"Every human walks around with a certain kind of sadness. They may not wear it on their sleeves, but it's there if you look deep." - Taraji P. Henson

The seasons passed by at a quicker pace than I imagined. From summer, to autumn, to winter, and finally to spring. Seasons of bright, dark, death, and life. The cycle passed by four times, until it was the spring of my sixteenth birthday.

The four years leading to the occasion weren't eventless, no, not by a longshot. The economy was falling on hard times, the Risen were spreading further, and many people died. I was at the forefront of this, usually being the first person who heard of the daily happenings, and it was extremely stressing. Because of the increase in the mortality rates, we were losing soldiers, and morale was at an all time low. We were barely getting any candidates. Any future candidates we might have gotten became too fearful of the Risen to fight.

The Risen, who we so rightfully feared, were helping to bust our economy. They were attacking towns on the border, and by the time we had any parties sent there to fight them off, the towns were already in shambles. Because of that, we were losing tax payers' money, and workers, and the pay was dropping, and dropping. It got so bad, villages who weren't even near the border towns we losing money fast, and they wouldn't be able to live of the small wages they already had unless we did something to intervene. But with how bad it was in the city already, I didn't know if we could actually do that. The palace lost about fifteen percent of its riches, and while it may not sound like a lot, it was actually worth billions of gold.

The Risen were steadily advancing. By our predictions, they were going to target the city bordering the north of the country next. To anticipate them, we had sentry and information units stationed by each and every town on the border. We would have had entire parties in each town everywhere around the country, however, we didn't have enough soldiers or guards to do so.

The guards and soldiers we did have weren't trained to their very best either, we didn't have enough time. They used to be normal citizens until the only job that actually provided enough money they really needed was in the position of a soldier. I was so regretful there was nothing we could do to help raise the economy. If the solution was as simple as giving the country the billions of gold it needed to support itself, I would have made the decision long ago, but as it was, we had a balance which was already being broken. We couldn't afford to do anything deemed, "out of our way." It was basically our own Great Depression. An eighth of the population was already suffering from malnutrition. It would be a while until they died from starvation or lack of proper nutrition.

Everyday seemed to get a little more hopeless, but I had to put on a positive front for the people. If they asked me if something was wrong, I would answer truthfully, I would be blunt. There was no reason for me to deceive the people. That would cause distrust, and in such a dire time, it was something we had no use of. I went out into different towns at least once a week now, the townspeople being amicable at first, and dreary at the end. The news I bore for them wasn't enjoyable, yet I assured things would get better, we'd find ways to make things better, and if nothing worked, we'd still work at it. Hopeless or not, I was determined.

The weight of responsibility it all put on me strained my back, even if Cynthia was doing as much as she could for me, and she was doing a lot. I could barely name what she didn't do for me. Sometimes I thought Cynthia was doing too much, and when I asked, she brushed it off, she was my little sister and she'd always do her best to help. Doesn't mean we didn't have our ups and downs. Siblings fight all the time, it wasn't any different for us.

We usually spent the most of our time around each other, whether it was sparring, tutoring, of just plain talking. While doing paperwork, I'd be in my room, and Cynthia would be sitting on my bed revising what I'd written, or she'd stay silent, or talk about her day. It wasn't often we'd argue, but the most recent argument we'd had merited something.

In my free time, I enjoyed writing dissertations on history which I knew would never get published. Work that day made me sick to the stomach, so I wanted to put it off for a while and do something else. I didn't get much free time anyway, so I felt like I deserved a bit of time to myself. When I'd gotten to my room, Cynthia was sat at my chair with a bored expression.

"I just went over the rest of your paperwork from yesterday," She groaned. I raised a brow doubtfully. Looking behind my nightstand I found four large stacks of paper, and I grimaced. I had signed those and my wrist was feeling the effects from the day before. At least they were done.

I nodded absentmindedly, mumbling a few choice words about the council (who I would then have to report my findings verbally) and child labour laws, placing a textbook, a sheet of paper, and a quill and ink jar on my desk.

