Chapter 28
"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" the redhead was still holding her husband.
"Yes," he managed, "but we need to hurry. I'm getting a bad feeling."
"I've been having bad feelings this whole time," she muttered, "hasn't stopped me."
"I'm sorry," the Grandmaster sighed.
Anna cocked an eyebrow at him, "Huh?"
"The... silence, the disappearing act, the hours I've wasted," he listed, "I... I was given a lot of time to think about what wasn't said when I thought you were... well, at any rate, I apologize for all of it. I apologize for not being a very good husband."
"Hon," she pushed him forward as they began walking, "that's sweet, but A: this isn't the time, and B: you don't need to apologize for being you. I get it, okay? I've never once resented you or regretted my decision in all these years. So wipe that scowl off and let's wrap this business up, eh?"
He shut his eyes, "Hmph. All right, as you say."
"That's more like it," she encouraged, wrapping her hand around his, "C'mon, gimme one o' those big smiles and make fun of my hair, or something."
He laughed, "There is one thing that's always bothered me: I don't look anything like I used to, but you, you haven't changed a bit since we were kids."
"We met when I was almost twenty, you old coot," she ruffled his hair.
"Like I said, kids," he grinned back, "I mean it, though: how is it you still look exactly like yourself?"
"Anna family secret," she wagged her finger.
"Is it hair dye?" he supposed.
Her eyes widened, "Sh-Shhhh! You don't know who could be listening out here!" He laughed again.
"It was nice to see all the kids again," the Grandmaster continued in a low voice, appropos of nothing, "It's just my luck that it took a war to do that."
"Mm-hm," she mused, "Stevie's such a big boy now, isn't he? He's reminding me more and more of his father..."
"He's got a good head on his shoulders, if nothing else," her husband assented.
"Did he tell you about Sophie?"
"Of course, he writes me often enough."
"I never saw those letters."
"You never asked."
Anna frowned, "Well, what about the twins? Did you find Sylvie while she was performing?"
"No, actually, she was the one who counseled us to go to Lieben first. I'm still not sure how she knew that..."
"How about Leo? I know you have your... points of contention with him."
"Heh. Leo's fine, he's a smart boy, he just doesn't know what he believes. He wants everything to be solved by fighting because he doesn't think he's good at talking, but he can be just as convincing as his big brother if he applies himself."
"But you two are always getting into fights."
"Fights and arguments are different. Leo and I argue, which is to say I try to put his rhetoric to the test so he'll learn and maybe resolve something peacefully one day."
"He does have kind of a chip on his shoulder regarding Steve..."
"Case in point. He wants to validate himself, that's all."
Anna hesitated for a moment, sighing, but decided she might as well go through with it: "And Morgan?"
"Morgan is," he paused and selected his words, "similarly misguided. It's fine. I'm the parent, so I have to do what's right for her, even if she doesn't like it or me by extension. It's okay, I'm a big guy, I can take it."
The redhead chuckled, "Big is relative, but sure. She really is still a sweetheart in all other regards, though. She's so cute about Inigo."
"Again, as the father, the onus rests on me to take umbrage with any boy she likes. What can I say, fate has settled on the fact that she'll only ever like you."
"We proved that fate is nonsense, remember?" she jostled her husband's shoulder.
"I know," he said simply.
Anna exhaled sharply and turned her head to the sky, "It's been... a long road, hasn't it?"
"Very," Robin agreed, "Not that I'd have it any other way. I love you, Anna, and I want to be with you wherever that path ends."
"Baby..." she blushed, feeling his hand seize hers.
"Oh gods, would the two of you quit it or get a room?" a voice suddenly emerged from the plains before them.
Anna jumped in surprise before her eyes focused on the noise's source, then she shivered a little, and not because of the cold air, "Oh, it's... you."
"Tharja?" Robin cocked an eyebrow, "What in blazes are you doing all the way out here? I thought you hated the cold."
