Chapter Two

Truths or Lies

Having lived my entire life in Plegia where superstition was happily embraced, I was no stranger to outlandish claims. However, being told that the world I lived in was never my home to begin with made me feel pretty sure that every piece of bullshit I've ever heard before would never compare to this.

"Excuse me?" The expression on my face was indescribable. I stared at him. He stared back. And several seconds later, I shook my head and took one step back. "On second thought, I'm just going to leave. Peace out."

To think, for a moment there I thought I was about to hear something earth-shattering. He had the seriousness for it. The certainty in his tone of voice, the intensity in his eyes, the everything. Yet the moment he finished, the ground barely even cracked.

I turned around and stuffed my hands back into my pockets, wondering what the hell came over me to decide that interrogating the creepy stalker was a good idea. I should've reported him to the police when I could. It was the most sensible action. My curiosity got the best of me and it resulted to this.

"Wait!" I heard him call. I've barely made three steps forward before I felt his hand grab my shoulder. Irritated, I turned my head slightly to regard him questioningly. "I'm not joking. I speak only but the truth," he said.

There may or may not be merit to his words. There was still that glaring fact that somehow, somehow, he knew my name without me telling him. And to give credit where it's due, using that knowledge had me falling for his scheme hook, line, and sinker. But I wasn't about to completely believe him just yet.

Yes, even if he didn't seem to display the usual signs a liar had. Even if he managed to maintain eye contact as he spoke to me, didn't trip over his words even once, and spoke with a tone that implied he believed what he really said. Even if he never doubted his words one bit.

Because, hey, with the technology we have these days, there were plenty of ways to find out someone's identity without talking to them. It was easy to accomplish that within the day. So was this guy for real or not?

"Take your hand off my shoulder, and I won't decide to hit you," I calmly warned him. I pulled my hand out of my pocket and raised a clenched fist for emphasis. "I don't really pull a mean left hook, but I'm fairly confident I can break your nose if I tried hard enough."

I was bluffing, more or less. I wasn't really meaning to hit him. I've never really hit anyone in my life… anyone who didn't deserve it, anyway. This guy was barely there, and I wasn't about to risk my personal safety even further. "Only take the plunge if you know you can control what could happen next," as my dad would say. I knew I couldn't control the actions of an unpredictable person, that's for sure.

Fortunately for me, the guy decided to do what I've asked. I didn't realize how firmly he'd grabbed hold of me until I felt my shoulder relax from the pressure. Was I going to get a bruise from that? No, but I was sure that I would if he gripped a lot harder.

"Sorry," he said afterward.

"Apology accepted," I returned. "But honestly, are you for real? This place—this world—is my home. Why would you even think I'm willing to dump everything I have just to end up in a place I wouldn't know, let alone care about? I don't even know you."

"I should have expected you'd say that. But I had to give it a try," the man said. I noted how disappointment he'd sounded just then. In fact, the way he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck nearly had me believing that he was being genuine. But I reminded myself that I shouldn't grow lax just because of that.

A gullible Robin was a bad Robin. There had to be room for doubt.

What was he thinking? Even if he had the proof to back up his claim, I wasn't about to let him take my hand and drag me through some magical portal or something. I had friends and family here. Connections. A life to live and an education to finish. All these were invisible ties that I couldn't just snap off with a pair of scissors. A life—that was what I had here. It wasn't the best of lives a person could have, but it was mine. And to lose all that on a whim? I'd rather shoot myself.

At least the stalker didn't seem to be as stupid as I've thought if he knew that skepticism would meet him soon after he said all of that. Small mercies.

"Yep. Should've known." I nodded. As much as I wanted to see this whole thing through because, technically, I made this whole thing happen in the first place, I thought it was time to put a stop to it. This conversation wasn't going anywhere. "Now if you don't have anything else to say, I've got papers to write, a sandwich to inhale, and a bed to sleep on for an hour or two. Don't bother following me again."

"I..."

The moment I closed my mouth, I could practically see him formulating an alternate plan of action in that head of his. His lips were set in a thin line and, it was hard to explain how I could just tell, but his eyes shifted into a calculating one as he regarded me in a much more different light. There were gears in his mind, shifting continuously as one idea sprang after the next. But if his renewed strategy involved knocking me out and just dragging me with him, I wasn't going to hesitate burning that coat of his with a simple Fire spell before running like hell while he was distracted.

