A/N: Sorry for the delay! I was working hellish hours over the holidays and am only just starting to recover.

A New Weapon for a New Age

When Arlya appeared for the final time, she found Alfred sitting on the cot, waiting for her. His hands were folded in his lap, the right bracing the left. He looked at her with clear eyes, a stark contrast to her earlier visits, when he had drifted in cloudy misery.

"The dedicates tell me a strange story," she said.

Alfred nodded. "I'm sure they did."

"And they said you asked for me. Is that true?"

"It is. I wanted to speak with you."

Alfred kept his tone even and serious. Arlya sighed. What had happened to her little boy? The world had been cruel to him. She hated the downward pull of his mouth, the creases in his brow as he thought over everything. She hated how he looked at her like he was trying to determine if she was a friend or enemy.

Alfred, for his part, had been pondering what he would say to Arlya as he waited. He knew he was a terrible liar, and so in the end settled on a collection of partial truths. He would tell her all he could except about the most important things: She Who Sleeps Below, and his plan to stall the daemon war.

"I would like to hear what you have to say," Arlya said. "They tell me a high daemon broke in here."

Alfred nodded. "He was going to break me out."

"Yet here you are," she said.

"I came across some new information," Alfred said. "A prophecy."

Arlya tilted her head, listening. Alfred continued.

"It said that I would bring about the end of the Daemon war. Or at least the dedicates seem convinced it's about me."

"It is," Arlya said. "How much do you know about the day your were born?"

Alfred thought for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. "Only what you've told me," he said. "That you saved me."

Arlya nodded. "You were such a little thing," she said, her eyes soft with memory. "You were born during the darkest night or the year. For the gods, it's a cursed day, when our power diminishes to nearly nothing. Since you were born during that cursed time, you were left to die."

"And you found me."

Arlya sat beside Alfred and stroked his hair. "I found you. I snatched you up and saved you," she said, her voice reminding Alfred of when Arlya told him stories when he was little. "When we returned to Caelei, I asked Circalous if he could see anything in your future. And what he saw was what you read."

"So there's no way it isn't about me," Alfred asked, a tiny light of hope dying in his chest.

"No. Bringing us victory is what you are meant to do," said Arlya. "You are destined for greatness, my sweet. You are fated to be a hero!"

"And fate leads us all," said Alfred, defeated.

"Indeed."

Alfred let out a long sigh. He didn't want to admit it, but Arlya's touch on his head was soothing and eased his growing headache.

"I'm ready to come home," he said. It wasn't true, but anything was better than being trapped here.

Arlya raised her eyebrows. "Does that mean you're ready to tell me what you were doing here?"

Alfred flinched. It was time for his string of half-truths. He had to hope Arlya didn't press too hard.

"Daemons," he said after a long pause. "I wanted to know more about daemons."

"You could have asked any of us," Arlya said.

Alfred shook his head. "No. I couldn't have. I needed to see for myself," he explained. "I knew that things had been different before they stole Francis' music—"

"They have always been wild, deceitful creatures," Arlya interrupted. "Bringers of chaos."

"I know," Alfred said, trying to placate her. "I know, but I wanted to see what people said about them before. And this was the only place I could find anything about them."

Arlya studied Alfred for a long time, and Alfred felt a trickle of sweat down his back. Did she believe him?

Finally, she let her stare drop and she nodded.

"And what did you find out?" she asked.

"Very little," Alfred said, letting his genuine frustration with the situation color his words. "That you were once uneasy allies. That Francis and Arthur used to be lovers."

Arlya made a disgusted sound. Alfred forced himself to chuckle along with her, hoping to continue to satisfy her. It seemed to work, as Arlya seemed to lose interest in his findings.

"You want to go home then?" she asked. "The war is ending, and you will be fighting in it if you return."

Alfred stared at his hands. "It's my fate," he said. "I don't see any reason to keep running from it." Another lie. Alfred would do everything to postpone that fate as long as possible. But though Alfred wasn't a good liar, the words must have been exactly what Arlya wanted to hear.

Arlya threw her arms around Alfred. "I knew you'd see reason eventually," she said.

Alfred stiffened at the contact, but tried not to show it. He hugged her in return, hoping she wouldn't sense his ulterior motives. She broke the embrace and took Alfred gently by the arm. In a moment, they were at the gates of Caelei.

Alfred shivered. Caelei probably wasn't any colder than usual, but Alfred had grown used to the summer days. The air in Caelei was still and smelled faintly of metal. It chilled him in a way even the cold mists of the moors hadn't. Arlya left him on the steps of his bedroom. It was open to the air and much larger than his room at Antonio's inn.