"A little reconnaissance," the dark mage sighed, "it's a long story."
"You picked a fine time," the Grandmaster continued, "as it turns out, the current Khan Regnant was installed by an anarchist named Nihilus to instigate a civil war and unite Regna Ferox against Ylisse."
"Yeah, yeah," Tharja waved her hand, "I knew all that."
The Grandmaster's jaw dropped, "You did?"
"Of course," she flipped her silky hair, "you think you're the only one capable of getting information?"
"So, why are you still here, then?" Anna demanded, somewhat hesitantly.
"I was looking for someone," the raven-haired girl smiled behind her bangs.
Anna frowned and wrapped her arm around her husband's back. Robin blushed and scratched his neck, "Look, Tharja, this whole thing about you and me... You know it's never going to work out, right?"
She frowned, too, "Yeah, I know. It's been long enough: I'm over it. Besides, Henry's proven himself... amusing."
"Good," Robin bowed, "no hard feelings, then?"
"Never," she smiled tenderly, then glared at the redhead beside him for a fraction of a second. "I do have a mind to ask, though: why are you two here?"
"An equally long story," the Grandmaster supposed, "We've been trying to stop Nihilus. The last branch of his influence is here."
"Really?" she blinked, "Hm, prompt as ever, darling."
"How fortified is the East Palace?" Anna demanded, tightening her grip.
Tharja didn't look at her, "See for yourself; it's only a few yards ahead." The raven-haired girl turned and beckoned them. The pair followed her into the deepening snow that blanketed the plain until they caught sight of the palace, alabaster, wind-blasted walls laying bare, save for the sounds of deserted flags flapping in the icy wind. Mounds of snow crept up the walls while the purplish iron gate was held shut, flecks of white decorating the bevels that dotted it, and only a small, seemingly singular orange glow emanated lowly from the windows within the palace, like a sunset localized entirely to the building.
"It looks... completely abandoned," Robin announced, stepping back.
"Yep," the Plegian nodded, "most of the Feroxi soldiers took off to aid the attack on Ylisstol."
"You know about that, too?!"
"Sure."
"Well, why haven't you gone to help?"
"Henry's taking care of it."
Robin blinked a few times and massaged his temples, "So, there won't be much to stop us if we just... barge in?"
"Not as far as I can tell," Tharja shrugged, "I'll even come with you."
"That's okay," Anna was pushing her husband forward.
"Now, Anna, let's not be hasty," he halted her, "A little extra support never hurt anything."
"Yeah," she walked up beside the pair, glaring at the redhead again, "Think of all the extra support I can provide. Wouldn't that be better?"
"First of all," Anna put her hands on her hips, "'Let's not be hasty?' I'm only on this stupid journey 'cause you decided to be hasty to begin with! Second, I don't know why you're so intent on taking this... home-wrecking stalker with us—!"
"Don't be so high and mighty, peddler," Tharja growled, "My intentions are perfectly innocent."
"You stay out of this."
"Difficult. You make me feel pretty involved with your insinuations!"
"Maybe if you'd quit stuffing yourself with my eye candy!"
"That's all he is to you, huh? Property? Something to show off? You're a merchant through and through."
"I am not about to be lectured by a voodoo priestess with boundary issues!"
"Better than the insecurity you're showing right now."
"AH-HEM!" Robin cleared his throat loudly, "Is there any way we could do this when the fate of a country, if not the whole world, isn't at stake?!"
Anna caught her breath and sighed, taking a few steps toward the palace. Robin followed her and she muttered, "You got off easy this time, you curse-slinging..."
Tharja also grumbled behind her, "Don't talk to me about 'getting off easy,' you money-grubbing little—"
Robin reapplied his hand to his face and rubbed it.
[*]
The man looked over at the child with a stern scowl on his face. The boy was small and soft, almost doll-like with his reflective green eyes and feathery white hair. The hair, in particular, gave him an air of nigh-eternal youth, such that no matter how old and gnarled the face became, his father suspected, the perception of this boy would never age. It was that hair that cause the scowl on his face. "Go on, say something," he commanded.