"What are you doing?" Cynthia was doing her best to look around me, and I kept to myself. I couldn't afford to get distracted. If I did, I wouldn't have the motivation to complete it for a long time. "Is it more work?" I shook my head, trying to shoo her away from my seat, eyes still trained on the paper. My hand slowly came up and landed on my quill, picking the feather up gently, and dipping it into the pool of ink.

"Well if it's not work then what is it?" Cynthia was craning her neck to look over me. She still hadn't left my seat, and was going to stay there adamantly until she found out what I was doing.

Still trying to get into my seat, I gave up halfway and decided to make her scoot on over. I didn't even get half of the seat, I was literally hanging off the edge. Looking over at her for a brief second, I found her hazel eyes trained on me. It was unsettling. "...Do you mind?" I muttered.

"Tell me!"

I sighed, dropping my quill into the jar defeatedly. "It's a dissertation, and I want to work on it while I still have time, so can you please move?"

"But don't you still have work?" Cynthia's expression was smug, her crossed arms only improving her stature. She was treating me like I was a kid caught in the act of stealing from the cookie jar.

I was gritting my teeth in annoyance. "Is it too much to ask for a break once in awhile?" I attempted to shove her off my chair, though she was firmly attached, an arm clutched to the bottom without an ounce of delicacy. Her nails were digging into wood.

"Do your work!" She teased, voice raised so the whole castle could hear. I became anxious. If anybody really heard, then I would be guilted or forced into doing my work, and that would be horrible.

Attempting to cover up her speech, I exclaimed, "Cynthia," and, "get out," or, "move," over and over. Cynthia was basically mirroring me. Not in that moment though. She was mirroring my past actions, trying to get back at me. Usually, I'd be the one to tease her, mostly because whenever Cynthia was doing something, it wasn't serious. She wasn't able to tease me as much either, because, apparently I was scary when I raised my voice.

I saw her flinch, and her smile faltered for the briefest of moments, yet her joking attitude remained. "Cynthia, move!" I exclaimed, shoving her one last time with all my force. She flopped like a ragdoll, limbs flailing all the two feet to the ground. Her hip collided with my desk with a painful sound, and she whimpered.

Argument aside, concern shook me. I got off my seat to check over Cynthia, who was sprawled over the floor. "Hey, are you-?!" She picked herself up, and dusted herself off, paying special attention to let her hand slide over her bruised hip carefully, and left my room without uttering a noise, only expressing her emotions through slamming the door shut.

We didn't speak to each other for a few hours. It wasn't that big of an argument to begin with. It was how we worked. Later in the evening, when I chose to finally do my work, Cynthia had opened my door meekly, looking away so I couldn't see her face. I was going to ask her if she was physically hurt, when she plopped on my bed and began spewing on about how Orchid was nuzzling her for the entirety of the day we were apart, ecstatically.

We never forgave each other verbally. It was always reading between the lines for the both of us, even if Cynthia was more expressive. We knew each other well enough to tell if we were still mad, or if we were sad, or happy. We knew each other. So yes, we did forgive each other, but we never forgot the pain we were able to cause one another.

Cynthia and I were doing our damndest, and if either of us needed a break, we could at least provide each other with a bit of comfort. We were siblings, sister and sister, so what was it that we wouldn't do for each other?

It seemed that as time passed, Cynthia wasn't the only sibling I had, nor her, me.

Kjelle was becoming more prominent in our lives. I kept to my promise, one spar every other day. By the times we were left in laboured breaths, we spoke to each other from heart, as bluntly and truthfully as we possibly could be. Her news one day had been especially chilling.

Exactly a year after I first met her, her mother still hadn't returned to pick her up. Kjelle confessed she was losing hope in her mother ever returning, maybe her mother even forgot about her. Naturally I was curious, and asked, "Who's your mother?" I was expecting a city dweller, a farmer, or maybe even someone who could have worked at the palace. What I wasn't expecting was an army figure. It didn't spell well for Kjelle. If her mother was in the army, there was a better chance of her being dead than alive. The moment she said her mother's name, I froze horribly, heart feeling as if it was constricted in my chest.