Call it a counter-strategy. My counter-strategy. It certainly worked wonders when some idiot from a few months back tried threatening me with a knife in Plegia. He wanted my stuff. I gave him a fireball.

But instead of anything happening, nothing did. He didn't answer. Didn't even move a muscle. Taking that as my cue to leave, I flashed him an empty, polite smile before turning my head back to face what was in front of me.

I walked away as fast as I could. If he had any objections, I was too far to hear it.

The next two days were fairly uneventful compared to that strange encounter. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing... that was up in the air right now.

They all happened the same way: I went to sleep at around four in the morning, didn't wake up until nine, and grabbed some breakfast soon after. I returned home to work on my paper a little, writing a section about Chrom's tactician and the strategies they'd made use of during the war, and then I went out for some air and for some sightseeing because gods know when I was going back to this nice, calmer (compared to the chaos that was the Plegian capital) city in the future. I came back to my apartment to work on my thesis some more, went out for dinner, started writing again, and then the cycle repeated.

Today, though, I decided to take a break from the monotony. Instead of visiting the Grand Library located in the upper district, I went for the building that had somehow managed to be maintained for two millenniums.

The National Museum of Ylisse was a lot more beautiful on the inside than it was on the outside, thank goodness. The main hallway was reminiscent of a throne room with large stone columns, dangling chandeliers, and banners hanging from the wall, depicting the Mark of Naga. The flooring was waxed and polished, and there was even a rolled-out carpet stretching towards an immense, wonderful painting at the end of the hall. There were also other corridors to take a turn on to lead myself into another portion of the building.

Gods, I could already imagine how splendid this place must have been in the past.

It was all the more wonderful that today was a weekday and there weren't as many people around. Just some security guards dutifully doing their rounds. The museum had free access to everyone, and to compensate, security was tight.

Currently, I was admiring the paintings displayed on the white walls in one of the corridors. Each depicted the previous Exalts, some with their family included, and they all had a certain regal air to them as I gazed upon each one. As I walked down the hall, one painting in particular that grabbed my attention the most. In fact, I got so absorbed taking in all the details that I completely lost awareness of my surroundings.

Each painting had a story behind them. It was fun to imagine what they were.

...Except that might have been my wrongest decision ever.

"Quite the looker, isn't he?"

Instead of surprise, I felt annoyance flare up inside me, hot and searing.

It was him. Again.

"I told you to stop following me. Do you need to have your ears checked, or are you just incapable of understanding that you're not wanted?" I quietly said without turning to him. "I should have reported you to the police, after all."

Yep, tooootally should have sicced the police on him.

The previously pleasant expression on my face was gone. I tried focusing on the painting as a distraction. And immediately, I regretted having chosen this painting because gods, Exalt Chrom was indeed handsome. The blue-haired man on the painting had a certain intensity in his eyes as he stared ahead; his skin appeared to be smooth, and somehow the serious expression he wore just made him 'quite the looker' indeed.

The guy or gal who painted it better have a raise, at least. This painting was actually pretty realistic.

"You left before I could say more," the man said, interrupting my thoughts.

"You took too long. My time is not yours to waste." I took a not-so-subtle step away from him as I felt his presence beside me.

His hands were clasped behind him as he also admired the painting. Quite fondly, too, with a small smile smile on his face and a soft gaze in his eyes. Then he exhaled and turned to me. "Look, I know you have little reason to trust me. I know I've been doing a terrible job getting you to listen, and your reaction is just. But all I ask of you is to give me one chance. One chance to explain everything."

I glanced aside him. I placed a hand on my waist. "And what makes you think I won't decide you're insane in the brain?"

"I think I can be quite convincing," he said dryly.

"Convincing, he says. If you can convince a flower to stop blooming, I'll believe you," I shot back in a similar tone. The disbelieving look I finally shot him had him faltering for a moment. Those amber eyes of his could really portray hope really well.

"Just one chance," he repeated. I groaned in resignation

"You know what? Fine. Fine. If this gets you off my back after you've finished, then I'll listen. And I pray you maximize the only chance I'm giving you."