The boy refused.
"Come on," he demanded, balling his fist and looming over the child, "You have plenty of words when I'm not around, but you clam up all of a sudden once I show up. Why's that?"
Again, the boy did not answer.
"Go on, speak up," his father's palm lightly slapped the boy's cheek. He did it again, "Say it. Say what you were saying before."
The boy remained mute.
His father slapped him again, this time leaving a red imprint on the boy's cheek. His eyes widened with surprise, and he felt a hot rush of embarrassment as tears began to flow from his eyes. "Oh, gods," his father rolled his eyes, "now you're gonna start crying? You are a real cut-up, kid."
The boy said nothing and rubbed the tears on his sleeve.
"You're pathetic," his father shoved him to the ground, "scared. A little coward is all you are. You think 'cause you're a kid I'll let you get away with talking behind my back like that? You're a snot-nosed little runt, and the only reason you're still here is because of your mother. If you weren't glued to her skirt, you'd have been outta here on your ass in no time."
The boy suddenly felt the muscles in his arms and cheeks tense, "You... you're not my real dad."
The man's face lit up, "I'm sorry... what in the seven hells was that?"
"You... can't tell me what to do," the boy was pushing himself up, "you're not my dad. My dad was a good man, you're just a... filthy, stupid drunk!"
A punch knocked the air completely out of the boy's stomach, "You impudent little shit. At least you finally grew a pair. But now... now I've got my reason."
"You can't hurt me," the boy squeaked, "my mom will never let you...!"
"I don't care what your mom thinks, it's time you learned a lesson, you little cretin," the man seized the white-haired boy and dragged him over by a cabinet. The boy was only confused and a little upset at being moved against his will, but panic overtook his senses as he saw the towering figure who had captured him pull a rusted knife out from the cabinet, its edge gleaming in the daylight. "Now, we're gonna see to it that you don't ever have a chance to bad-mouth me again!" The boy kicked and screamed in the man's muscular hold as the blade drew closer and closer to his mouth.
The pain numbed his mind. That moment seemed frozen, although he briefly recalled the moments that followed: the little pinkish lump that hit the floor, the coppery taste filling his mouth, the feeling of his eyes rolling back so far that it seemed they were going to detach from their retinas, the constant pressure still holding him... The only thing he couldn't recall was the sound of his own screaming which, for everyone else within a mile, and was sharp, shrill, and utterly piercing.
The man did not think he would be making a grave at the beginning of that day. Now, however, there was a small corpse dangling on his arm.
[*]
The trio scaled the stone walls simply: Robin gave his wife a boost and she scaled the wall, drawing back on a few family techniques she recalled, then offered her hand to her husband first and, begrudgingly, the dark mage thereafter. When they came to the front doors of the palace, they found them padlocked. Anna scoffed and simply kneeled down, brought out her tools, and set to work. In less than a minute of clicking sounds, the lock fell into the snow, the chains along with it. The Grandmaster pushed the door open and peered inside: the antechamber was empty, and past it, there were no signs of life in the central room of the palace.
The group continued in, moving slowly, either to prevent detection or out of reverence for the eerie, unbroken silence of the seemingly empty palace. They wandered in and out of rooms in this manner, scanning scuffed floors, scraped carpets, and rustled furniture, but only shadows seemed to occupy the space. "Something about this seems familiar," Robin whispered as the proceeded, "and not in a comforting way."
The walls continued to reveal nothing as the group cleared rooms on both wings of the palace, finding weapons and armor abandoned on racks and nearby floors, as well as plates with bits of food preserved but stone-cold due to the outside temperature. The search seemed entirely fruitless until Tharja brushed too closely against a bookshelf and tripped over a volume that had fallen to the floor. Her face was warmed when the Grandmaster offered her a hand getting back up, and afterward she bent over to retrieve the obstacle. Immediately, she recognized a few dark magic runes scribbled on the cover.
