Chapter 1: Everything Changes

She ran a hand along her temple and tossed her flowing ruby hair disaffectedly over her shoulder, sighing. She hadn't had a chance to visit her mother in so long, and she was pleased with the opportunity, however, that also brought with it the chance of encountering her father. It wasn't so much that she despised him, but they were at odds, without question. Where once their family had been inseparable, she had seen herself drift apart from her father's increasingly strange and impractical beliefs as he descended into what she could only term as senility. It was unfortunate, but that was what she had decided about her father. She frowned, biting her lip, that was what she had determined about her father, who had never had anything but laughter in his eyes and warmth in his breast. The young woman shook her head, deciding that this was too much rumination and elected to move forward.

It was not a particularly distinct sort of day. Pleasant in temperature and general weather, certainly, but there was little to characterize the clouds that hung listlessly as snow white in the ocean of blue that wrapped above her. The marketplace was as loud and as frenzied as she had remembered it, complete with children scuttling along every side, scrambling up the cobblestone streets, playing and shouting, dragging younger siblings along. The young woman smiled at them, pleased by their mirth, and continued past the delicious smells of bakeries and fruit vendors only scarcely able to keep herself from being distracted from her purpose. She chose to sate herself by drinking in the color instead, and hastened her steps toward her mother's place, seeing the crimson and yellow stripes that would always signal her mother's presence, or, at least, one of her aunts'. Abruptly, she felt a smack on the outside of her thigh and turned, allowing several more of the hapless younglings to chase on another by her, shouting all the way. "Watch where you're going," she called after the little boy who hit her weakly. She didn't have much time to admonish hapless youths, and so continued on the path to her mother.

Or, at least, she might have, had she not caught a glimpse of a strange sight: ships. Now, of course, it was not so odd to see boats close ashore in so bustling a port town, but these were not boats, these were ships. Ylisse had no ships. Taking note of this strange circumstance, the young woman straightened her hair back a bit, looking over the foreign objects another minute before deciding that there was a problem, and that the best course of action was to seek out her mother as quickly as possible. Unfortunately for the young woman, no sooner had she begun to quicken her pace into a jog than had her fears been realized: she saw fire expelled from one of the great entities looming over the port. The young woman, though she chided herself in the extreme, felt no choice but to pause a moment in her sprint to watch as the first garnet streak embraced a taller building and tackled it to the ground within seconds. Once more avowed of her senses, the young woman hastened her charge to where she knew her mother would be waiting, but again the ships struck, and there were sounds of screaming. Immediately, scores of people could be seen retreating from the edge of the water, flocking away from the destruction. Soon the sounds of impact grew louder, smashing into the harbor town with vigor and ferocity, arousing another bust of screams that seared the ears as the flame did flesh. Still, the woman proceeded forward, undaunted, prepared to find death if necessary to reach her mother, or, at least, so it seemed by her dogged pursuit. Fate, it seemed, had other plans for this young woman, however, as amid the screams and developing burning as she attempted to flee, she was distracted a moment by a thunderous ripping sound. Knowing what it meant, she flung herself in the first direction that came to mind, but it would be too late: the streak of flame caught her and flung her to the ground, where her eyes fell into shock, staring as still more people scrambled out of the way, dragging children and wives by the hands until her vision faded into a dreamlike vagueness, and then she could see nothing.

The walls of Ylisse had been struck for the first time since the Plegian conflict. That was what ran through the mind of the purple-haired young man who traipsed confidently onto the street of the harbor town. Of course, now it scarcely looked much like a harbor town, but rather it was a simple pile of ashes, scorched to an arid red, as if the entire area existed on a different planet, or was constantly beset by raging lava. Looking out over the sea of raining embers and still-burning flames, the man nodded, determining that he would not blame an onlooker to believe the latter might have been true of this place. His observation was broken by a guard who saluted him, asking for orders. He pointed along the streets, "Secure any survivors; see they don't remain that way. Establish a perimeter from these ends of the harbor. And if any of you should find a man or a woman in a Plegian cloak, you are to execute him or her and bring me the head and the cloak of this person as proof." These were the young man's orders, though he knew his bounties would never be discovered. Not today, at any rate. Today was where things began in what was guaranteed to be principally a conflict of attrition. The young man smirked, it was incredibly cliché to remark that this was "only the beginning," but, in truth, there was no other way to describe it. A man with leaf-green hair and a countenance that rested somewhere between a cocky grin and a barbarous scowl as well as a pink-haired woman who by her very appearance was already fatigued of everyone and everything approached the purple-haired man, saluting him. "There you are," he nodded at his comrades, "good, come with me." They did so, and followed the purple-haired man into the streets, nearly every other square foot still aflame.

