Severa checked the straps on her armour out of habit. She already knew that the red gold plates were tightly fastened, that she was as ready as she ever would be.
Still the redhead checked, feeling relief as she confirmed what she already knew.
It was a good plan.
She knew it was a good plan.
The others had agreed, although only Inigo and Owain knew the full details.
The knight felt nervous. They were nerves borne of seeing failure after failure. The nerves of knowing what they were up against.
The Grand Reception loomed over her; bare balconies robbed of the tapestries that once warmed the room. Ylisstol castle felt less like the second home she had come to love and more like a judge, peering down at a supplicant, questioning whether they truly deserved to protect Ylisse.
In truth it wasn't a matter of deserving anything. She was all that Ylisse had left and she would gladly die defending her home.
The gathering here represented the dregs of the war council alongside commanders dealing with the last preparations ahead of the final battle. The entrance would form the command post for the first part of the assault and gradually be abandoned as the fighting got closer to the castle in favour of a mobile station. Laurent had taken the role of general. His head for organisation was more than up to the task and truthfully there simply weren't enough soldiers left that significant changes in strategy would be required.
Although she was the best tactician they had, she would serve better near the front line in this battle. People needed to see her on that front line, fighting and dying to save her friends.
Geirskögul in its blue and golden glory rested on her shoulder. It was her weapon of choice today. Whilst she favoured the sword, one sat scabbarded at her waist, the spear would give her better reach and allow her to coordinate with her soldiers more effectively. Inigo had demanded she use it, even though he'd taken quite a liking to the golden lance.
He was right to, their strategy required every advantage available. Inigo was central to the plan, the bait required to draw Grima out one more time. But that would mean that he wouldn't see combat until the very end, so a powerful weapon would be wasted in his hands.
Severa looked over at the handsome Exalt, as he conferred with Owain. The younger prince was leading the evacuation from Ylisstol, much his chagrin. They were surrounded by Risen, but with luck the battle in the capital might draw enough of the horde away to allow the civilians and a small force to punch through to Southtown. As far as they knew, it still held, the citizens mounting a spirited defense to keep the only safe harbour in the country open as long as possible for evacuation or reinforcements, whichever came first.
Inigo had never seemed made for the role of Exalt. But clad in his azure armour, sword at his side, she had to admit that he had grown into the title. He would be a good leader. He didn't have the same inspiring presence as Lucina, but his false smile projected composure and optimism.
Another Severa, one from not too long ago, would have been annoyed at him for his act. But now she saw its nobility. Inigo smiled for those that couldn't. He fought through his own pain to lessen that of those around him.
And, she thought to herself, to allow him to say how he truly felt, without anyone getting hurt.
They'd spoken a lot since that day. But neither had addressed their feelings. They didn't want to upset the balance they had found so close to the end.
That was a lie.
They were simply too scared.
Lucina had told her that fear shouldn't control her. But the way she felt when she looked at Ylisse's new Exalt, her childhood friend, wasn't a sensation she could suppress easily.
Mustafa entered through one of the side doors. The old Plegian general had managed to do an exemplary job of disentangling his troops when it became clear that Lucina had fallen at the battle of Alcruna. His work had saved thousands, the troops he saved riding to the aid of others who were more deeply embroiled.
It had earned him the right to lead the evacuation to Southtown, a privilege that he'd declined. Instead, the muscular man had volunteered to act as her second, going willingly where the fighting would be hottest.
"It wouldn't sit well with me if I got out alive and someone else didn't," he'd told her. "The truth is, that I'm alive now doesn't sit all that well with me either."
Severa understood. Mustafa didn't want to die, but it felt unfair that he continued where so many young and promising people had seen their lives cut short. That she lived but Gerome and Lucina were gone.
The redhead took a breath. Lucina wouldn't want her to think that way, Gerome would be happy that she was alive. She would live for them, to thank them.
"Mustafa are we ready?" she asked as he approached her, presumably to give that exact update.
"Aye my Lady," he replied with a nod, "everyone's set, we're just waiting on your command."
As disastrous as the first battle with Grima had been, there was a silver lining. By the time Inigo had saved her, Kjelle had managed to rally the central forces scattered through Alcruna. When it became clear that something had gone wrong the cavalier had ordered a withdrawal. She'd actively argued against subordinates suggesting that they go reinforce Morgan or Noire.
It was a shocking manoeuvre for the short-haired girl. Severa would have placed a bet on her to charge in the hopes of winning against all the odds.
Kjelle had changed. As the campaign had worn on, she'd begun to show more restraint. It had paid off. A losing situation recognised, the best of Ylisse saved to serve in some other way.
Alongside Mustafa's disengagement, the two had given the Grand Tactician the skeleton of a defense force.
Mustafa's soldiers had primarily been cavalry and light infantry, they would form the guard escorting people out of the city. If they moved fast enough, the escort could clear Risen nearby before the undead could mass for an attack and hopefully keep the path to Southtown clear enough for the civilians to get away.
Kjelle's forces represented the most elite that Ylisse still had to offer, the very best picked for the task of defeating Grima, even though none had done more than see him during the first encounter.
They would be split into two stalling forces, designed to hold the Risen in the city and entice Grima into Ylisstol castle.
"You're sure you don't want to use the walls?" Mustafa questioned as she dutifully ran through all the checks she had in place.
She shook her head, "They're a trap. We could hold the city longer defending them, but it would become a battle of attrition and the Risen don't tire. Our only method of victory is having Grima confront Inigo. For that, we need him in the city and as many of our soldiers alive when it happens."
It struck her that the defense was remarkably like the last attack on Grima. Trying to entice him into a battle with the Exalt.