She flipped the tome open, seeing a myriad of dog-ears and notes hastily scribbled in the margins. Extreme fraying on one particular page drew her attention, and so she flipped to the page and began to read. Her eyes widened as she did so, "Oh."
"Something wrong?" Robin whispered.
Tharja remained silent and continued to read in astonishment for a moment before tearing her eyes away, "This... this is... ugly."
"Ugly?" the Grandmaster cocked an eyebrow.
"There is some... seriously sinister stuff in this book," she held it only with her fingertips, as if it had a foul odor, "some stuff even I'd say isn't right."
"What are you talking about?" Robin pressed.
The raven-haired girl shook her head, "Messed-up stuff. Stuff like making vessels of the dead."
"What? But I thought you said dark magic couldn't raise the dead."
"It can't, in the way that you can't bring a person back to life with all their memories and personality intact, but giving animation to lifeless bones and skin isn't impossible... It's still something that's frowned upon. Something a self-respecting dark mage would never do."
"Horrible."
"Definitely. There's a lot of similarly underhanded and vile material in this thing... emotional manipulation, memory manipulation, alteration of perception..." Eventually, the dark mage snapped the volume shut and shivered a bit, "This kind of magic doesn't belong in this world. I'm gonna burn this thing."
"Do what you must," Robin nodded, "Anna, let's take a look at the throne room, huh?" She nodded.
When the pair approached the throne room, they finally spotted the source of the orange glow that had kept the palace lit upon their arrival. Wrapped in an inky black cloak, a wrinkled man with a sharp nose, sharp eyes, and disheveled chrome-colored hair leered back at them, "Intruders! Who are you, and how did you get in here?"
"I'm a locksmith," Anna blinked, "and... I'm a locksmith."
"You amuse yourselves at my expense, you wretches?!" he stood, fuming, "I'll tear the flesh from your bones! I'll carve you to pieces!"
"I don't have time for petty quarrels," Robin folded his arm, "Are you the mysterious and reclusive Khan Vlasis, perchance?"
The man cackled sickeningly, coughing as his old bones creaked, "In a way, yes, I suppose I am."
"Speak sense," the Grandmaster commanded.
"Imbecile," the man grunted back, "you want to see the East-Khan? Here! Look!"
A bright amethyst-colored flash blinded Anna and Robin momentarily, but when they looked back, they saw a small frame begin to take shape in the light. As the flash faded, a boy with snow-white hair and forest-green eyes was smiling innocently back at them. He bowed.
Robin did the same and Anna curtseyed, "Do I address Khan Vlasis, Khan Regnant of Ferox?"
The boy nodded.
"You're quite young for your position," Robin noted.
The boy shrugged.
"In any case, I've come to ask you to abandon your conflict with your western brethren and Ylisse. My name is Robin, and I hail from Ylisse. Ylisstol, Ylisse's capital is currently under siege by a vagabond named Nihilus who seeks anarchy across the whole realm. Supporting his desires will bring ruin unto all of us."
The boy listened to the response, nodded solemnly, and then offered up his hands, twisting them together.
"Will you not speak to me, sir khan?"
The boy bowed his head and shook it. He cupped his palm over his mouth.
"Oh, you're a mute? Apologies, I wasn't aware."
The boy shook his head again and bowed cordially.
"Vlasis," the old man in the center of the room caught his attention, "now that our friend is done giving his pitch, shall we give him our answer?"
The boy's eyebrows creased as he glanced back at the Grandmaster.
"What does he mean?" Robin wondered.
"Vlasis," the old man smiled and waved his index finger, "kill these intruders!"
"What?!" Robin took a step back.
The boy looked at the floor and sighed. When he lifted his gaze again, he raised his fists.
"No," Robin shook his head, "I refuse to fight an unarmed child. And shame on you for trying to force him, you old wretch."