The very world was on fire. So it seemed, at least, to the ruby-haired woman as she sat up, or tried to, feeling an intense pain in her chest that instructed her to fall back down. Straining, she pushed a collapsed beam off of her, realizing that it had splintered and cut into her stomach, and also realizing that it was not one beam upon her but several. Gradually, she wormed her way out of each with the wound in her stomach throbbing and gripping her innards with every movement, until, eventually, she pushed out from underneath the mass of wood and stumbled out of the alleyway she had apparently fallen into. She mindlessly rubbed her face, unwittingly staining her palm black with the ash that had compounded on every observable surface in the vicinity. Without thought, the young woman strode forward, clutching her exposed stomach, walking aimlessly about the streets. She decided she was searching for her mother, to see if there was any chance they had somehow both survived this strange... was it an attack? She mulled the thought over as she stumbled ahead: had war come to Ylisse once more? From whom? What were the goals of this perceivably unprovoked strike on the Ylisseans? From where had the attackers come? Would she need to draw the sword as she had once forced her father to teach her? All these were questions the young woman had not previously had time to ponder as she was fleeing and searching for her mother, but now the raced around her mind and caused her head to swell and throb at the same pace as her wound, making the sensation all the more painful and nearly unbearable altogether. Still, having no other recourse, she continued on in whatever direction she had been going, clutching her chest all the while, praying that there would be some end to cease her torment. She walked through the blood-red streets, almost redundant, as the hue of the fire cast onto the burning town almost clashed with the creeks of red blood that ran along the cobblestone streets. Eventually, the woman thought to cover her nose, as she couldn't manage to travel a foot in any direction without stepping over another dead body. She tried to avert her eyes, but saw every one, their eyes open, swolen in that moment of fatal surprise. There was a kind of morbid justness about it, however, as all walks of life here found themselves in the same position: there was a noble lady and her child collapsed before a sulking beggar, there were four peasant boys crowded around a scholarly young man, and there sat a gray-haired old couple in the dirtiest of rags, just above several pairs of elegantly dressed men and women, screams still pouring out of their mute throats. The woman shook her head; these were hardly the things to call attention to. She tried to direct her thoughts to hope for her mother's survival and pressed on.

As she crossed over into the next street, she became aware of a purple-haired man walking with a pair of compatriots who were impossible to make out in the distance. He spotted her, too, and began to move forward, telling his companions to halt with a hand. The young woman could feel herself sweat. This was the time to run, but she could not bring her legs to move. She only stood helplessly as the man drew forward and, despite his orders, his companions moved up, too, though at some distance. He stopped with mere inches between himself and the young woman, pausing to let his eyes flicker as they stared into hers. He brought his fingers beneath her chin and coerced her face up so he could continue to stare. "Who are you?" he demanded in a tone that was not so gruff as the question suggested. He abandoned the thought when she took a moment to answer, "Never mind, it doesn't matter. I know who you are. And I want you to tell your father and your damned king that their era is over. The world belongs to men such as I." He released his grip on the young woman and ordered one of his compatriots forward. The young woman heard him mutter, "Kill her." One of the indistinct figures complied, drawing up on the young woman, kicking her in her pre-existing wound, causing her to slump to her knees and cough up a spurt of blood.

Despite this, she called to the purple-haired man, "W-Wait...!" Surprise, he stopped mid-stride and turned, returning to the same distance. The young woman was undaunted, "What... is your name?"

He smirked, "My name? Nihilus. Why do you wish to know?"

She choked, then barked, "So I can find you... and kill you."

He smirked again, "Oh, you are a dear. What a waste of a good woman." He walked away and allowed his men to continue their work. The same figure that had kicked the young woman drew over her, inhaled, and held a sword aloft. It glistened in the light of the falling embers and made a vicious noise as it sliced the air.

[...]

It was Frederick who was given the less-than-desirable task of reporting the news. He strode into the exalt's chambers wearing a scowl. There was much news to be relayed, but Chrom had never been much for long-winded explanations, so as the exalt rose from his throne and made his way down the stairs to meet his Knight Captain, Frederick chose to relay the most important information in one sentence: "Ylisse is under attack."

Chrom's eyes widened, but showed no fear, "I had heard whispers. When did this attack occur? What's the situation?"

"A harbor town was bombarded by sea three days ago. Few survivors left, and still fewer were interested in running all the way here to the capitol to relay that information, so we know precious little," the knight explained with a cough.

"Tell me," Chrom asked earnestly, "do we at least know our assailant?"

The knight shook his head, "Not by name, no, but spurious reports declare the ships were flying Valmese colors."

"The Valmese?" Chrom gritted his teeth, "Walhart's been out of power for over a decade, now. I had heard no word of his return."