"Lucina, if you know anything about my mother, I need you to tell me!" Kjelle had said upon noticing my shocked demeanor. She was begging me, and it was such a horrid feeling, to tell someone their loved one had died without an ounce of knowing what had truly happened to them. I could have lied. I really could have. Would it have been the right thing to do? I don't know, probably not. Would it have spared heartache? Maybe. But with all my emotions betraying me, I was forced to tell the truth. And so I did.

Sully had been deceased for a little over a year before Kjelle asked me. Back when Virion simply queried about her wistfully, I had felt the same things, only in smaller proportion, because it hadn't been such a long time since then, and I wasn't talking to Sully's daughter who felt abandoned at the point she was convinced of running away.

I never blamed Kjelle for her feelings and never will. She felt betrayed by everyone, especially me. What was the point of her being in an orphanage for so long if her mother had been dead for longer? What was the point of her finally having a friend when she was lied to? What was the point of having to deal with being emotionally abused and neglected by the other children if she could have left because her mother was dead. What was the point?

She ran away in the evening, leaving behind all of her possessions in the orphanage building. I don't think anyone even noticed her departure there. I had been worried about something then, without noticing what it really was. My instincts directed me back to the orphanage, and when I found she wasn't there, inquired about her, and the nurses and children all asked me, "Who is Kjelle," I wanted to scream, release my frustrations, and find her, because she was so unsafe out in the night as a little kid.

I found her, running down the street, stumbling like a drunkard, and collapsing. I panicked, I panicked hard. I lifted her up, no matter how much she really weighed to me, and brought her to the palace. She was placed in the infirmary for a few hours, and I spent every second by her bedside. When she woke, she didn't immediately recall what had happened. When she did, she was screaming at me to go away, that I wasn't her friend, that I was a liar, that her mother died because of me.

Everything she said was like a blow to my chest, relentless and unforgiving. I left, only saying she was welcome to stay in the palace for as long as she wanted. This caused turmoil with servants and the council. The princess brought in a dirty street rat into the castle, whatever will become of the royal image? I was the black sheep of all royal people. It wasn't them who mattered to me though, it was Kjelle.

Soon enough, Cynthia discovered her, and I have no idea how she did it, but Cynthia both managed to make friends with Kjelle and convinced her to forgive me. Kjelle became a permanent resident at the castle. No matter the scornful looks or whispers she'd receive, she always knew Cynthia and I had her back. One day, Cynthia was so fed up with all the hate Kjelle got, she asked if anyone knew whose child Kjelle was. When the people didn't reply, Cynthia said in the most proud voice, "The late legendary hero, Sully! The woman who everyone admires!" They were all left speechless after, and nobody dared to gossip about her anymore.

As damaged as our relationship was, Cynthia was really the one who helped us out most. Kjelle even began to be taught by a new instructor. I forgot her name, though I heard she was a strict teacher who pushed physical limits to absolute boundaries.

Kjelle was our new sister, really.

Another person who became more notable in our lives, Gerome. Well, no, he wasn't really notable. He was always somewhere by himself or with his mother, or his father when Frederick wasn't teaching me or Cynthia. He seemed isolated. He never talked to anyone. He was rarely in the castle, only peering into my training sessions. I could feel his eyes fixated on my back, like he held some sort of grudge against me. Cynthia always tried to interact with him, though he always left before anything could happen. Overall, Gerome didn't feel as important as the things we had going on in our lives were. As much sympathy as I had for him (he lost his home, and entire country for gods' sakes, who wouldn't feel a shred of sympathy for him), he was always brooding, and didn't seem to make any progress with his life. He wasn't okay ever since he'd overheard Virion and Frederick, I wasn't expecting he would be either.

With all the problems I'd had, it was comforting enough to have my two favourite (and only) sisters chatting away while I swished my drink in the glass mug, reflecting all the happenings in the tavern. It definitely wasn't a responsible choice to come to a tavern of all places, especially with our economic depression, but we deserved some kind of relaxation, and it was going to be through drinking my sorrows away, then so be it.