The chrome-haired man grinned broadly, "You misunderstand your circumstances, intruder... You don't have a choice."
Robin looked back to the boy, who was now within inches of his face. With immense surprise, Robin watched as the boy's fingers, pointed like a dagger, dug into his flesh and amassed purple, acidic bubbles to accompany a sudden, searing pain that hit the Grandmaster's gut. He shouted and reeled back, staring and panting at the boy. The youth simply shook his snow-white hair along with the rest of his head and jumped closer, bursting forth in a similar cloud of purplish gas. "What in Naga's name...?" Robin gawked. He dodged a few more attacks from the boy.
The old man shouted, "Don't hold back, you little cretin, or I'll reduce the spell so you can feel it again!"
Vlasis's eyes widened intensely and he stormed at the Grandmaster, who continued to narrowly avoid the quick swipes. Eventually, with remorse, he drew his sword, aimed it at the boy's arm, and lopped it off in one clean stroke. They both watched the limb fall to the floor, but no blood spilled. Instantly, the limb evaporated into purplish smoke, and a similar film extended from the boy's arm, revealing a perfect copy of the amputated arm. "What?!" Robin repeated, finding himself gawking again."
"I knew it," Tharja walked through the doorway to the throne room, "I hope you'll forgive my stopping to spy a little, but now I've got a fix on you, you old monster."
The man in the center of the room turned, "Do you address me, girl?"
"Yeah, you," she sneered, "You're the one who wrote that creepy volume that was hidden on the shelf, right? You're the 'Twisted Sage,' Datura?"
"Indeed," he smiled broadly.
"Robin," the dark mage turned to him, seeing that he was still dodging the boy's attacks and swiping at him with his blade, "you can't kill that boy, he's already dead."
"But..." The Grandmaster hesitated, avoiding another strike, "he's the east-khan..."
"Exactly," she drew closer, "he's a hollow shell with a pretty face set up as a vessel to be used for rulership by a sick, twisted mind." The man in the center of the room cackled loudly.
"So what do we do?" Anna demanded.
"As if there's a question," Tharja rolled her eyes, "kill that scum."
Anna needed no further instruction, running at the kneeling man. He tossed her away with an explosion of violet magic, however. The redhead got back to her feet and glared at Tharja, who shrugged innocently before opening a dark magic tome of her own.
"You little savages can't kill me!" Datura shouted, "I've conquered death itself! I'm the reaper! You think you can surmount that?!"
"Gods, your voice makes me ill," Tharja chanted and a series of incantations causing black rivulets to emerge from the ground around the old man. He laughed and cast a spell of his own, breaking them. "Damn," Tharja sighed. Anna ran at him again but was thwarted similarly. Robin continued to step out of the way of Vlasis's attacks while continuing to stab and hack at the strange entity without apparent effect.
"This isn't working!" Robin decided, slicing right through his opponent's torso, "Hey, both of you!" The two women turned their heads, "Attack him together already!"
The pair exchanged glances and nodded. Tharja opened up her tome and moved her hand as Anna darted forward, brandishing her sword.
"Useless!" Datura cried, aiming a strike of purple lightning at her. Tharja frowned and shifted quickly, opening a black rift that absorbed the attack and shielded the merchant.
Sweating, Anna looked back. "Just go, you idiot!" Tharja commanded, redirecting her attention. The redhead nodded dutifully and readied her sword again. The dark mage cast a sigil that wrapped around her enemy and bound him for a moment, and Anna used the time to surge forward, slicing at his head. The prepared Twisted Sage quickly invoked a shadowy saber that redirected the attack to his chest, only leaving a cut along his flank, before he broke Tharja's spell and snared the redhead in a similar fashion, choking her in a void of swirling black smoke.