The room was untouched since he'd left. The large bed was unmade and sheets of music were scattered on the floor. Alfred cringed. His lyre was still with Antonio in Albion. At least it was someplace safe.

Not that he could really play it anymore, Alfred thought, starting at his left hand. It was starting to hurt again as the medicine to stop the pain wore off. The wrist was swollen and lumpy. He could barely move his fingers, even if he ignored the pain it caused him. The first break might have been fine—it was clean and had been set right away. But after the damage Arlya had inflicted, there was no way he would ever get anything more than minimal use out of that hand.

It was the first moment Alfred actually had time to think about that. He's probably never be able to play again. His chest tightened, and he tried to swallow it down, but it stuck. Hot tears trickled down his nose and plopped onto his hands.

Alfred had never grieved before. He did now, for his lost music, for his lost friends back in the mortal realm, and for himself and the fate he didn't want.

Alfred woke on his bed. He must have collapsed with exhaustion earlier. The knot in his chest hadn't left, but had loosened enough so he could breath. Alfred glanced around the room, feeling like an intruder in someone else's home.

Alfred gasped. By the edge of the bed were his winged boots. He climbed over the bed and grabbed them, hugging the worn leather and fluttering wings to his chest. At least he wouldn't be doomed to wander lost in the canyons of the god-realm again.

Along one edge of the room was a large chest and wardrobe. Alfred searched through it, and stripped his filthy clothes for his old ones. Though the clothes were of finer quality than what he had been leant in the mortal realm, Alfred still felt uncomfortable. It was as if these clothes belonged to someone else, and he was stealing them. But that was ridiculous. Alfred shook off the feeling and slipped his boots on. He needed to talk to Francis.

Francis was where he often was, tending his towering roses next to the sprawling chambers in which he lived. He didn't seem surprised when Alfred alighted beside him.

"So you return," he said, his voice expressionless.

"That's all you have to say?" Alfred asked. "Not even a 'Welcome home!' or 'How was the mortal realm?' or 'how are you coping with being ripped away from all your friends and being caged again?'"

"No,' Francis said, not taking his eyes from the plants he was tending. But after a moment he added, "But I do have a different question for you."

"Oh?" Alfred said sourly.

Francis kept fussing at the roses with his hands, but Alfred saw his eyes dart around. After a long pause, he said, "Have you regaled your mother with your adventures in the mortal world?"

Alfred frowned. "You make it sound like I'm the hero of one of your ballads," Alfred said.

Francis chuckled. "All tales begin in truth," he said. "How much remains truth, we may never know for certain."

Alfred chewed on that for a little, then glanced around as Francis had. Francis' garden was on a hill not far from the court of the gods. Though Alfred and Francis spoke in quiet voices, Caelei was silent but for the noises caused by its denizens, and sound could travel far in the silent canyons.

"Mother was pleased with my tale," Alfred said, choosing his words carefully. "You would have disliked it, not nearly enough intrigue, mystery, or passion for you."

Francis raised his eyebrows, then gave Alfred a small nod. "How dull," Francis said, with a loud sigh. Finally, he looked up from the flowers and took in Alfred with his full attention. His eyes fell on Alfred's wrist, which he was unconsciously cradling.

Alfred followed Francis' gaze and winced. He tucked his hand out of sight. He knew it was stupid, but he felt like if Francis acknowledged the wreck of Alfred's wrist, that would make it real. After all, Francis had taught him how to play music.

"What happened," Francis said.

"Arlya," Alfred whispered.

"Why?"

"She wasn't pleased with the earlier versions of my ballad."

Alfred was startled to see real anger flash in Francis' eyes.

"I see," Francis said. He started to reach for Alfred's hand, but stopped mid-motion. "I wish there was more that I could do, but I'm afraid my roses need my full attention. Though I know Kiku is anxious to see you. Perhaps you could leave me to my work and bother your friend."

The suddenness of the dismissal startled Alfred. Nevertheless, he complied. Caelei was treacherous for him now, and Francis was much more skilled in intrigue that Alfred. He would trust his instructions.

The little workshop that Kiku had set up sent smoke up into the otherwise clear air of Caelei. A fire roared in the corner. Alfred had to raise his voice to get Kiku's attention.

Kiku turned to face Alfred with a frown on his face, then surprised Alfred when he threw his arms around Alfred.

"I'm glad you're alright," he said, barely audible over the noise of the workshop. It was more emotion than Alfred thought he'd seen from Kiku in his entire life combined. He was touched. Perhaps he wasn't as alone as he thought here.