I learned quickly the country was pretty lax about drinking ages. If that wasn't the case, I suspected it was because of royal privileges, and I cherished it lovingly. The familiar burn of the alcohol down my throat was simply divine. Contently sighing, I wiped my mouth, drumming my fingers against the countertop of the bar.

"Hey," I waved the bartender over, who was stereotypically wiping down a mug with a white rag. "What's this stuff made of?" I lifted what little remains of the drink in my glass and shook it around.

"That ma'am, is my special brewery of spirits mixed with a bit of soured fruit. Is it that good?" He seemed doubtful, for what reason, I wouldn't have a clue. His eyes, however, were hopeful.

"Are you kidding?" I laughed. "It's amazing! But, uh- what are spirits exactly?" I'd heard of it before somewhere, maybe? It sounded at least a bit familiar, nothing too big to ring sirens though.

The bartender smiled fondly, like he got the question from every other tourist in the country. Considering this was the first time I'd entered a bar in a long, long time, I didn't think he was surprised. Besides, I asked for him to surprise me, he was definitely expecting a question or two. "It's simply distilled water, my dear!"

"Noooo…." I gasped in mock surprise. "You said this stuff is mixed with sour fruit! Is that really all there is?" The bartender nodded back, smiling mischievously.

"Ah, but I said simply! If I were to tell you what complexities there are to spirits, you would be bored to death, and I couldn't do that to the Exalt of all people, now could I?" The bartender walked away slowly to attend to other patrons in the bar, a smug look on the side of his face.

"Cheeky…" I muttered, and the bartender's smile grew, no doubt hearing me. I turned on my stool to see Cynthia and Kjelle looking at me, both with blank expressions. "What?" I asked. "Is there something on my face?"

Kjelle lifted her drink, which was non alcoholic because I could tell she and Cynthia would have terrible tolerances to alcohol, and spared me a sarcastic look. "Remind me again why we can't have any beer, or mead, or even wine?" I wasn't risking the irresponsibility I would have on my hands if I were to give two of the most reckless people I knew a drop of alcohol. They'd drink the entire place out.

"Well, you see… I don't really remember!" However, even if I thought they would have horrible tolerances, I was a complete lightweight. Drunk me was not the best person to be around, not the most responsible either, "But know that if I catch you with even just a liiiitttttlllleee bit of anything that resembles a drink on that board up there, I will make sure you never have the capacity to drink anything ever again!" I wouldn't have put it that way if I were sober, but at least drunk me was too stubborn to give up her morales.

"Is she drunk already?" I heard Kjelle mutter distastefully. "She's drinking spirits, that's probably the least alcoholic of all the drinks in this place…."

"Oh, come on Kjelle," I heard Cynthia whisper back, "Lucy's downed like, four of those already, cut her some slack, right?"

I was giggling like a madman. Gods, it was so embarrassing. The impairedness the spirits put on my mind was ridding me of mortification and was instead making me look like a buffoon who couldn't hold her own sword properly. And as that thought came, soon enough, I felt my hand ride up my scabbard, onto the hilt of Falchion, lifting it slowly, with no amount of grace whatsoever. Kjelle, thankfully noticed this.

"Alright, maybe it's best if we left now," My sword was soon abandoned, settling back into the scabbard with a satisfying click, almost like it was a button, as Kjelle picked me up by my armpits and dragged me off the stool while I flailed like a monkey.

"Nooooo…." I whined, trying to reach for the abandoned drink on the counter. "Kjelle, it-it's soooo good, you gotta lemme have a bit more, just a bit!"

Cynthia laughed from behind. Seeing her older sister act as if she were a three year old could cause a bit of humour, I imagined. From her perspective of things, it must have been quite the spectacle, with Kjelle being my designated sober friend, arguing with me, the drunken fool who was still reaching out for her drink.