Robin took notice, hopping away from Vlasis, and pulled a red tome out of his cloak quickly. Concentrating, he directed a fireball at the Twisted Sage, who blocked the attack, only for Tharja to catch him off-guard with a concentrated, explosive burst of violet light, knocking the old man to his feet. Anna fell to her knees, but waited, panting, only a second before realizing what was required of her. She leapt over to the Twisted Sage with breakneck speed and planted her sword in his chest. Then, for good measure, as he started and coughed, withdrew it and cut his throat, too.
"Now!" Tharja commanded, looking in Robin's direction. Robin frowned and brought up his sword, allowing the white-haired boy to approach, then dragged the blade across the boy's chest in a blink, and then proceeded to slash at each leg, each arm, twice more across the torso, and, finally, cut cleanly through the neck. The boy's eyes remained widened with surprise as the head fell and rolled along into the pile of ribbons, which all slowly evaporated. For a moment, Robin thought, even if he was only convincing himself, he swore he saw the face smile.
Panting, the Grandmaster fell onto his backside and breathed heavily for a moment. Tharja knelt down in repose, too. Anna lifted herself from the Twisted Sage's body and slowly trudged over to her husband, where she sat down and leaned on his shoulder, also breathing heavily, her clothes stained with blood.
"Well," Robin said between gasps, "that's the last tributary to this stream. Our next target... will be the big man himself."
Somehow, it didn't register as much of a comfort.
[...]
Dahlia stalked over the collapsed forms of the Ylissean Royalty, watching and listening as the Ylissean and Plegian armies clashed that of Ferox and their own personal militants. The fever of metal and voice crashing against each other overwhelming the battlefield began to make her stomach churn, and she turned from the dreadful noise to see something approaching on the horizon. Snapping her fingers, the Rose Blade drew a collection of mercenaries over to surround her. She sent them forward to investigate the approaching group, but felt the hair on the back of her neck bristle as she recognized the faces therein. She stepped forward and confronted the party, "You. I know who you all are."
"And you haven't attacked us yet," Steven observed, "I hope this means you're willing to negotiate."
Dahlia scoffed, and the assembled mercenaries laughed, pointing their swords, "Children of Grandmaster Robin... you truly have no idea what you're up against, do you?"
Leo smiled, "Miss, you're the one without a clue who you're dealing with, I promise you."
"Is that right?" she sneered, pointing her sword at his throat, "Please, enlighten me."
"Okay," Leo shrugged. He lifted his fist and whistled, mimicking a bird call.
Dahlia searched the skies with amusement, "And that was...?"
"Wait for it," the assassin grinned.
"I don't appreciate your being coy."
"No, no, hold on."
Suddenly, an eagle screeched overheard. Dahlia searched for it, her eyes meeting with the sun. Suddenly, she heard a thud beside her. The Rose Blade looked down to see a white-and-red cloaked figure kneeling next to the corpse of one of the men beside her. "What?!" she blurted. Suddenly, the noise repeated itself like a horrible chorus as shadows of the same figure descended on the battlefield, eliminating her guard and obliterating the back line of the mercenary-Feroxi as they appeared from hilltops or shadows launching out and swallowing up the fighters. "W-What?!" Dahlia repeated dumbly, staring at the assassin in the salmon-colored cloak before her.
"I told you," he shrugged. He produced a knife and leapt for the woman's throat. She had the sense to move just in time: he stabbed into the thick leather of her collar, though the knife drove all the way through and superficially pierced the artery by her throat, drawing a steady trickle of blood. She shouted in horror and fled, shoving the assassin back and kicking dust in his face as she tore off.
"We have to go after her," Morgan insisted.
"No," Leo shook his head, "Let the crazed beast corner itself. We have bigger fish to fry."
The group took a look at the enemy army, which was quickly breaking rank as assassins, white cloaks showing, wound into the crowd, reaching their arms around armored units, pulling the helms off, stabbing the throats and throwing them aside, or pulling down mounted troops and stabbing them similarly. Troops with neither armor nor mounts stood no chance. "Those are the bigger fish?" Sylvia wondered.