"Thank you," was all he said, smiling and practically sagging in relief. Whatever tenseness he had before was now gone. "But we're not talking here. Too many ears. I know a place that's private enough for our needs, though."

"…How am I sure that you're not just leading me to my early grave?"

The man shook his head in mild amusement before turning and gesturing for me to follow with a movement of his hand. "Robin, a little trust goes a long way."

"A little trust is the difference between another day of living and a knife in the back," I returned.

I moved to follow him all the same, wondering the entire time if I was being an idiot by doing this or just being reasonable.

The man led me through several twists and turns throughout several districts, not with the intent to confuse me, but with the crystal clear intent of ensuring that we weren't being followed. The amount of tall buildings around me thinned the further we went, and soon those structures of steel and glass were all replaced by trees, greenery, and the occasional, poorly-maintained house as he led me to the outskirts of the city. We walked and walked until, finally, we stopped in front of a house with dirty windows, a rusting roof, and walls with yellow, peeling paint. Only the door seemed to be the most decent-looking from the entire package.

I gazed up at the cloudy sky. We must've been moving for like, what, fifteen minutes? Thirty? I didn't have a watch on me. But judging from the position of the sun high above, it was still relatively early in the afternoon.

"I don't know how to tell you this, but your house looks like it's one storm away from being blown off the map," I said as the man stepped up into the porch and took hold of the doorknob, twisting it and pushing the door open.

"Thank goodness this isn't my home, then," he said. He waved his hand to the side as his way of beckoning me to come in. Gods, now he chose to act gentlemanly. I rolled my eyes and walked inside. He followed suit, but he left the door open so we had a source of light. It was dark inside.

Then I tried not to sneeze, because everything that still remained in the abandoned house—sofa, small television set, some broken picture frames, and a really dirty kitchen past the staircase leading to the second floor—was coated in a fine layer of dust. I also spotted some cobwebs in the corner of what seemed to be the living room, and I silently prayed to Naga that its inhabitants were out fishing.

I hated spiders. I'd rather wrestle a crocodile than endure those eight-legged freaks crawling up my arm. Why couldn't we just have this talk outside? We were covered by the surrounding trees, and no one as crazy as him would even think of coming here.

The man noticed where I was looking and chuckled softly, the back of his hand covering his mouth. A dirty look from me was all it took to shut him up.

He cleared his throat. "Alright, now that we're here… I suppose that, two days ago, I might have been too desperate to have you coming with me. Of course you'd doubt me. You're a sharp, sensible woman."

Something about the way he talked about me rubbed me the wrong way. While I was stumbling in the dark, he seemed to know me like we've been friends since forever. That was so many levels of wrong. "You speak as if you know me. That is fucking creepy," I said. "Why is that? I don't even know your name."

"It's—" For a moment, he seemed ready to share it. Confident, even. But then a thought seemed to occur to him and he immediately shut his mouth, conflicted. He spoke a second later. "…Raven."

First, he'd been stalking me. And now… this? He was raising enough red flags that I really wondered what was wrong with me and why I was still here.

"That's not your real name," I pointed out.

"It's not," he admitted. Without shame, too. I didn't know whether to appreciate that or otherwise—not a lot of guys could do what he did.

"What could you possibly be hiding that you wouldn't even share your name with the person who has your anonymity—and freedom—on the line?" I asked incredulously.

He shrugged helplessly. "Sorry. It's some really complicated stuff. Believe it or not, I might just make things harder for the both of us. It's safer this way. I know I'm digging myself in a deeper ditch the more disbelieving I'm making you, but there it is."

"Before the day ends, you'll have dug yourself to the other side of the world," I said. But I let it slide, for now. There was something much more important than that right now. Or at least, I hope it was important because I wasn't going to be a nice person when I realize I was being played for a fool. I shook my head. "Also, seriously, let's just do this talk outside. I didn't think this was going to be relevant, but prolonged exposure to dust makes my chest tighten."

Raven looked at the doorway, decided that this place was isolated enough, and nodded. I was never so glad until now to be back out in the open. I took a lungful of fresher air and, after scanning my surroundings, I found a tree I could lean against.

"Anyway," he then began, opting to stand several feet in front of me. "You've mentioned two days ago that Grima had been felled for good."