This plan would never have worked against Robin, she was certain of that. But there were differences between the Fel Dragon as he was now and the Tactician who had once sat across a chess board from her.
Fighting Lucina had been a risk. As she'd sat in her room, brooding, wallowing in her regret, Severa had convinced herself that Grima's actions were a masterstroke, a way to decapitate Ylisse with minimal effort.
But now that she'd had time to consider it more objectively, the redhead had come to believe that Grima's plan was a mistake.
The Fel Dragon had never needed to confront Lucina, if he had simply sat back and pressured Ylisse with Risen to the best of his ability, eventually they would have been overwhelmed. Morgan was brilliant, but Grima was her match and at enough of an advantage that victory was inevitable.
So why had he appeared?
The answer, as it happened, was simple.
The Fel Dragon didn't simply want to rule the world.
He wanted despair.
A monster willing to risk his life simply to watch an Exalt die. A horror who had taken sick pleasure in watching his daughter kill the love of her life.
How could he refuse the same temptation again?
"Scouts have confirmed the attack is coming soon then?" the Plegian general asked as they completed their final checks.
"In the next few hours," Severa confirmed. "The Risen were a little mystified about the lack of anyone on the walls, but they're gathering just outside the North gate now. We'll be able to hear when they make their move."
"Then with your leave my Lady," the old general bowed before rounding and walking back out of the reception.
Severa glanced at the Exalt, still deep in conversation with Owain.
Not yet.
Looking elsewhere, she spied Kjelle and Cynthia deep in conversation. Walking to them, she felt like an intruder, but their warm greetings assuaged her anxiety.
"You two ready?" she asked lamely, as if they hadn't spent the entire week preparing for this moment.
Kjelle smiled confidently, perhaps sensing Severa's trepidation, "Always." She was leading the force that would be stationed in the East of the city, with Cynthia acting as her second. It was an odd pairing in a way, but they'd insisted that they wanted to fight this together. Cynthia, in particular, had thrown a fit over initially being assigned as a scout for the retreat over standing in the last defense of Ylisstol.
Fortunately, the argument the wing commander made for her presence here had merit. Unlike Owain she wasn't the last of the Exalted bloodline and there were plenty of riders without mounts who could scout just as easily. Her experience, not just in battle, but also her memory of the city from above would prove to be incredibly valuable for positioning troops.
And Severa thought privately, denying that logic might have resulted in trouble for herself as well.
"Of course, Sev," the girl replied, pigtails bouncing as she nodded. "You saw how I can fight first hand and I'm twice as good now!"
The redhead didn't doubt it. The weeks of battles had given her experience that training simply couldn't. The Severa who didn't know war paled in comparison to the one that stood here today.
"How are Moonlight and Lumina?" she asked. She was relieved that the dark pegasus would escape harm again, although her mount had truly kicked up a fuss when one of the scouts had tried to ride her.
Cynthia gave a smile of reassurance, "Moonlight's going to be fine, Shell had her flying perfectly yesterday."
"That's good," the knight trailed off, awkwardly fidgeting, knowing there was more to say.
"You can ask us about them," Kjelle interjected, eyes hardening. "We know you want to."
Severa found herself examining the tiles on the floor. Kjelle was not meant to be this perceptive.
"Out with it, you're not carrying Geirskögul for the range, much as you might claim." Kjelle continued, infuriatingly, "You're using a spear because it has a blunt end."
The knight looked up from her inspection of the ground to an insufferably smug cavalier, "Morgan and Noire," the redhead choked out finally, "they're still alive."
It was something that had been discussed in the war council. There would be two incredibly powerful mages supporting Grima now. The conclusion had been that they were enemy combatants now and that nobody was to risk themselves to free Grima's victims.
"We won't let them die," Cynthia said softly. The wing commander's usual jubilant mood giving way to the severity of the request.
Kjelle nodded, "We owe them that much," she agreed.
They were willing to risk their lives, to secretly defy orders for her. It was likely they'd already spoken about it and she didn't need to ask.
Severa could barely keep herself from tears. She held back the worst of them as best she could, "Thank you, both. Just make sure you come back alive, okay?"
The two responded with the same grin and then the same hug for their friend, "Of course, we had the best teacher in Ylisse after all," Kjelle whispered in her ear.
"Idiots," she muttered with a smile.
In the end it was simply that the others left that forced her hand.
She prepared her things, ready to exit as Inigo moved to see her off. Asking softly about last minute preparations, bidding her good luck with a grin that only he could produce.
They were, comfortable.
That was the word.
Since the redhead's reappearance, they'd smiled and flirted like a day hadn't passed. As if nothing had been said.
Inigo at the very least seemed a little more genuine around her. But even then, his smile had slowly begun to turn back into that of the imposter she'd known for so long.
There was a single cause for that.
"I know how you feel about me." She spoke, saying the words she'd dreaded having to speak.
The prince stopped, as fear took his face, followed by sadness, "You don't have to say anything," he replied softly, "I never expected you to." They were words of anguish, tempered only by years of resignation. "You loved Lucy, there was never any room for…"
"It's not that," she broke in. She'd dreaded this request, but it felt crueller to leave him like this. Without hope, when they were meant to be fighting despair.
"I loved Lucy. I love Lucy," she corrected. "I'll always love her."
Inigo nodded, understanding, always so understanding. "Then don't worry about me, it's not important."
"No, you idiot! You are important!" she almost yelled. "I love Lucy. That doesn't mean I can't love again. She would want me to love again. But right now, it hurts too much to even think about."
