A/N: Shorter than I expected because I had to cut away a lot of stuff since I redirected the story into a new arc (and I need to make a clear plan for the next chapters) but adding anything else felt like stretching the sauce or cutting in half anything that might happen afterwards. Well, this chapter has foreshadowing, hehe.

(Unbeta-ed)


Standing on his rickety stool was quite a challenge, especially when the seamstress nudged him in his calves, measuring with her tape while his own eyes drooped in fatigue.

Sneaking out at night wasn't the best idea with his charged routine. If only he could escape during the evening, but they were already occupied with diners and studying.

He sighed

The ceremonial robes he was expected to wear at the Grand Mass no longer fit him from last year, as meager as his growth spurt was. Validar, the one who requested a new stuffy piece that could barely fit in Robin's already overflowing wardrobe, watched him like an hawk from the corner of the room.

Robin fidgeted under his stare. He hoped the tension he saw in his father's eyes was only a symptom of the War and not caused by suspicions. The kind of suspicions that could be titled "I know my child broke the rules". He hoped the fabled "parents' intuition" was just an expression.

"How are the war preparation going?"

If it indeed was suspicions swimming through Validar's head, might as well direct his thoughts somewhere else. His father snapped out of daze and weakly smiled. A rare sight.

"The mercenaries we hired last week were sent to raid Ylissean villages that could've been important suppliers to the enemy. Our actual troops are still on our side of the borders, while we wait to see where the enemy forces are stationned."

"No reply from the Ylisseans?"

Validar frowned, which didn't bode well to the hierophant. " One of the mercenary troop were decimated in a small town in the south and rumours tell a band warriors were responsible, one well known at that from the rumours."

"Who?"

"Our spies are on it as we speak, we aren't sure if they work for the Crown yet."

Robin gritted his teeth, he had a bad feeling about this, and this omen was amplified by the thrumming of the dragonstone in his pocket. He could feel a flicker of foreign anger seeped through him. This band, while not strong in numbers, could land devastating blows if they were smart and knew how to sneak around. He hoped this failure from their mercenaries was caused by them being caught off guard and not them facing a foe leagues stronger than they anticipated.

Sadly, only time could truly tell.

"And the people... what do they think of it... this War?"

Robin felt the tension rise a notch, even the seamstress seemed bothered by it with the way her eyes danced across the room and Robin tried to do nonchalantly the same as to hide his intentions behind the question, and landed his gaze out the window.

He heard the fabric of his father's clothes ruffle, crossing his arms he presumed and the seamstress excused herself, leaving them together, clearly not wanting to be part of that.

Validar spoke once they heard the door close.

"Some are eager, quite eager in fact, and some are still licking their wounds."

"And about the motivation behind the war?"

"You mean the snotty noble brat trespassing on our grounds?"

"No, I mean... me."

"...They know your destiny is of the utmost importance. But of course this war is make Ylisse pay for the terrible crimes they committed and still refuse to acknowledge."

"Do they agree that it is "of the utmost importance?" This time, Robin risked a glance at his father and he saw bafflement on his face, quickly erased by bitterness.

"They worship you as expected of the Plegian people."

"Do they know I exist?" His heartbeat raced under his skin, this got dangerous too fast, he hoped Validar wouldn't link his questions to his possible suspicions of his son sneaking away. But he had to ask, he might not have an opportunity to speak with his father alone like this.

"Why do you suddenly worry about this?"

"I was thinking," he said, biting his lips. "The manuscript I'm writing is supposed to be the word of the Fell Dragon; words that will inspire the people. But how can I inspire them, if I don't even know how they are and if they don't know me either."

"You thought too much." scoffed his father, squinting and nose in the air. "You are a Fell-blooded, your words are the most important in the land and people will listen."

And he left it at that, leaving the room. Robin looked down at the unfinished robe draped over his lanky frame and wondered if his words were truly listened.


He almost forgot that he came out here, out on the balcony, to continue writing his book when jerked out of daze as a bird landed in a flutter on the awning above him, its shadow jumping across the thin veil. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm, rubbing the reverie away. Looking down at his manuscript laid upon his lap, he sadly acknowledged that he struggled writing those two previous lines. All that he has written that day. It had been a fool's hope. I wished he could have stirred the discussion with father to ask him if he could organize an outing where he could meet the outside world, even if it were an official outing. But no such luck, his last resort would be sneaking out at night and hope to never get caught or hope the signs of exhaustion wouldn't show on his traits.

He vaguely wondered if he could find a way to use the dragonstone to give himself a boost of strength, stay awake, and visit those dangy alleyways and prove that he wasn't a scam and that Grima was great. If could only gain recognition there, true recognition, and not be polished like a doll on a shelve between these walls, it would make his existence much more bearable. But it seemed to be the exact existence the Grimleal wanted him to go through.

He grunted, packing his things under his arms, stretching his sore legs after having them tucked under him for who knows how long.

He could understand why the Grimleal was proctective of him. The scars from the Holy War were still bloody and no one knew the extent of the Ylissean's knowledge about the High Hierophant's existence; was only a rumor to them? Or were waiting to pounce at the most opportune moment? Was it a possible Ylissean spy, the rumor that made the Grimleal itch? But with the animosity he saw that night in the pub, his seclusion might have more than one reason.

It couldn't be all lies! He remembered the crowds gathered below him at the last Grand Mass, looking up at him. They wanted to be there ... didn't they?

After dropping his stuff on his desk, he angrily pulled out the sirwal pants he wore for exercising and trudged to the changing rooms neighboring the training courtyard. Relieved of his heavy robes, he then wrapped the bandages around his wrists and ankles. He made it out under the blazing sun onto the courtyard, deserted just for his training and where his father would join him once he was done with whatever was planned for his routine.

Robin sat down, legs crossed and took a deep breath, trying to ward off the frustration that had coursed through him for the entire day, thankfully, the dragonstone, slipped under the wraps at his right wrist, bulging strangely under the fabric, thrummed happily against his skin with a soothing energy flowing from it.

Its powers seemed to shift on its own; once spiking his awareness and senses to insane levels, helping his skills, and now sapping away all the tension in his body

He wondered what else this treasure had in store for him.

His bare feet skidded across the dusty ground, raising clouds at the every steps of this ancient martial dance. Striking the air, where his imaginary target would be, he got lost in his adrenaline rush, the stone carrying him into uncharted territories, beating his limits, till his blood was searing and he ended on his knees, heaving, sweat drenching his skin like morning dew.

"Pushed myself too hard there..." he chuckled, but when he started to rise to his feet, his knees buckled under the painful heat to sweeped through his head, his vision flickering like a dying flame. Yep, really too hard. The dragonstone probably numbed his body so he could keep going.

After taking in a few deep breath, Robin finally looked up and his eyes swept the courtyard. The sun was already declining in its trip across the skies.

How has he been out there exactly? And mostly importantly... He listened to the dead quietness that surrounded him.

Father hadn't come for their usual training that day.