"I did."

"Unfortunately for the both of us, that's not the case," he said. He actually looked apologetic as he said that, like he'd just admitted that he killed a puppy.

Still. What?

"Don't be silly," I said. "I've read the history books. I've checked the records. Interviewed the experts. They all say the same: Grima didn't live to see the next day after he was struck the killing blow." Three fingers had been raised after I've taken count of my previous activities concerning Ylissean history. "Exalt Chrom and his army became heroes after that whole shindig was over. Then two millenniums of peace passed, and here we are now: in present day Ylisse with all the technological, industrial, and magical advancements made throughout the centuries."

Hell, modern day Ylisse and Plegia was so vastly different to the ancient times that the leaders of both nations actually got along with each other. We've had treaties signed in good faith, action plans made, and even international organizations that monitor everything and enforce the peace. That was how far we've gotten since the days of old. And now this guy was telling me that what I knew was wrong?

"I wish that was the case," he said. At my raised eyebrows, he nodded. "Really, I do. Your historians painted quite the nice picture there."

"And I'll be helping them paint even more pictures someday," I shot back. I wasn't really sure how much that line of work paid, but it was practically a dream job of mine. I didn't know what else I'd want if not that. "Then by all means, tell me your version of the story. Let's see you out-history me."

"That's not a word," he pointed out, but the unamused expression on my face got him back on track. "Two thousand years ago, Exalt Chrom and his allies fought a long, hard battle at the nape of Grima, fighting hordes of undead with the world's safety as the prize. Casualties were suffered on both sides, but eventually, Grima was weakened enough to be struck with the decisive blow. This part is where what you knew and what I knew differed, Robin."

I stared at him inquiringly.

He nodded. "Grima was indeed felled, but not for good."

"That's a load of bull. How does two thousand years of peace pass by without a single peep from our resident Fell Dragon? Hell, how are we still here and having this talk if Grima's still alive?" I'd meant to automatically dismiss him because there was just no way that was the case. I didn't have a case of bad memory, so I was very sure of what I've read and studied. But after sensing the genuineness in his voice… I couldn't help but want to know more. My personal lie detector would have gone haywire if I knew he was fibbing.

…Not that my lie-detecting skills were that impressive.

"Because Grima had only been sealed. Not exterminated," Raven answered calmly, his amber eyes watching my every reaction.

I stared back at him challengingly. "How?"

"I'm sure you know about the Awakening ritual, yes? Where the true power of Falchion is unlocked by Naga and its wielder has a fighting chance against Grima?" At my nod, he continued. "The catch is that the then-called Exalted Falchion cannot truly kill Grima. It can only send the Fell Dragon into a dormant state for one thousand years."

That just opened a new can of worms. I pushed myself away from the tree I was leaning on, stepping closer to Raven. "Then if we're going with your version of Ylissean history, then a millennium ago, Grima should have reawakened. How come history hasn't taken note of that?"

"Because after Exalt Chrom had sealed Grima, everyone had all agreed that they will count the days, months, and years before the Fell Dragon threatens to rise once more. All the while, the Fire Emblem was to be kept in a safe location until it was once more needed. They've taken great strides to ensure that next generation prioritized the Fire Emblem's protection above all else. And the next generation, and the next. No child reached their majority without learning when exactly the sealing happened and when it was going to happen next."

Now that was something I definitely didn't know. I regarded Raven critically, watching out for signs that he was fooling me despite my best efforts to stay alert. He didn't hesitate to meet my stare, steadily maintaining it as he lifted a hand to rub his chin. A small, grim smile stretched on his lips.

Damn. I ignored the way my stomach flipped at my confirmation.

"So you're saying that, what, the Awakening ritual was done exactly a day before Grima's expected resurrection? That the seal was renewed by the descendants of the Exalted line and Grima never had the chance to rise?" I asked.

"Exactly so." He nodded. But then his expression darkened. That somehow reminded me of rainclouds. "But somewhere down the line, something went wrong. I don't quite know how it happened. Or why. But the Fire Emblem went missing. It was never found ever again."

"What."

"It's true. Even the gemstones couldn't be located. At first, those who guarded it were worried and afraid beyond reason. But as decades and centuries passed, the following generations had grown lax and forgot about it entirely."