The situation was completely ridiculous, and the mediocrity of it all wasn't even lost on my drunken self, who vaguely thought, Hey, this would make a great sitcom! Until she remembered there was no such thing as a sitcom in this world. It probably could have made a comedic play at best.

As fun as it was with the rare sense of joy in our difficult times, everything soon had to return to the nation wide depression, especially with the three of us. The first thing that threw us back in was the loud BANG near the center of the tavern.

Kjelle still had ahold on me, though it loosened significantly, enough for me to stumble out of her grip, not as focused as I normally would have been, but enough to not let me be a complete liability. Cynthia's head whipped back to where the noise came from, as did the other patrons, who were mere milliseconds behind her. Her ears were always good at picking up noise.

As we all looked over, I raised a brow. Two patrons were fighting, swinging fists at each other like they were pendulums, their anger intoxicating the building. Kjelle looked back at me, her expression was still blank, but more readable this time. I nodded, seeing as I was in no position to say no, not to mention she was probably the best of us to take this position with how we were at the moment.

She took confident strides to the table in question, not taking the time to falter. Everyone's eyes were now trained on her. The professionalism she held was breathtaking. About a foot from the table where the two patrons had yet to cease their scuffle, Kjelle coughed into her gloved fist. The people in the tavern seemed to collectively suck in air, when the two (probably) drunk clients ignored her. Kjelle coughed again, more loudly this time, but the two drunkards still didn't acknowledge her presence, either not knowing she was there or they were ignoring her purposely.

Thoroughly fed up, Kjelle cut into their loud grunts of gibberish. "What are you two doing?!" She hissed angrily. She motioned to everyone in the room. "Your little fight here is disturbing everyone in here! Either quit it or move it outside!"

"Wrong move…" I heard the bartender whispered anxiously.

Hearing him, I started to become anxious. "What do you mean, 'wrong move?'" I demanded, thoughts swimming to all the worst possibilities, my mind grasping to how severe the situation might get. Were the two men dangerous and we just hadn't known? Was Kjelle in danger? Was she going to get hurt? I wanted to know all of the answers desperately, but the attention had shifted back to them.

"Ah, hell," One of the men scoffed condescendingly in a southern like drawl, "we ain't botherin' nobody, is we?" He looked like a slob, alcohol splashed almost every inch of clothing he had, with dry drool on the side of his mouth.

Kjelle crossed her arms, shoulders tensing a bit as she did. She was getting really pissed off with the first guy. "Actually, you are," she contended calmly, though she was nearing her breaking point.

"Oh yeah?" The southern man slurred arrogantly. "And whozzat? A little bitch like you?"

Kjelle broke.

She threw a punch the man's face, and a loud, sickening crack echoed in the establishment. At first I was concerned it was Kjelle who somehow hurt herself, when I realized the man's nose was bleeding heavily. Kjelle was landing more and more punches, when Cynthia thought enough was enough and held her back.

"Yeah," The drunk man spat, holding his bloody nose, red marks all around his face, and an eye that looked like it would soon grow black, "that's right, someone like you'd need another bitch to hold ya back!"

I was about to step in and stumble out of my chair to punch him once more for good measure, though the man he had originally been fighting seemed to take care of the job for me. Either way, I stumbled my way back to my sisters to make sure they were alright. Quickly, I thanked the man for silencing the drunken slob.

"No one talk to little lady like that!" Was his hearty response. I noted he had a thick German accent. Familiarity washed over me, though I chalked it up to an accent I was used to hearing from Before. That or it was still the alcohol working my system.

Still, I didn't have a piece of the action, so I lifted the unconscious asshole by his shirt, putting my mouth to his ear. "I hope you know you were speaking to the Exalt's siblings," I muttered with pleasure, as I dropped him to poke his side with my boot. I wish I'd seen his reaction had he been conscious, but I figured someone would tell him what happened once he awoke, so I was satisfied enough.

We left the tavern after that, not in the mood for anything more in a public setting. Kjelle and Cynthia insisted we do one more thing together, but I wanted to spend a little time alone, so we went our separate ways. Cynthia would be by Orchid, probably grooming her, and Kjelle would be wiping her armour down until she could see her reflection. And I would be training.