She looked at him, into those beautiful brown eyes, filled with warmth even as sorrow threatened to take them. "Wait for me?" she pleaded; it was such an unfair request. "I don't know how I feel about you, I might never know. But, please wait."
The sadness never left his eyes. He knew what she was asking of him. The incredible pain. But it was tempered now, with just a little hope. Hope that might burn him to ash but hope that smouldered hot enough to stoke the warmth in his expression. "I'll wait to the end of time," he said finally, easily, "but on one condition."
Severa blinked, condition?
"You have to come out of this alive."
She nodded, "I promise."
Arms clutched her to his chest, "Then I'll be here Sev, always."
A thundering boom announced Grima's arrival. The North gate buckled as an explosion turned it into a fiery ruin.
From her rooftop Severa observed the carnage. Her scouts would be well clear by now, but through her looking glass she could make out the bodies of Risen. Legs separated from torsos, arms on the floor. It would have been horrific if they truly felt pain. It was the wastefulness she'd come to associate with Grima. If he could sacrifice ten risen simply to kill one of the living, he would take that trade.
Of course, his nature afforded that callousness. It might take a few weeks to conjure enough power to replace the lost Risen, but casualties for the living would be gone for far longer.
The undead flowed into this city, spreading through its streets and alleys. She had feared a simple march to the castle, perhaps anticipating their own defensive plans. But Robin had always taught her that such attempts were dangerous, even with a significant advantage. A concentrated force could find itself taken in a trap, especially in a city. Your enemy always knew their home better than you. And whilst the old tactician had known Ylisstol, there had been enough time to plan some contingencies since his departure.
Instead, the Risen would disperse. The force of their numbers meaning that even if some were lost in a trap, their comrades would simply fall on the defenders from other angles.
They would push through and try to gather near the castle, for a final charge and hopefully, their Exalted prize.
All Severa needed to do was hold. She didn't need to win; she didn't even need to hold for that long. Just long enough to make the front of movement imbalanced. Just enough that Grima would reach the castle before his full army.
The knight looked over Ylisstol, her home. The inner city and outer contrasting each other, a sea of grey that slowly gave way to a darker reds and browns as stone buildings became brick. She remembered weaving through those streets on a date with Lucina, sweeping down to a shop on Moonlight to pick up treats for a class she was teaching that day. She remembered how warm the city felt on a Summer's day, filled with the bustle of a thousand people doing a thousand things. As rain fell from the grey blanket that slowly choked the world to death, muting the colours she had come to love into the same monochrome, Severa found one more reason to fight.
The Grand Tactician dropped from her rooftop, her scouts would be better appraised of the Risen positions and standing so high up would give her location away quickly. Her forces were organised into fists of ten to twenty soldiers, dotted in the most defensible positions across the Western side of the city. Each fist would take down bands of Risen smaller than their own or move to join others deeper in the city if a larger group appeared. Over time, the bands would retreat through the city, picking off the enemy front line, slowing it as much as possible. And over time those bands would get bigger and bigger until what remained of her troops were to gather at a point she'd marked for their final stand.
All this hinged on nobody getting overwhelmed. Her forces needed to be smart enough to pick the right battles. If too many fell, the Risen mass could become overwhelming. If communication failed, they could be flanked.
A thousand problems lay in front of her, a thousand ways to lose.
But they wouldn't lose today.
"Tactician," Mustafa marched up the stairs of their command post to meet her, "scouts send word that squads one and two have engaged the Risen."
It had begun.
The redhead closed her eyes and took a deep breath, finally acknowledging the fact she had been ignoring until now.
Her sisters were out there.
She could feel it.
"Fire!" she shouted.
A building erupted into flame as powders and oil carefully set inside were ignited by a flaming arrow.
The Risen screamed, in so much as they could scream, twitching as their flesh burned. Unbelievably, some managed to walk from the wreckage even as they flamed, flailing limbs wildly until their bodies realised they were dead.
"Back, back!" the tactician commanded as her fist retreated. They had held here longer than expected, but now was the time to cut and run. Ordinarily they would have been fearful of the fire spreading beyond the area of their control. But a southern wind was blowing and rain beat down from the oppressive clouds above.
Scrambling through the streets to their next rally point Severa tried desperately to spot any messengers that might be seeking her out. Her route had been exact, by design. It would be obvious to anyone with the plans where her next destination was, but an inexperienced, or simply unlucky scout, might misjudge the Risen's progress and end up trapped.
The butcher's on Riture Street was their next post. Already four squads had joined her and with her casualties remaining on the low end, at the expense of possibly a little too much of her own magical strength, she was now in command of a group of more than sixty.
Someone, Morgan or Noire was closing on her. Her blood sung a song of delightful agony as they drew closer. A ballad of pleasurable pain each time she held at a point. The prodigal daughter would return, family would be reunited.
She grimaced. It would indeed, but Grima would not own her. Soon he wouldn't have them either.
They rushed through the streets of Ylisstol, before arriving at their destination.
Riture Street was a wide road, meant for wagons delivering supplies to the many food stalls and shops that had given its name. An abbreviation of the word nouriture, from the language native to Roseanne. In better times the red-haired girl had wondered how a street in Ylisstol had come to have that name.
The tall buildings with large larders had made this the perfect place for a supply dump. Her archers, quickly running into the shops returned quickly with full quivers. Her knot of engineers swiftly directed soldiers to take oil barrels and spread them in specific buildings. She even had a bow prepared for herself. When the time came, another street would burn, but the Risen advance would slow, if briefly.
Some even took the time to eat rations; an idea Severa took to heart as she sat on the top floor of the Butcher's, scouts reporting to her even as she chewed on the crushed wafers and jerky that had sat in her pocket.