Floored didn't even begin to describe myself after being dumped on by that kind of information. I couldn't speak at once—I wasn't entirely sure whether to accept this as fact, but… I still couldn't help but think that this was big. Really big, if proved true. But then, wait. Wait a moment. I pinched my arm before I actually started flying into all sorts of assumptions. Pain flared briefly. What he'd said still didn't explain the one thing that still tugged at me.

"How in Naga's name did our historians miss something like that?" That was what I wondered about the most. I didn't hesitate expressing that out the moment I found my voice back.

"Because in the eyes of those not involved in Grima's sealing, the Fell Dragon was gone for good," Raven explained. He didn't even pause to formulate an answer—he just knew. "I'd say they thought it was better not to alert the rest of the world. We would have had a thousand years of fear otherwise. "And besides, time has a funny way of warping information. At one period you'll know such-and-such was what happened, but as hundreds of years pass, people start doubting and assume that so-and-so was what really happened. There's also the fact that interpretation varies with each person, and now you have what you have today."

I couldn't fault that reasoning at all. On to my next question, then. I placed a hand on my chest. "Then what's my role in all of this? Why me?"

The half-apologetic and half-hopeful expression that flashed across his features was something that hinted to only bad things. My heart couldn't help but leap at his suddenly intense, amber gaze. And I found that I couldn't move a single step. I couldn't object at how he was invading my personal space as he stepped towards me and placed both hands on my shoulders.

"You're the missing key to Grima's permanent death," he said slowly, each word weighing heavy as gold. "You're a Fellblood."

There was no absolute way this was all real. This was was bullshit of the highest degree.

The man in front of me was a stranger. I had no reason to believe him. For all I knew he was trying to gain my trust, get something from me, and leave me hanging once he got it. He spun that tale to make himself sound believable. Denial coursed through me thickly, and it took nearly everything in me to just quietly say, "Explain."

"Look, I have no idea how it happened. Or who caused this. But you were removed from your original timeline by someone in the belief that your absence would prevent Grima from possessing you and harnessing the power he needed to fully resurrect himself," Raven said. "No Grima vessel, no possession. No possession, no restoration of power." Then he shook his head ruefully. "But as it was made apparent, Grima could resurrect himself just fine. Thus having no one to permanently kill Grima, the only other option in preventing the end of the world was to delay it as far as possible."

"Wait, what?" I jerked back from his hold and pushed him away. A part of me thought that would have been enough cause for the man to do something to me, but nothing happened. He just accepted the reaction without complaint. "How does a Fell Dragon self-resurrect?"

That sent the man into a complicated explanation involving alternate timelines, alternate versions of myself, and time-traveling. Long story short, in one timeline, I existed in my original world and everything went smoothly for Team Chrom until the portion where Other Me was successfully possessed by Grima, who was being revived by a cult known as the Grimleal. Grima killed Chrom, and that led to a bad future where the next generation tried to save the world. But then they were failing and Lucina, Chrom's daughter, was aided by Naga in going back to the past to change things as a last ditch attempt at fixing the future.

But then the future, possessed self of my alternate self followed Lucina. But as it turned out, I wasn't there.

"And now we are where we are. That's why you're desperately needed back in your real world," Raven finished. He was breathless by then, having laced his passion in each word he'd expressed. I didn't realize I'd been barely breathing either as I listened, my own breaths coming in and out at faster intervals than what was normal. "You and Grima are linked together through the blood you both share. 'Grima can only be killed by his own hand,' as I've been told. You sever that link yourself, and the dragon dies a full death."

Time felt like it slowed to a stop as I digested those words. The ambient sounds of wind, chirping birds, and rustling leaves muted to the point that all I could hear and feel was the beating of my heart. And at that point, it was as if the world only revolved around me. And him.

"And that's why I'm needed to return and set things straight," I said quietly. In a rare sensation of vulnerability, I wrapped my arms around myself. There was a phrase being repeated inside my head, but I chose not to mind it. "And now the problem is?"