In the courtyard, I was willing Falchion to cut the wooden dummy in half, though it wouldn't budge, because I still knew we shouldn't have the need to waste money on another dummy. It would have been the fifteenth for the month. I grunted with each swing of my blade. It was supposed to be a happy, congratulatory day, but all that came out of it was annoyance and bad times. Was my sixteenth birthday really going to end on such a sour note?

The rustling of the bushes to the left brought me out of my thoughts. Could I not be left alone either? After everything that happened that day, what with a grand birthday reception with almost all the country celebrating and nobles giving me fake smiles for them to land in my good graces, and then the bar; I was exhausted. I was in no mood.

"Who's there?!" I exclaimed to the bushes. Nothing. I knew better. "If you don't come out now, I'll slice those bushes until you do come out!" They shook, and I looked on in anticipation, until a young man came out, maybe only a few years older than me, brushing twigs and leaves out of his messy, dark brown hair.

"I knew this wasn't the back entrance…" He seemed to mutter sheepishly. He had a guard's uniform on, his helmet was in his hand, and his folded blue hood was down.

I immediately underestimated him, eying him warily. A new guard? What kind of guard got lost, new or not? Wasn't he supposed to be accompanied by another guard too? To show him around? "What in the gods' name would make you think this was the back entrance? Can you not see this is a courtyard?" I rolled my eyes patronizingly. How desperate were we getting with new help?

"Oh no, make no mistake," he said, raising his hands to diffuse my anger. "I said I knew this wasn't the back entrance. In fact, I know the back entrance is just around the bend," He pointed to the stone wall behind me, and I grit my teeth in frustration to his smart Alec shtick. "I was just surprised by your sword technique. It looks really professional for how young you look." His face was completely blank, no emotion showing. Despite what compliment that could have been, he was really pissing me off.

I raised a brow, about to inquire something, but decided against it. Instead, I turned back to the training dummy. The guy seemed to backtrack a bit once he realized I was ignoring him purposefully. He tried to fill the tense silence. "...I'm sorry, are you not young? I mean, You don't look forty, so I assume you're probably younger than that. ….You're not that old are you? …. Oh wait, I was always told it was rude to ask a lady's age. Oh well, I always thought all that etiquette was kinda bull-" I snorted, which seemed to make him pause for a second. "So you do have a sense of humour." He observed.

"Yeah, maybe I do," I muttered, slicing at the dummy's arms, careful not to damage them too horribly. "Never liked etiquette…."

"Direct approaches suit me better, you know? Since you know that now, I guess there's no point to beat around the bush," He inhaled sharply as I turned to him curiously, "Wanna spar?" Overall, he was calm, but I could tell he was a bit of an introvert if asking for a spar made him flustered.

Briefly, I wondered why he would want to spar with me after how rude I'd been, and we didn't even know each other, but it was better than destroying expensive equipment, and it was a better way to release my frustrations, so I agreed. As we stood across from each other, I decided to give him a little warning. "I hope you know I'm drunk as all hell, so excuse me if I fumble," there was a placating look on his face, like he decided he didn't want to spar after my revelation, but the way his eyes were trained on my movements from only a bit earlier told me something else. He already knew.

Although it was a spar, in a training ground no less, we used real blades. I don't know why, but I blamed the guy for being too lazy to get the wooden weapons, even though I knew it wasn't true. He charged first, and I followed suit. Our weapons clanged against each other dangerously, our swords opposing every little push we gave. At one point when I had the upper hand, I gloated about it restlessly, and I prided myself on keeping my place, but he kept pushing back and eventually had me on the defensive. It made me furious. Was I going to be undone by a nameless guard with a tacky steel sword? I was being arrogant, and I'd curse myself later for being so insensitive and crude. It wasn't like me at all. But the man took it all in stride. If I said he fell, he would get back up. If I said his parry was weak, he would add more force to it. He didn't let a single thing I said get him down, and I appreciated it immensely, even if I was being an asshole myself.