War was exhausting work. If she'd had reserves, she would be rotating them in by now so that those who had been fighting had time to rest and eat a proper meal, knowing another half day of battle lay ahead of them.
As it was, they'd have to make do. The food would likely not affect this next engagement, but they were all experienced enough to know the problem of fighting on empty was one that crept up on you at the worst time.
The plan was progressing. The squads closest to the centre were reporting that they had to fall back quicker than anticipated. It wasn't disastrous, well within what she had expected. Grima's progress had been measured. He wasn't delaying but he wasn't taking huge risks to get to the castle. Although that might change if he became more confident in the idea that there was no trap waiting for him.
Naga, please let him stall just a little longer.
She knew he could feel her here, the same as she could feel him. He'd made no attempt to approach. As much as she amused the Fel Dragon, she was not his prize.
From her shopfront Severa couldn't see him, but Inigo was almost certainly stood on the balcony of Ylisstol castle, overlooking the city as it burned. Falchion in hand, challenging the Fel Dragon even as it destroyed the Exalt's home.
Grima could afford to ignore that challenge. To simply send wave after wave of Risen at Inigo until he fell.
But he wouldn't. Not when it gave him the chance to execute another Exalt.
She didn't know how long passed as she evaluated, pored through the battlefield in her mind. Her sisters poked at the edges of her concentration, their presences needling when she least expected it. One neared her, the other somewhere in the East. There had been no communication from the other front, it wasn't expected, but with luck Kjelle and Cynthia were having a smooth a time on their end.
As for her own troops, Mustafa could be counted on to manage his squadrons, but Enala didn't have nearly as much battle experience.
The girl was a survivor, though. Pushed to the front lines because of her skill, living against all odds. Severa idly wondered if the blonde-haired soldier regretted impressing Kjelle in training.
The longer they held against these next engagements, the better their chances were of being able to reinforce elsewhere or pick up the pieces at the next rendez-vous.
A scout reported in, Julias was small and slight of build, sometimes looking as if a light breeze might knock him down. But he'd lived in Ylisstol his entire life. She was sure he had been a thief, he'd managed to avoid conscription, but had made the choice to enrol with the army when it became clear that the battle of Ylisstol would be a last stand.
The redhead was incredibly grateful of that now. The man was a shadow on the walls, knew every back alley, every tiny crevasse in the city. He'd caught a few surprise Risen advances today and now, with a nod of his sooty head, he indicated that the undead were incoming.
Severa made no move to the window, instead indicating for the thief to inform the rest of the next attack.
Instead, she waited, eyes closed.
Her impression of the Risen wasn't as clear as it had been when she was under Grima's control. But at this range she could make out their presence well enough, even though they were being overshadowed by her sister.
They progressed slowly. Risen weren't the fastest, although some could be specialised, like the assassins she'd fought months ago. But this group was being even more cautious, hoping for any hint of movement to give their prey away.
There was a chance that her sister could pinpoint her position to these buildings. But even if she could, the sister in question wouldn't know which buildings held traps and which ones held troops.
The Risen walked onward, to deaths they wouldn't see coming.
Past her perch.
Deeper into the street.
Soon.
Soon.
"ATTACK!" she screamed.
The Risen jerked, alerted to the sound.
Then jerked again as the first volley of arrows hit them.
Masses collapsed to the ground, but several began to work their way to the buildings they spied archers in.
Draw and loose.
Draw and loose.
Arrow after arrow flew from her perch, return fire ineffectively bouncing off the wooden window frame.
Risen tried to break into the buildings, only to be rebuffed as soldiers with Pavise shields held them at bay.
Long spears reached over the bulwarks, taking the undead in their heads and chest as the two-man teams at the base of each building worked to keep their doorways held.
There were screams.
Of fury as men took the undead that had killed their comrades.
Of surprise as a Risen who was just too strong broke through a shieldwall.
Of terror as an archer found himself cornered.
She couldn't help.
Draw and loose.
Draw and loose.
Ignore everything.
Focus on the bow.
Focus on the Risen.
Ignore the screams.
Ignore the smoke.
Ignore the magi…
Magic?
She could sense it building.
She dropped her bow.
Thoron was in her hand.
A bolt left it, underpowered, but quick, sparking into the air.
She dove behind a wall, tugging a drape from the nearby window over her.
The next thing she felt was heat.
Flames washed through Riture Street.
They licked through her window, lapping at the edges of her curtain.
Threatening to burn her from the world.
The next thing she felt was the wash of air as it struggled to replace the what the fire had eaten.
She was safe.
Tossing off her smouldering cover, Severa quickly sprung to her feet, getting to the window to survey the damage.
The street more closely resembled a volcano than a busy thoroughfare, flames burning as far as the eye could see.
The Risen were gone; burnt to ash and blown away.
The redhead's relief was palpable as she saw archers return to the windows; uneasily looking around.
Her plan had worked.
They'd drilled for this. A magic attack could easily have wiped out the entire force if it was well placed. So, for the past few days she'd trained her soldiers in recognising magical buildup, if they had some talent for it, or simply reacting to a lightning bolt by ducking, if they didn't.
The light from Thoron travelled faster than any flame, giving them precious extra seconds to react and hide.
They'd survived.
Thank Naga her troops had survived.
It was amid her relief that the tactician realised her problem. Her room was very warm and it was getting difficult to breathe. She checked; fire hadn't taken the butcher's. But as she glanced out the window again, she realised that the shops next door were aflame.
As were the ones across the road.
And further down Riture Street.
The attack hadn't been meant to kill them; it had simply made their outpost indefensible. With fire Magic of that power in play, burning buildings to halt the Risen would be impossible. A single strike from afar would force a retreat.