Raven raised his head skyward and then lowered it at his surroundings. But instead of having the pang of nervousness I'd felt, ice cold and forbidding, he looked to be experiencing another emotion entirely. His jaw tightened. His body tensed, and his eyes narrowed. But not at me. Then he shook his head and looked at me once more, visibly forcing himself to relax. This time, I could read a similar state of alarm in his eyes. He'd tried to conceal it, but I've caught the hints.

"Grima will be returning very soon," he said.

Grima. Returning.

I've heard the tales about the dead rising from their graves, taking up arms and killing all those it came across.

I've heard how the earth shook so hard that it had split open and spat liquid fire everywhere.

The cries of the desperate rang in every direction, and only the mercy of death granted them the peace they sought. And most of them? They caused their deaths themselves.

I hadn't really put much stock to those stories, not knowing whether they were just legends or real tales, but the way Raven expressed the news he had been bearing caused my blood to run ice cold. I felt a shiver crawl down my spine. I knew I didn't need a mirror to know that my face had grown pale enough that I resembled a corpse buried six feet below.

As if on cue, I felt something in my right hand stir. It felt burning hot, yet it didn't hurt. I raised my hand and pulled down the sleeve covering it to see a peculiar mark glow briefly before fading into its normal, tattoo-like self, the faint ache fading along with the light. The mark depicted three pairs of eerie-looking eyes, connected to each other by a convex with the bottom ends criss-crossing in a seemingly serpentine fashion.

It was the mark I've had since I was a kid.

I never really gave the thing much thought, honestly, beyond making sure that it was always covered by a glove or by my long sleeved attires. I'd just accepted its existence as normal because it didn't really do anything to me. Well, until now, that is. My parents couldn't even explain why I had it when I'd asked them before. They were equally confused as I had been. But just like me, in the long run they just got used to the sight of it. Everyone got used to it.

"That mark…" Raven said, intently looking at the hand I was staring at. "That's the proof you've been asking for, Robin. That's the Mark of Grima. No one else has it but you."

Suddenly, the world seemed to snap back into focus. And along with it, my mind. Shaking my head furiously, I took a huge step back, pushing my sleeve down until it covered more than half my hand. I then balled my hand into a fist and held it protectively close to my chest with my other hand, warily eyeing the man in front of me.

"There is just no way this is all real," I said slowly. My white-blonde hair swished along with my head as I shook it again. "No way. No absolute way. You're just plain insane."

Batty. Irrational. Preposterous. Senseless. The thesaurus had many more other words for it, but the definition remained the same.

I was Robin, a graduating student of Plegia University. Not Grima's vessel, transported into the future in the hopes thwarting the Fell Dragon's schemes.

I had the goal of becoming a historian someday, not the goal of reliving history in the flesh.

Lastly, this world wasn't about to be ended by the revival of a humongous dragon. It was going to be around to see the next couple thousand years and experience all the ups and downs that it came with it. I refused to believe anything else.

This was all too much. I could feel myself snapping; I just wanted to spend this day doing research and writing my thesis, damn it!

"Robin—"

"No more. No more lies. That's enough," I said. I could feel my panic rising. The emotion burned through me, hot and searing. Soon it would leave me a charred mess, and I wouldn't know what to do then. "I don't even know what your role is in the grand scheme of things. I don't know why you know all this, why you express them as absolute fact." I took several more steps back. I almost stumbled as I accidentally stepped on a pebble. "And I don't care to find out. I'm leaving."

The last I saw of Raven was a desperate look on his face and an outstretched hand in my direction as I turned and fled the scene.

I didn't look back.

Holed up in my apartment at 11:30 pm, back slumped against the door with my knees hugged close to my chest. That was the best way to describe myself after that creepy-as-hell encounter several hours ago.

Having refused to turn the lights on, the small room I inhabited was bathed in moonlight sifting through the single window across me. It wasn't really all that dark tonight, just silent. I could see my neatly made bed right beside the wall to my left, and directly below the window stood a desk with a folded laptop and a couple pencils on top, evidence of my sudden lack of motivation to do anything for the rest of that day.

I sighed, replaying the events earlier. I stared up at the dull ceiling.

Logic would dictate that there was no reason for me to take the words of a stranger at face value. He had really messed me up by following me continuously, and his claims of getting me to come back with him to some other world made zero sense. Especially when he had nothing to convince me with that proclaimed his words as true. He didn't even want to tell me his real name. I refused to acknowledge that the mark on my hand was his "proof." It was just a birthmark, nothing else.

