Slowly, the Black Knight extricated himself from the splintered wooden wall. A tiger laguz was a powerful foe, to be sure, but his Goddess-blessed armor had allowed him to remain uninjured from even a laguz's forceful blow.

There was no need for haste. He was no young, impatient soldier, fool enough to think that disobeying his superiors would net him fame and glory. The worm had worked their way into the ship, as desired. Everything was going according to plan, a plan of the only man he would ever be truly loyal to. Now, all he had to do was wait. There was only one regret…

The Black Knight strode forward and picked up the lifeless arm of his mentor's son. He had misjudged, and now he would never have the chance to see the boy perfect Gawain's swordsmanship and become the man he dreamed of battling. The foolish boy had been no match for him, yet his rash attack had left him no choice.

"Listen to me, Daein general. You will withdraw from this place."

He turned at Sephiran's words. The Begnion senator was an enigma; he had always suspected that the man could read his feelings, no matter how he cloaked himself behind his signature black armor.

"Gather your men… withdraw," he ordered, silencing the Daein commander beside him who had begun to object. Giving Sephiran one final glance, he flung the limb into the river and plodded away. There was still a mission to complete, after all. He would not allow his own disappointment to interfere with his loyalty.

"Mist."

"...Mistine?"

Rhys' gentle voice awoke her from where she'd passed out, slumped in a chair next to her brother's bedside. She was still gripping her staff tightly, its blue orb resting gently on the stump of Ike's arm.

"Mist, you should take a rest. I can handle everything from here."

"Is he…" Mist began, her voice hoarse as she tried to choke back tears.

"Ike will live," Rhys reassured her, laying a cool rag across his feverish forehead. "He's lost a lot of blood, but… Ike is strong. He'll pull through."

There was a soft, nearly imperceptible swishing of robes behind them. Mist turned to Rhys, her eyes questioning, but he didn't seem to have heard the noise. Glancing backward, she could see a figure, cloaked in brown and black, skulking in the shadows of the room - the mysterious thief they had hired back in Canteus Castle. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but his narrowed eyes seemed to gleam with curiosity. It was perhaps the first time she could even remember seeing him since they had left that prison.

"You!" Mist blurted out, turning to face the man. "What are you doing here?"

"It is none of your concern," Volke replied curtly before turning and leaving the room.

"Hey! Volke!" Mist shouted after him, but when she peered around the door, he was already gone. "Why do you think he'd show up here?" she mused absently. "He won't even show up to meals with the rest of us."

"I don't know," Rhys shook his head. "Get some rest, Mist."

"There you are!" Boyd yelled, bursting into the barracks. "I've been looking for you all over. Oscar says it's your turn to cook dinner."

"Coming," Mist called back, replacing the Slim Sword on its rack. "Just let me clean up a bit first."

"I will teach you how to properly wield a sword one of these days!" Mia shouted behind her. "Even if -"

"Oh, come on," Boyd scoffed at her. "You really need something better to do than trying to turn our healers into myrmidons. At least you're not dragging Rhys off at the crack of dawn anymore to -"

"Well, do you expect Rhys to swing around an axe instead?"

Boyd ignored her, turning to Mist instead. "Don't tell me Mia's been intimidating you into going along with her," he chuckled. "Listen, Mist, I think -"

"You, thinking?" Mist quipped back, but the words lacked her usual humor as she looked back and forth between Boyd and the sword rack. She hated fighting, hated violence. They were children, too young to be caught up in this war in the first place, but Daein wouldn't give them that choice. She was supposed to be a healer, but she couldn't save her father and she couldn't heal Ike's wounds…

" - I think you shouldn't be doing this. Leave the battling to the big boys."

"I… I want to train," Mist said quietly, clenching her fists in determination. "I need to toughen up, or I might not survive these next battles." She glanced around; Mia was glaring at Boyd, sword raised.

"Uh, I should get going!" Boyd said, hastily retreating.

Ike blinked blearily, his eyelids feeling very heavy as he reached up to wipe the crust from his eyes. Everything felt like it was buzzing around him, and the last thing he remembered was raising his sword against the man who had killed his father.

Someone was beside him, singing a gentle lullaby. Mother…? he thought. No, if I were seeing Mother in the hereafter, I wouldn't be in this much pain...

"You're finally awake!" Mist shouted, and he winced at the volume of her exclamation. "You've been out for more than a week, we were all worried…"

He shifted, pushing away the covers, and with a small sigh, Ike's gaze settled on the thick white bandages wrapped around his elbow.

"I promised I'd protect you," he said hoarsely, "and I failed. Guess I wasn't strong enough…"

"We all protect each other." Mist reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, bringing the cool liquid to her brother's lips. "The Greil Mercenaries are our family, after all."

She swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

"I was so scared," she admitted. "Scared that you'd slip away like Father did and… and… and I'd be all alone..."

"I'm sorry, Mist. I truly am. I should have listened to Father…"

There was a knock at the door, and Mist's expression quickly changed into her usual, cheerful self.

"Well," she said brightly, "I'm sure the others will be glad to see their commander awake!"

Ike's face fell again.

"What… what's wrong?"

"Father always said… a commander must be an example to his men. But if I cannot even hold a sword… then I'm nothing but a liability on the battlefield."

"Ike… don't say such things about yourself."

"What? It's the truth. The Greil Mercenaries can't afford to have a crippled commander."

There was another knock, before the door flew open.

"Pirates," Soren blurted out, his face carefully blank of emotion. "There's a flock of sub-humans heading our way. Ravens, from Kilvas."

"Don't call them that," he snapped reflexively. "Pirates, you say?"

"Winged pirates, at that. The flying corsairs of Kilvas and Phoenicis are far more cruel than any of the beast tribe."

Ike bolted upright, pushing himself up awkwardly with his good hand.

"How… how are we supposed to fight against that?" he said, gripping the table for support as he turned to face Soren. He had never felt so weak before. Even the effort of standing was making his head spin and his arm feel like it was being thrust into a fire.

"Let's hope we don't - " Soren began. Then the ship lurched, and Ike lost his balance.

"Ike!" Everything was facing the wrong way. Mist had caught him and was dragging him back onto the bed.

"Damn it!" Soren cursed. "We've run aground. This must have been a trap."

"Then there isn't any other choice." Mist stood, picking up her staff and pulling open the door. "We'll have to fight them."

"I'll protect everyone for you," she whispered as she left. "You'll see."