The attack hadn't killed them.
But left unchecked, it would beat them.
"Shit."
Two bolts of Thoron out the window saw her scouts make their way to her building. Her sister would press the advance soon, but it wise to wait for the fires to do their damage first.
"Orders, tactician?" The scout, a tall, dark-haired man by the name of Went, asked quietly as his comrades gathered around him.
She knew what they had to do.
She didn't like it.
"Are the back alleys blocked by the fires yet?" Riture Street had an extensive system of paths behind the shops for removing refuse without alienating customers.
Went shook his head, "They smell something fierce and they'll be blocked soon, but for now they're open."
"We're going to attack their leader."
Her soldiers stayed silent, but their gazes were questioning. They trusted her, but they didn't understand.
"If we're forced back, we'll be out of line with the others. The Risen might be able to encircle Enala or Mustafa if that happens. But also, they've figured out one of our major defensive tactics. If we don't take them down, we're not going to hold anywhere near as long as we need to," the knight explained.
To their credit, they took the order stoically.
Most knew they would die in the attack.
She knew that if they didn't defeat her sister, their deaths would be pointless.
She knew that if she died then the fight against Grima was lost.
But they needed to take the risk.
It was the only way.
The alleys behind Fiture street stank.
The meat left to rot after Ylisstol prepared to evacuate combined with the heat from the flames to produce a stench that was nauseating.
Severa tried to keep what little she'd eaten in her stomach as her group watched down the alley for Risen walking past.
At this range Grima would have found her in an instant.
But her impression of her sister was still vague. It hadn't clarified even as they'd moved closer.
The knight had experimented as her soldiers had prepared. She tried to pin down her sister's location, but it had proven fruitless.
Perhaps it was the redhead's separation from Grima that did it, or perhaps because neither of them were fully felblooded.
It was difficult to tell.
It was why she had elected to join the ambush. Her sister might suspect something was wrong, but both Morgan and Noire had led sheltered lives, never spending too much time in the city. Whilst Severa would have been the first to admit that she was not much better, she had the advantage of people like Julias who had been raised by these streets.
Her sister would know an ambush was possible, they would know that the knight hadn't retreated. But they simply wouldn't know where to look.
Severa peered round the corner of the building. Nearby ones continued to burn despite the rain, flames hopping, threatening to spread to the next shop along. The heat was nearly unbearable, primal instincts flared, begging her to find a way to safety.
She ignored them as a mass of Risen walked forward.
Amidst the hulking corpses she spied someone.
A short girl, in a purple cloak, embroidered with gold.
Snowy white hair marred by the soot from the flames.
The girl walked confidently, dark red tome in hand, Levin sword at her hip.
Morgan.
A twitch.
A moment where she wanted to go and save her sister.
Ruthlessly crushed.
Her grip tightened on the Thoron tome at her side.
Wordlessly she indicated to her soldiers.
They crept forward, armed with spears near the front, archers pressed as closely as they could behind. The narrow alley meant more than three abreast was a struggle.
Their charge would be weak.
It was why every step they could make unnoticed was final.
Inch by inch they closed the distance, Morgan's eyes darting upwards, looking for archers still positioned in buildings that were intact.
Soon, soon, they might..
Morgan turned.
She looked Severa dead in the eyes.
An arrow shot past Severa's head.
Her sister's eyes widened, sword coming up at the last second to deflect a shot aimed at her heart.
"CHARGE!" not Severa's voice.
She didn't care.
Geirskögul in one hand, tome in the other she sprinted forward, keeping pace with her front line, eyes focused entirely on the girl she'd grown up with.
A determined archer kept peppering Morgan's position, trying to take the feathery haired girl out of action.
But the shot was difficult and Morgan was better prepared.
Dodging deftly, she raised the red tome in her hand.
Severa felt the deadly magic focus.
"NO!"
A burst from her own tome sprung forth.
It struck home, white lightning wreathed in blue flame piercing the Valflame tome that her sister treasured.
An explosion of pages and uncontrolled magic burst from Morgan's hand.
Severa heard a shriek as an errant flame took an unlucky man.
She ducked down and kept running as Risen massed to protect their leader.
Another bolt shot from her hand, chaining through the undead's front line.
Risen collapsed as the bolt severed the connection with their dark master even as more tried to take their place.
The undead readied their spears, arrows disrupting their formation as the deadly hail took Risen in their eyes and necks.
Severa dropped her tome, it would be useless at this range, taking Geirskögul in two hands and thrusting deep into the first Risen that stood against her. Her spear whirled, the butt knocking a towering corpse away as she smashed further into the fray.
A bright light got her attention as Morgan raised her Levin sword, blade swelling with a deadly light.
Instinct drove Severa, taking her spear in hand and hurling Geirskögul.
The spear arced through the air as Morgan's hand began to fall.
A smash rang across the battlefield as the holy lance clattered into the magical blade.
Morgan's lightning burst uselessly into the air.
Severa dove, throwing herself at her sister. Her shoulder rammed into the Felsworn's gut as the two toppled to the ground.
Severa reacted first. A fierce kick booted her sister off her and as she leapt to her feet, she was granted a better view of the battlefield.
They were in an alley, the other side of Fiture street with the Risen occupied behind.
This was her chance.
Severa scrabbled for Geirskögul.
Where was it?
Where?
Morgan looked at her, smiling, Levin sword still in hand.
That smile was her mistake.
The knight didn't waste her time with gloating.
Ignis filled her. The burning energy coursing through her body, igniting every muscle, every fibre, spurring them to action.
She closed.
Her sword?