But on the other hand, he knew my name. He knew what the mark on my right hand was, and he spoke about me with so much certainty that I'd just end up wondering if I merely forgot who he was entirely. Then there was also his version of the past events that he narrated, done with so much sureness that it was almost impossible to say that he made all of that on the fly. He spoke of Grima's return with a certain graveness. With dread. And when he reached the part that I was the only person who could stop Grima for good, he was brimming with hope.

A groan escaped my lips and I rubbed my forehead. Which was really the truth? Which was the lie?

I thought I knew myself inside out. I was so sure I did. But after today… after today, I began doubting. I was never admitting this if I ever saw him again.

"Gods damn it, he could go jump a cliff for giving me this dilemma," I muttered. In fact, I'd happily push him off of one.

Just. Screw him. Screw this day. I wish I could just conveniently have amnesia or something. Too bad banging my head on a wall wouldn't do jack.

Stress was the last thing I needed in my life. This day was the last thing I needed in my life and I shouldn't have dragged him off somewhere in the first place let alone acknowledge him—

Ow! I lost my balance and fell to my side as the earth suddenly started shaking wildly. Without pausing to think, I quickly picked myself up and made a beeline for my desk, crawling on all fours until I stuffed myself underneath it and hoped nothing hard fell down and broke the piece of wood into two. I covered my head with an arm just in case.

Of all days… an earthquake?

It continued on as I remained in my spot. I could hear the couple on the room beside mine shouting frantically as I heard some objects make a crashing sound on their floor. I watched how the pencils on my desk fell down in front of me, rolling back and forth along with the ground. Some books dropped down, flipping open to a random page, and I quickly dove to catch my laptop as it dropped down soon after, resuming my previous position after I patted the thing and made sure it was in a safer spot.

Eventually, the shaking stopped. The night was still and silent once more, and yet…

That was somehow the scariest part of the night. I'm talking horror movie levels of scary here. The suspense was thick in the air.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed as I stayed there, shifting from a doggy position into a more acceptable, upright one. I just heard the seconds tick by on my wristwatch as I stared my shut door, waiting… waiting… For something I didn't even know about. Which was, in retrospect, stupid. This situation I was in had all the makings of a slasher film.

And then I heard something. Something faint, but tremble-inducing. Chills went down my spine.

I slowly crawled out of my hiding place, dashing towards my door and placing an ear on its surface. I could hear something like shuffling footsteps. And a moan? A low, guttural moan that I would usually associate with zombies. It was heading towards my spot, judging from the sound of it.

Wait. I stiffened.

Gods, it was coming this way—

The door suddenly exploded in a shower of wooden splinters.

I was sent flying into the back of the room as I heard the loud, cracking sound. Stars filled my vision as my head crashed against the desk, and a hot, searing pain in my cheeks flared as I fell down to the floor. I felt something trickle down the side of my head.

Moaning softly as I slowly stood to my feet, knees wobbling, I placed a hand at the affected spot. It was wet with something warm. I drew my hand back to see… oh. Blood. Hm. My eyes narrowed and my lips stretched into a thin line as I repeatedly flicked my hand to get rid of the liquid. I was still reeling from what happened, but I thought my mental faculties were still at a good enough condition.

"Must… kill…"

But then something immediately snatched my attention. A sound, harsh and gravelly and so very, very low. I looked up, and I forgot all about my wounds.

A small gasp escaped my lips as I jolted back, feeling my backside hit the desk.

The most I registered were a pair of red, glowing eyes, a rotten-looking face, and a sword before the creature rushed towards me with a roar.

A/N: For the record, I swear the whole missing Robin thing had been one hell of a headache to arrange into something believable. Took me a good while to organize. So if I missed something, feel free to point it out. I'll do some revising in the future.

That said, this chapter has been fun to write. Robin practically took a life of her own the further in I got. And honestly, I'm looking forward to seeing where I can take this (although I swear I'm going to be on a cliffhanger strike after this - there was no other way I wanted to end this chapter :v). No pressure, no pressure.

As usual, please feel free to review, favorite, or follow this story! Thank you!