"I'm led to believe this isn't Walhart's doing, milord," the knight rasped.

"A lot of questions and no answers in sight," Chrom sighed, "Par for the course, I suppose." The exalt paused and nodded at his lieutenant, "This would seem to call for swift retaliatory action."

"I would agree, milord," Frederick bowed, "however, we must take caution to ascertain the truth of our foe's identity, lest we go making enemies in a war that ought never to have been started in the first place."

"Sagacious as always, Sir Frederick the Wary," his old friend smiled.

"You... you won't be leaving by yourself, I hope?" wondered the exalt's wife from behind him.

"Olivia," he sighed, "this isn't a fight to be taken lightly. Anyone I bring along for this expedition is in very real danger of encountering an ambush... or worse."

"I... I've been at your side through worse," the pink-haired queen of Ylisse took on an uncommon assertiveness.

"I know that," Chrom nodded laboriously, "but that was when we were left with no choice. For now, I'd like for you to stay under protection for as long as possible."

"I don't like this, Chrom," she accepted tenuously.

"Nor I," he agreed.

"I won't let you travel all by yourself, father," Chrom heard his daughter, Lucina, emerge from within.

"Indeed, Frederick will provide ample company," Chrom nodded.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," the blue-haired girl frowned at him, "I'll accompany you."

"Lucina, I don't want you involved in whatever violence may come, here," he sighed.

"Then we'll see to it things don't come to violence," she came to a half-smirk.

The exalt shook his head, "It's out of the question."

She balled her fists, "Why is it you always try to keep me from fighting, father? You taught me the sword, I can help! For Naga's sake, let me be faithful daughter to you and just accompany you on one expedition!"

The exalt sighed with fatigue and relented, "Very well, you may come with me." She smiled and moved forward, but Chrom was not finished. He jabbed a finger at his daughter, "But don't do anything reckless! You will follow me- closely- and do exactly as I say. Am I understood?"

"Of course, father," she nodded dutifully.

"Where's your brother?" he asked his daughter but looked to his wife.

Olivia answered him, "He went to Ferox for that dignitaries' dinner, remember?"

"Right," the exalt nodded, "I wasn't certain if he was back yet. See to it he's made aware of the situation as soon as he returns, but tell him he's not to come after us."

"I'll tell him as much, but I can't guarantee a thing. Despite his... er, eccentricities, the boy holds a remarkable admiration and devotion to you, Chrom," his wife noted.

"Just keep him out of trouble as best you can," Chrom ordered.

"I always have," the queen bowed to her husband. Chrom signaled Frederick and, with his daughter in tow, they began to march out of the castle. They were joined shortly by Stahl and Sully, walking at either side of the small party.

"What's going on, Chrom?" Stahl asked first.

"Ylisse is under siege," he spat. Both knights' eyes widened, but Chrom added, "You are to tell no one of this for the time being." They nodded in affirmation.

"Ill business, to be sure," Stahl's voice wavered.

"Stahl," Chrom ordered, "I want you to speak to some of the former Shepherds and prepare them should something go wrong."

"My lord," the viridian knight saluted, accepting a list from his commander before heading off.

"Sully, I only need you to see out one individual. I think you remember his name," Chrom waved a sheet of paper in front of the crimson knight.

"How could I forget?" she stared at it, taking it from him.

"Last I'd heard, he'd taken up residence in the plains to the northwest of Southtown. Ask around for him there," the exalt ordered.

"All due respect, sir," she looked up from the page, "Why not have me'n Stahl split the workload on the former Shepherds?"

"This one," he placed his finger on the man's name, "Is imperative to find. You ought to know very well why."

"I understand," she bowed, taking leave of him.

Lissa and her son sat in a nearby corner, overhearing the conversation. "This does not bode well," the young man at the princess's side observed simply.

"No kidding," she replied similarly. Staring at her brother another moment, Lissa inhaled, "Owain, I need something done, but I'm not really in the physical shape to see to it."

"Only tell me, o mother," he beamed, "Your loyal son shall complete the formidable deed for you."

"I know you will, Owain," she giggled at her boy, "I need you to take a letter. See the address?" She pointed to it.

He nodded, comprehending the implication, "Thy will be done, mother."

She held his shoulder before he could turn away, "Wait a bit. Don't let your uncle see you leave."

[...]

A lone figure wandered the rock-red streets, swearing that they were still ablaze despite the ample time to cool off. He shook his head as he walked, one hand never leaving the hilt of his axe. Things would begin to happe quickly, and he needed to act as soon as possible. He began to look over the bodies at his feet, and, to the greatest of happenstance, quickly found what he was looking for. He knelt down and picked up the ruby-haired young woman, carrying her away as hastily as he could.