Not enough time.
Morgan's face twitched in surprise. She hadn't been expecting Severa to move so quickly. The younger girl let off a blast from her sword in panic.
Severa sprung off her left foot, electricity arcing uselessly past her.
Morgan backpedalled.
Too late.
Severa swung her right arm, a fierce haymaker. Morgan brought her left up in a frantic attempt to guard.
Severa heard a crunch as her fist wreathed in chaotic energy fractured bone.
Her sister let out a cry, swinging wildly.
Severa rolled with the attack, dodging the edge of the blade with ease.
Lightning burst uselessly from the weapon.
Too easy.
An object thumped into the side of her head.
The energy left her as she flopped to the floor, vision blurring.
Her head throbbed. A sharp pain in the back of her skull raged.
Where was she?
She was fighting Morgan.
She needed to beat Morgan.
She was going to lose.
Not like this.
She wouldn't lose.
She wouldn't!
Willing herself awake, Severa demanded, forced her vision to stabilise.
The wall behind her had shattered from the force of Morgan's Levin sword.
A bit of masonry must have caught her.
As she looked upwards a figure clouded her vision.
A roll took her away from a stab at her leg.
A kick at her opponent's knee gave her enough time to regain her footing.
There was an opening behind her.
Instinctively Severa fled into the building, through the hole left by Morgan's lightning, diving behind a sewing table as another bolt arced for her.
"Sev, please give up!" Morgan's voice, it had been months since she'd heard it, "I don't want to hurt you!"
The white-haired girl ducked into the shop, searching for her prey.
"If you just surrender, Father will take you back! I know he will!"
Sickening.
But it gave her a chance.
Morgan wouldn't try to kill her if she could avoid it.
Blinking away the cobwebs, Severa tried to stand with the help of a chair, collapsing as the damaged wood gave way under her weight.
Still, she stood, shuddering with every move.
Morgan approached, filled with sympathy, "It's okay sis, you can stop fighting. Father will protect you."
"Really?" the knight whimpered, eyes downcast.
Morgan lowered her sword, "I know he will."
A boot smashed Morgan's stomach so hard that she doubled over.
As the air blew out of her sister's lungs, a knee landed square in the white-haired girl's abdomen.
Vomit stained the stone floor of the shop.
Morgan tried to look up, bile staining her chin, the acrid stench wafting into Severa's nose.
Severa's fist impacted her sister's jaw.
The felsworn toppled to the floor.
The redhead mounted her opponent.
A punch landed on Morgan's face.
And another.
How dare Grima take her sister.
Another.
How dare he turn her to his will.
Another.
Morgan stared up dazed, through her raven black eyes.
Another.
Black?
Severa's fist stopped in mid-air.
"Morgan?"
A smile, despite the blood, the ruined nose, the missing teeth.
"Hey Sev."
The Morgan she'd spent her mornings with since childhood.
The Morgan who'd tried to yell at their parents to help her.
The Morgan who'd loved and admired her.
It was Morgan.
"Why?" It was all she could say.
"It's father," the white-haired girl replied. "He came to me and we spoke about the world he wants. What it would mean."
"What are you talking about! She shouted, inches from her sister's face. "He killed Gerome! He killed Lucy!"
Morgan laughed through her broken smile, vomit soiling her chin, "And they stay gone because of Naga. Can't you see? It wasn't Grima that took Basilio, it was humans. All those people who died because of Gangrel? Humans."
Severa blinked in disbelief. This was her sister. This was Morgan, the same one she'd left only a few months ago. How?
"How much have we lost because people fight each other? Because humans can't help themselves? Because they always want more, always take more?" Morgan continued her insanity.
"How many times will we make the same mistakes? How long until everything I know or learn is forgotten? Or worse, perverted by some well-meaning teacher who doesn't know any better?"
This was how he'd done it.
"Don't you see Sev?" Morgan's smile never faded, the confidence in her madness never dulled, "Father is the solution. A world that can't change, where we live forever. Knowledge won't fade, we won't make the same mistakes because we'll already know the consequences. A world where you and Lucy, Owain and I, we can all live happy and free!"
Morgan loved her father, almost as much as she loved learning. So Grima had offered her a world of both. An eternity of knowledge and love.
The same offer he'd once given Severa.
"No."
Morgan's confusion was obvious.
"It's okay Sev, Inigo can join us too, we just need to ki"
Severa's fist smashed into her sister's face one more time.
She screamed.
Screamed at her unconscious sibling
Screamed until she had nothing left to give.
He'd taken her sister.
Truly, unconditionally.
Morgan belonged to Grima.
Severa looked at the sleeping, almost innocent girl in front of her.
Slowly she gathered herself.
The world expanded from the single point lying in front of her.
The din of battle
The smell of smoke.
The heat of the flames.
Grima moving towards Ylisstol castle.
A plan turned in her head. Geirskögul was probably outside along with her tome, she would need to pick them up. With Morgan off the table, her own troops would be able to hold, Mustafa would meet them soon.
She needed to get back to the castle. She wasn't needed here, but there was still work to do.
Taking her sister into her arms, Severa walked the girl into the alley and then behind the building.
She left the younger girl propped against a stone wall.
Even if the city burned, Morgan would live.
Hopefully then they would be able to speak.
Hopefully the sister she loved might live again.
Severa ran back through the castle. Grima had swept the few defenders they could afford aside in his attack.
She'd heard a thundering boom as he'd blown the gates off the castle wall.
And then again as he'd caved the doors in.
Announcing he was here.
Demanding the Exalt face the Fel Dragon.
Her own entrance had been far less grandiose, a sewer hatch in the West wall that had been widened purely for this purpose.
