dispatched the four riders ruthlessly, not even bothering to check their corpses as he kept on the ride towards Windmire.
"He knows we're following him. And yet he's done nothing," Laslow sighed. "We have no choice but to keep going. But the farther we get from home, the more dangerous our journey will be. And the less likely our safe return," he added with a gulp.
"We'll be fine! I'll stab anyone that gets too close!"
"We pledged our lives to Prince Xander. I won't back down on that vow, even now. But I... I don't think we're making it out of this one alive. We're traitors, Peri."
"No we're not! We..."
With a furious yell, she rode on, leaving Laslow's horse in the dust. Mounting up, the Ylissean wished a silent prayer.
"Father, Luci. I vow to return home alive."
"Garon is going to either imprison or downright kill Xander as soon as he enters the court," Azura predicted, none too pleased about the current turn of events. "Peri and Laslow are with him. Which means they're also in Windmire. Which also means they are going to die."
"I didn't expect anyone to follow him," Grima admitted, going over his options. "Beruka and Kellam are still feeding us intel, but they won't know about Xander's return until it's too late. I can't send in anyone else."
"Not even his siblings?"
"No matter what Xander says, I doubt the story or truth will be enough to persuade King Garon to let him off. Xander makes very sure his loyalty to Nohr is forthright. But I could see the wavering in his resolve. He knows his siblings might try and follow him. It's going to be a hard few days to predict."
"We have to save him. If he dies, and if Siegfried is lost, then how will we ignite the Seal of Flames? Falchion won't be enough against Anankos."
"I need you to send me there. There's a lake nearby. Send me to Valla, and I'll find my way to Nohr from the Astral Sea. It's been a while since I negotiated those stars, but I'll make it."
"What?" Azura wondered, already feeling her pendant tingling.
"Xander is going to need a prisoner if he's returning as a hero," Grima shrugged, the tactician within awoken once more. "If the Commander of the Shepherds were to end up in his clutches, he wouldn't be much of a traitor now, would he?"