Still, while I was furious, I was being reckless. I became rushed, and my normally elegant sword technique was crumbling before my eyes into piles of senseless trash. I was being unpredictable, not holding back and instead putting full power into my swings. My eyes were closed, and it was as if I was swatting a wasp away fearfully. It wasn't until a large CLANG reverberated that I opened my eyes, and upon looking, they widened. Falchion was up against the man's steel sword, close to his neck, extremely close. If he was a second too late with that block, or had I been an inch closer, I would have lobbed his head off.

I lowered Falchion shamefully, my head ducked down so he couldn't meet my eyes. I would have killed him. I would have killed him. I would have killed him. The thought resounded within me as my ears decided to stop working, as did my body. I was trapped within my mind, with the image of almost killing a man stuck in my conscious. I couldn't show my face to this man anymore, and with him being a guard, there was no doubt I would have to encounter him again, and again, and again. I would have the fact that I almost killed one of my men over my head, and he would probably lord it over me too. And-

"You know, most of my spars don't usually end with me almost being decapitated," I grimaced. He noticed and continued as he realized I was actually listening, "but this was pretty fun. Just don't be so extreme next time. ...Or drunk. You know, whichever one works"

I looked up abruptly, staring at him in befuddlement. Next time? What did he mean, "next time?" Was he daft? I almost killed him, he even said it! I demanded this to him. He couldn't be this much of an idiot, surely.

"Well, sure," He rubbed his neck, over the spot where his blade left a pale mark from the pressure I exerted and the pressure he used to exert back. "might as well. Besides, you're… something…"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "I dunno, my gut's just telling me you're something, and if you're something, then you're most likely something not worth giving up." It sounded like a cheesy line from a movie or something. The thought itself sent me into another round of giggles.

I scoffed to cover up my laugh. "Well okay then," I dragged Falchion over the surface of the dirt our messy footprints covered. "What's your name anyway? We never said,"

He put out his hand to shake, and I took it cautiously, like he was some sort of doll I could break at any moment. "The name's Walter, nice to meet you."

"Lucina, and likewise." Now that things seemed to be civil, I let out a deep breath I hadn't noticed I'd been holding. I guess I was pretty tense from our disaster of a spar.

He paused a moment, our hands falling from each other. "You mean the Exalt…?"

I nodded, not knowing what to say to that. He didn't know he'd been sparring me? And I thought he seemed smart for a second…

He didn't freak out as much as I expected him to. He only let out one little peep and that was it. Otherwise, he composed himself pretty well. Level headed, observant, and a bit blunt to the edge… "We could use more men like you," I laughed and slapped his back cordially as he stumbled with slight protest.

We really, really could.

Wow, this came out later than I intended it too. I wanted to get this out much earlier, but November has so far been pretty busy for me. Oh yeah! This story is officially a year old since November 8th! I guess that means I should be trying to get chapters out faster huh? Especially since Fire Emblem Fates/Birthright/Conquest is coming out in early 2016! By the way, did everyone see that Nintendo Direct? It was really cool!

Otherwise, is this chapter we see how everything's progressed in the four years we skipped over, then the three 'sisters' go out to a bar in celebration for her 16th birthday! Of course, the country held a very large reception for her for the majority of the day, but she wanted sometime with her family only. Then, Lucina is a lightweight. I'm probably not very good at portraying a drunk person, but I tried! Then we get back to the castle, and we meet Walter!

Special shoutout to my good friend DragonofAnnoth for collaborating with me on his OC and giving me some ideas for Walter and his little portion of the chapter! Also, I blame Dragon for this being late, he told me not to rush and I took things way too slowly! So someone, please spam his amazing Fire Emblem story with love and appreciation because his story is really good, okay?!

Oh yeah, I'm also probably going to stop the little Q&A thing I set up at the bottom of each chapter, but in case you guys wanted to continue something like that, if you have any questions please ask me! I'm always open to them!

Reviews are love and motivation! Also please leave criticism! I am very open to that!