It had been a risk, sending her to fight, knowing she would need to return to confront Grima. But if she was reported in the West, it might keep him a little off guard.
Mustafa held his position now. The Western front wouldn't collapse. And the lack of Risen through the castle meant that the East had held up well enough.
Her thoughts went to Kjelle and Cynthia. Please let them be safe.
The redhead stole through the castle like a thief in the night, jumping from shadow to shadow, just in case a Risen warrior had found its way through.
Nervously she checked her weapons. Geirskögul solid in her hand, sword snug at her waist.
Nothing had changed.
She checked again.
Grima was near the throne room. She imagined him casually sauntering up the stairs of the Grand reception, savouring every moment.
The castle shook again as a thunderous boom rattled through the corridors.
The Fel Dragon confronted the Exalt.
Severa willed herself forward, sprinting as quickly as she could.
Make him talk Inigo.
He needed to stall just a little longer.
Faster and faster, bare walls flowed by as she pushed herself to the limit, invoking what little strength of Ignis she dared to give her the edge.
Inigo had to be alive.
He…
The red and gold entrance to the throne room stood in front of her. A side door, meant for servants.
The knight could hear speaking.
Good.
She breathed.
In through her nose.
Out through her mouth.
In through her nose.
Out through her mouth.
Her breath returned to her, pants fading as her breathing returned to normal.
The door opened without a sound, oiled fresh that morning.
Severa snuck into the chamber, gingerly closing it behind her.
A blue curtain was all that separated her from the Fel Dragon, who gestured confidently with his right arm. His attired hadn't changed. His robe of purple and gold sat easily around him, embroidered eyes along the arms emphasising the set that adorned his cheeks. Severa remembered their mad red glow. She saw them in her nightmares. Sometimes she saw them when she was awake. A yellow tome was the only weapon that adorned him, the magic he had used to blow past the city's walls, casually belted at his side.
Inigo stood opposite; sword sheathed. The golden throne of Ylisse sat behind him, a near sacred treasure to defend. His azure armour still polished, his grey hair still immaculate, the crown of the Exalt atop his head, he was the picture of the ruler of Ylisse.
And yet, despite the height of his dais, the throne, the crown, all the adornments, he seemed lesser than his opponent. Grima loomed as Inigo shrank, a desperate man against a conqueror.
The walls of the throne room looked on impassively. Banners of Ylisse, Plegia, Regna Ferox, Chon'sin, Valm, Roseanne, observing this final confrontation.
"Surrender to me little Exalt and I shall ensure you live in the world beyond," the voice of worms writhing in the dirt.
"And what world is that Grima?" Inigo responded with confidence Severa knew to be false, "One where the dead replace the living? Where nobody's will exists but your own?"
Grima chuckled, the chuckle of vultures picking at carrion, "You misunderstand little man. I only awaken people to the world as it is. They choose to follow me afterwards."
He took a step forward, offering his hand in partnership, "I could bring her back you know, your beloved sister." An incline of the head to the side, "Or perhaps you wouldn't like that, perhaps you want my daughter all to yourself?" Another chuckle, "I'm sure it could be arranged."
Inigo's shock betrayed him, "Quiet!" he shouted, unconvincingly.
Grima's pleasure in this was obvious, "The lustful glances, the flirting, taking any chance to be alone with her? You think I didn't notice little man?" he continued easily. "But I suppose a coward shouldn't be allowed join my bloodline. At least that sister of yours followed through," he smiled, "before Severa killed her."
She almost leapt then and there.
Not yet.
Not yet.
"If you have nothing of value to say monster, then fight me and be done with it!" Inigo shouted, brandishing Falchion.
"Oh! That's a terrifying toothpick you have!" Grima responded sarcastically, edging slightly further forward. "It didn't respond to you, did it?" a statement, not a question.
The Fel dragon took a step to the side, taking on a lecturing tone that Severa knew all too well. "Falchion is a powerful weapon in its own right, but its true power is only unlocked when the sword and the user have the blessing of Naga," he paced up and down in front of the throne. "Falchion, once blessed only remains so powerful for a while and even if it is blessed, there is no guarantee that Naga approves of the wielder."
He came to a halt, staring directly into Inigo's eyes.
"You never saw her, did you? When you picked up that sword, she didn't approve."
Inigo shuddered, "Lies! How would you know anything about the Goddess monster?"
"Because I was there when she spoke to your father, little prince." Grima giggled, gleeful, "She even spoke to me as well. She knew my nature; she knew who I was and still she tried to convince me of her righteousness."
Grima broke into a fit of laughter, "And now she lets you die without a chance of victory. The same Goddess you revere and worship deigned to speak to the Fel Dragon before a noble prince!"
Finally regaining his composure Grima spoke again, "As things are, that sword might sting a little, but even if you managed to slice off my head, it would be for naught."
"Not for naught you fiend," the Exalt replied, taking his stance.
Grima looked to the side, as if remembering something, "Ah you seek to delay me? So that the ragtag group you have escaping through the South gate has more time?"
Severa's breath caught. He knew? How?
Inigo's shock was even clearer, his grip on Falchion faltered as he struggled to regain what little composure he had left.
"Oh, don't worry little one, they will be allowed to escape. I'll even let your cousin free so that they might crown a new Exalt for me to slay."
"One by one, I'll pick them off. One battle at a time, a few more will die and a few less will flee, hoping that they might be saved."
"And I'll chase, just fast enough to make them fear, but just slow enough to give them hope. Until the last ones lie at the corner of the world and realise finally, truly, that hope was a lie."
"Then they will feel true despair."