As he had the thought, the door of the workshop banged open and Gilbert walked in. Alfred froze, unsure if he was faced with an enemy or not.

"Alfred," Gilbert said. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked over Alfred. "Glad to see you in one piece."

Kiku noticed Alfred's wariness and said, "Gilbert is working with Francis," he said. "We can trust him."

"My people are getting killed," Gilbert said.

"I thought they were the ones killing people," Alfred said, not convinced.

Gilbert's pale face flushed. "I'm the god of hunters, boy. All hunters are my people."

"Including the Southerners," Kiku clarified.

"Elizaveta's people?"

Gilbert gave a stiff nod. "Hunters don't need temples to be hunters. They practice the rite of the hunt, and so they deserve my protection."

Alfred glanced at Kiku who nodded.

"Look," said Gilbert. "I'm not going to cover up what I say in metaphor or niceties like Francis does. I'm sick of this war. I want it to end with as few people dead as possible. The other gods are keeping a close watch on him because they know he's soft on humans and daemons. They're not giving me the same scrutiny. So we're allies, alright?"

Alfred considered everything for a few long moments, but when he couldn't find anything to protest, he nodded. He needed as many friends as he could get.

"I'm glad I've got someone who I can just talk straight to," he said. That made Gilbert laugh.

"Francis does have a flair for the dramatics, doesn't he?" Gilbert said. He face turned serious.

"I'm glad you've returned alright," he said. "If we're going to stop this war, we need everyone at their best."

"Alright is an overstatement," Alfred said, emotion cracking his voice slightly.

Kiku blinked. "What's wrong?

Alfred wordlessly held out his injured hand towards Kiku. The wrist was bumpy and heavily bruised, sporting blotches of green and purple. His fingers were curled slightly, and Alfred tried to wiggle them. They twitched a little as a bolt of pain ripped over him.

Kiku caught Alfred's shoulder as he wobbled, and let Alfred catch his breath before speaking.

"What happened?" Kiku asked. "When I saw you last, it was a clean break."

"Arlya broke it. I couldn't really keep track of how many times," Alfred said. Under the safety of the roaring noise of Kiku's forge, Alfred recounted the events at the Library of the Gods.

Kiku paled as Alfred went on, but otherwise didn't show any sign of surprise. Gilbert gave such a string of curses that Alfred worried for a moment that they might draw unwanted attention. But when he calmed down, Gilbert took a closer look at Alfred's wrist.

"I don't suppose you can do anything for him?" Kiku asked.

Gilbert let out a low whistle. "I've treated more injuries than I can count," Gilbert said. "I know when something's broken beyond repair."

"I doubt Arlya even realized the degree of damage she was doing," Alfred said.

"She knew," Gilbert said. His voice was hard and his face flushing into blotches of rage. "Why do you think she'd go for your wrist? You lost that, you can't play music, you can't fight, you stay here forever with her. Safe."

Alfred chewed on his lower lip. As much as it chilled him, he thought Gilbert was probably right.

Seeing Alfred's face fall, Gilbert added, "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think she thought about what it would do to you. She loves you."

Alfred let out a hollow laugh. "If this is how she's expressing her love, it doesn't make me feel any better." He gave his head a shake, trying to clear it. "I won't be able to fight like you taught me, will I?" he asked.

"Not very effectively," Gilbert said, putting his hand over his mouth. He tapped at his chin as he thought. "Wielding one dagger just isn't very useful. I suppose I could start teaching you what sword-craft I know. Maybe teach you enough to not die in the coming battle."

Kiku gave a small cough to interrupt. "I think I may have the answer to that," he said. He gestured for the other two to follow him into the corner of the workshop. On the bench was something Alfred had never seen before. It looked like a long metal tube with a polished wood end.

"We call it a rifle," Kiku said. "It uses gun powder to shoot slugs of lead at high speeds. As long as you can brace it with your hand, you should be able to operate it just fine."

Kiku lifted it to his shoulder, resting the wooden end in the crook. "It's been Daka's project for centuries—how to make these. She and Pakram have spent considerable energy suppressing anything similar that starts to crop up in the mortal realm."

"She's been waiting for the end of the war to be in sight," Gilbert mused. "Then throw this into the mix as a secret advantage."

Kiku nodded. "It's been difficult to develop," he said. "But I think if Alfred takes this prototype, he'll be at an advantage."

"So it hurls a lump of lead," Alfred said, not sure why this was such a big deal. "I'm not sure how this is going to help me win a battle."