A figure dressed in crimson emerged from a nearby hillside, "Yes, they are."
The group all turned to face the figure. Inigo was the only one who spoke, "Who are you?"
The figure bowed its head, "I cannot say, though my identity is of no consequence to you. I will tell you, however, that you should tend to your family, prince."
Inigo blinked, then looked to the ground to find his mother, father, and sister all collapsed. "Oh, gods!" he shouted, shaking them, "Mother, Father, Lucy! Are you all right?"
Chrom groaned, "I... Inigo? Is that... you?"
"Yes, it's me, father," the prince said softly.
"Thank Naga," the exalt breathed, "listen... we'll be fine... you have to stop this..."
"I know," he clenched his fist.
"Be careful," Chrom warned him, "he... Nihilus... he may already have the Emblem."
Inigo swallowed, "Very well. I will stop him regardless."
"I know you will," his father wheezed, "just... stay... safe."
"Yes, father," the prince clasped his hand.
"The rest of you," the crimson-hooded figure commanded, "You mustn't enter that palace until your father returns, it will spell certain death."
"I knew you'd come, somehow," Leo said, staring at the figure, "Are you a brother? You must be."
"I am indeed a brother, among other things," replied the figure.
"You sound... different," Steven charged, "I think the time for mysteries is ended. Just who are you, exactly?"
"You are wrong," the figure protested, "it is irrelevant."
"You came to me, too," Sylvia came forward, "about going to Lieben, and finding my father, you sounded different then, too... what's going on? How do you keep finding us, how do you know when our father is going to arrive?"
"Unless..." Morgan began to suppose.
"Are you certain you want to go down that road?" the figure cautioned, "Once this is known, there will be no avoiding it."
The silver-haired man nodded, "Yes, I think I've got it all put together now. All the pieces are finally assembled. You... the Crimson Hood, or was it Scarlet Hood? You're in remarkably good condition for your age, considering the stories from the Valmese campaign. Something about your presence doesn't add up; your very identity is impossible, not to mention the variations in voice and stature I've noticed, the ability to appear wherever you desire... unless..."
Leo craned his neck, "You're not sayin'..."
"The one who calls himself 'Crimson Hood...'" the orator continued, "You must be... not you. Not one, a collective."
A figure dressed in clothing that mirrored the figure standing before the group hopped out from behind a rock, applauding, "Very perceptive, very perceptive indeed."
Another, in the same outfit leapt down from on high, "Smart boy."
One more revealed itself from within the same shadow as the first, "I'm glad someone finally figured it out."
Finally, a fifth skidded down the same hill from which the remainder had emerged, "Good, maybe we can wrap this charade up."
"So then, we know that who 'you' are extends to more than one person," Steven continued, "but your identities are still a mystery. Although I'm beginning to have my suspicions."
Morgan felt her heart shudder, "Steve... what are you getting at? Do you know something?"
"I don't know it for a fact," he shook his head, "but having read through classified accounts of father's battles, I do have one supposition that alleviates these contradictions."
"You think it's... like then?" Morgan wondered aloud, recalling her own perusal of those histories.
"Indeed," the orator grinned, "There's only one conclusion: you all are us, aren't you? From the future."
The Crimson Hoods lowered their guises for the first time, showing, from left to right, a silver-haired man with a hard jaw but soft eyes and smooth lips; a woman with chestnut hair, teary, sapphire eyes and a periwinkle scarf; a man with auburn hair, a scar across his nose, an emblem pinned to his chest, and an array of feathers under his salmon-colored cloak; a redheaded woman with equally red eyes, her hair done up in a signature ponytail and her index finger resting on her chin; and a shorter woman, also with ruby hair that was long and curly and rolled down her back, who sported a particular purplish tactician's cloak under her disguise. All of the figures were beaming smiles back at their counterparts.
The older silver-haired man shook his head and sighed, "Ah, look at those stupefied faces... Were we ever so young?"