She caught her hand shuddering, Geirskögul shaking precariously.
Not yet.
Inigo held his silence; terror and determination mixing as he took a fighting stance.
"So be it boy," the Fel dragon took a step forward, "I'll.."
Inigo charged.
Now.
Ignis burnt through her body, wreathing Geirskögul in its ghostly blue flames.
She burst through the curtain, a step, a second. She leapt into the air; point aimed for her father's head.
Grima turned to face her.
A step back.
The spear went wide of its mark.
A hand caught her by the neck.
Squeeze.
Her grip slackened. Her spear clattered to the ground.
She needed to move. She needed to get free. Kick. Kick. Get free. Get free. she couldn't breathe she couldn't breathe she couldn't breathe she co…
She thumped to the ground.
Air rushed back into her lungs.
She was on the floor.
Next to Grima.
She rose to her knees even as her head ached.
Inigo was frozen. His attack aborted the moment she'd been grabbed.
Grima's laughter echoed through the throne room, "That was a spirited attempt, daughter."
"Spirited, but poorly thought out," that weighing tone she'd known since she was a toddler. "Did you really think I wouldn't sense you? That I couldn't pinpoint your location for miles around?"
She looked up, blinking away spots as her breath steadied. Grima smiled down at her, "You belong to me daughter. You always will."
Her vision flickered.
"I've decided, boy, that your death is unworthy of me."
The knight's vision flickered again, her head throbbed.
Inigo raised Falchion with trepidation. He was still too scared, too offput to attack.
"It will be far more interesting to see the woman you love skewer you, the same way she did your sister."
The shadows overcame Severa's eyes.
She served Lord Grima.
She was Severa.
Lord Grima was her master.
She loved Lucina.
She wanted to kill Inigo.
She needed to protect Inigo.
Kill Inigo.
Kill Inigo.
How?
How do we kill Inigo?
The spear?
No.
That was not cruel enough.
The sword.
Yes.
Her sword.
Severa's hand closed around the hilt of her blade.
Falchion.
The true Falchion.
She screamed.
Screamed as the radiant energy tore through her body, burning the Fel blood that coursed through her veins.
She took all the pain, the agony as Falchion purged her.
And poured it into Ignis.
The blue flame burst through her.
Making her feel more alive.
Life making her feel more pain.
Pain making the flames stronger.
Every part of her that could maintain thought, every part of her that was still Severa put what was left into one final swing of her sword.
Inigo shouted.
Only two things could harm Grima. The Exalted Falchion in the hands of Naga's champion. And his own strength, turned against him.
Assassins sent to kill three people, the remainder of the Fel bloodline.
Severa able to permanently harm him when they first fought.
The false Falchion clattered from the Exalt's hand to the floor.
A forgery made by Vincent Brend and Owain Lowell, the greatest smiths in Ylisse. So convincing that even the Grima didn't know it to be false.
The Fel Dragon tried to react, a movement that would have put his left hand up to block, if it was still there.
She heard Basilio's voice, "A fighter's greatest asset is being strong where people believe you to be weak."
Grima could control her mind.
The blade approached the dragon's, Robin's neck.
She heard his voice, "Creativity. Use everything you're given, even how talented your enemy is."
Falchion hurt her when she touched it. Grima could sense her position.
Her father cried in terror as the Falchion cut his skin.
"Sit him down across the table from you." Her mother's voice, "Make him believe he knows the game, knows the rules, knows every factor."
Robin knew Severa could never beat him.
"Then change the game."
Falchion cleaved into the Fel Dragon's neck.
As the dazzling, torturous light of Naga ripped through her cursed blood.
As the molten, agonising fires of Ignis destroyed what was left.
Severa cast one final thought to her friends.
And in that moment, as life left her, she saw them.
Inigo looking on in helpless panic as he witnessed the end.
Morgan slumbering silently against a stone wall, blissfully unaware of what was happening.
Kjelle and Cynthia, holding off a Risen charge as Noire lay unconscious behind them.
Owain defending the Southern gate as refugees thanked him from his bravery.
In that moment, she saw more. She saw a single thread sprouting from her and leaping to Inigo.
That thread multiplied as it spread from her prince to the others.
As it tied each of them together, through bonds of love and bravery.
The threads leapt further.
To Laurent as he moved from the safety of the command post to join the fray.
To Brady as he resuscitated a dying woman, only for another to take her place.
To Mustafa as he took a spear to the heart, falling with a smile as his young soldiers safely retreated.
Further and further.
To Khan Flavia as she defended the Longfort from a massive Risen advance.
To bandits as they pillaged abandoned towns.
To the citizens of Chon'sin, preparing ships to aid Ylisse.
To Valm as its council argued on how to help.
On and on.
An infinite number of ties, binding and weaving a tapestry more complex than she could possibly imagine.
In that moment, Severa saw the world.
And the one beyond.
She would see Lucina once more.
They were bound together by a love that could never be broken.
Bound by a love that went beyond their own.
Bound by the love of their friends.
Bound by their love of the world.
Perhaps not in this life, perhaps not in the next.
But one day she would be with her princess again.
A princess and her knight.
It wasn't perfect.
It didn't need to be.
Notes
So, there's still a little bit to go. And it's already written so there won't be a long wait.
I suppose this is the last time I'm going to apologise for the long wait anyway, which feels somewhat Nostalgic.
I'll do a full goodbye after the last bit. But largely I hope that this chapter was broadly to expectations.
I could probably pore over every word for the rest of time, but I felt like this needed to get out otherwise I'd stall forever. The same way I did when I first started posting this.
In any case, thanks so much for reading everyone! I would love to see your comments and see you with the epilogue!