Kiku shook his head. "It will be easier to show you," Kiku said. Kiku lead the way outside. He asked Gilbert to set up some sort of target for the demonstration. He showed Alfred how to load the rifle by first pouring in blasting powder then jamming the lead ball down with a long rod.

When everything was ready, he turned to Alfred. "Cover your ears," he said. Alfred complied.

Kiku made a series of motions that Alfred didn't pay close attention to, and then fired. The little man was kicked back a little and there was a bang louder than anything Alfred had ever heard. The target Gilbert had set up was gone, a pile of rubble where it had been a few seconds ago.

"Shit," Alfred said, then repeated the word louder when he couldn't hear himself talk.

Alfred using and practicing with the rifle was easy enough to explain the other gods. It was going to be his weapon in the war. It wasn't even a lie. The rifle was unwieldy, slow, and hard to aim. Nevertheless, even Daka in all her warrior's glory couldn't rival the amount of damage Alfred could do in one strike. Even a glancing blow would likely cause a fatal injury unless treated immediately.

The rifle filled Alfred with a heady mix of fear and exhilaration. For the first time in his life, his power matched the gods. The rifle had many drawbacks—it was slow, and reloading was difficult with only one good hand. But when the blast went off, and the target was shredded, Alfred couldn't help the electrifying joy that came with such destructive power.

As time passed in Caelei, the gods prepared. Alfred wasn't invited to join their council. Neither was Francis. Though if that bothered the god, Alfred couldn't tell. Gilbert would discreetly fill their little crew in when he could, but spending too much time together would arouse suspicion, and then they'd lose their only inside source.

Living off scraps of information drove Alfred mad. He spent most of his time with Francis and Kiku up by Francis' gardens, pacing while the other two made bland conversation. His restlessness was only increased by the sense of being watched all the time—both by the gods he was working against and his own allies. There was no chance of escape from the wretched waiting. No chance to find comfort in Arthur's sardonic presence. He missed Feliciano. Despite the note they'd parted on, Alfred could think of no one he'd rather try to piece together their spare information with.

Weeks passed in this manner, until one afternoon as Alfred paced around Kiku and Francis, Gilbert appeared. His breath came in pants and his face was a chalky white.

"It's happening. They have a plan to draw out the daemons, and we don't have any time to waste."

Everyone on the hillside gave Gilbert their attention, though they moved slowly. No one had expected escalation this soon.

Gilbert ran his hands through this sweaty hair, leaving it sticking up at odd angles. "Daka and Pakram have had troops in motion for weeks, but they hadn't told anyone but each other. They'll arrive at Drachma tonight."

"Tonight?" Alfred said, stunned.

"Sweet mercy," Francis said. Gilbert nodded.

"What is it?" Alfred asked.

"It's the Fall Festival," Gilbert said.

"Antonio mentioned that," Alfred said. "It's to celebrate the harvest, right?"

"Yes," Francis said. "And it's a day that brings all the wandering tribes to Drachma for trade and celebration."

"The city will be bursting," Gilbert added. "They'll be slaughtered."

"And nothing draws out daemons like killing their favorite people."

"So it's a trap," Kiku said.

Francis and Gilbert nodded. Gilbert shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "Alright, Alfred. You'll come with me."

"What?" Alfred asked. He looked towards Kiku and Francis. "Why not them? I'm the one who is fated to kill the daemons. I thought we wanted to avoid that?"

"I'm being watched," Francis said, rage etched in every word he spoke. "If I vanish, the others will figure out that we're planning something."

"You want to help these people, right?" Gilbert said. Alfred nodded. "They know you. They know the daemons trust you. Or at least know that Arthur trusts you. You're the only one here who they'll believe. So you come with me. Francis and Kiku will try to make sure our presence goes unnoticed for as long as possible."

"But—" Alfred started to say.

"No," said Gilbert, cutting him off. "We don't have time to discuss this. Get you're rifle, Alfred. We're going to Drachma."

Kiku retrieved the rifle and handed it to Alfred. Something stirred underneath his usual calm expression.

"Alfred," he said softly, no yet letting go of the rifle. "It would be useless to wish you safety. So good luck."

"Kiku," Alfred said, worried that this may be the last chance they had to speak for a long time. "Stay safe. I don't want to lose my oldest friend."

"We shall see what Fate has in store for us," he said, then pushed the rifle and its gear into Alfred's hands.

"Let's go!" Gilbert said, and pulled Alfred after him into the mortal world.

A/N: Only the finale left, friends! If you enjoyed my writing, please consider leaving me a review, as they mean the world to me!