Chapter 26: Winds Across the Plains

The Nomadic Plains, The Nation of Sacae, Elibe

Year 1000

A sharp whistle pierced the plains as Petra blew into her fingers. Her wyvern stirred at the noise, poking her head over the dry grass to blink in her master's direction. Petra shouted a calling command in her native tongue and whistled again, more forcefully, just as another set of monstrous roars sounded at their backs.

Her heart jumped into her throat. Over her shoulder, she could see the creatures—the Faceless, Odin had called them, the same masked giants Petra and her friends had fought at the Altean harbor—thundering toward them across the horizon line. Distant, barely visible, but getting closer with every earth-shaking step.

Petra's wyvern instantly shot up from her resting place. Fangs bared and tattered wings flaring, her mount hobbled in their direction as fast as her limbs could manage. Petra met her halfway, grunting as she struggled to keep the boy in her arms upright. He wasn't terribly heavy on his own, but anyone tasked with carrying an armored person across a long stretch of land without pause was bound to find their muscles straining under the weight eventually.

"H-here," Petra panted, motioning for Lilina with her head. "Climb into her saddle. You will need to be helping your friend ride to—"

The boy jerked against Petra's grip, lurching so violently he nearly flung himself out of her arms. If not for Lilina's quick hands helping keep him in place, he probably would have succeeded.

"Roy, it's okay! It's okay!" Lilina tried to soothe him with a soft knuckle brushing his cheek, swallowing hard to keep her voice from shaking. "Please, calm down! We need you to stay calm!"

"E-eight…four…" Roy mumbled, his breath quickening into shallow, rapid puffs. His fingers strained to curl around the handle of a golden sword hanging off his hip, as though he was reaching for a lifeline. "Eight…four…eight…four…"

Odin squinted at the sword. "Is that…?" His eyes shot open, mouth gaping like a landed fish. "Th-the Binding Blade?! The Sword of Seals, bathed in flames that burn brighter than—"

"Focus!" Petra snapped. "It can have your admiration when we are not being chased by monsters!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Odin dropped to one knee beside the wyvern and cupped his hands together beneath the saddle's stirrup. "You first, milady, then we'll help your friend up!"

"O-okay…"

Using his hands as a stepping stool, Lilina pulled herself onto the wyvern's back and swung into the saddle. As the three of them struggled to lift Roy into the seat in front of her without aggravating his wound, another bestial screech scratched at their ears. So loud Petra could barely hear her own thoughts; so close that she could now see the gray, mangled skin of four Faceless and the purple flames venting through their masks. Could feel the tremors beneath her shoes as they stomped through the plains, flattening every patch of dry grass unfortunate enough to meet their heels.

Flame Spirit, protect us!

"If we don't slow them down," Lilina said, eyes as wide as a cornered doe's, "they're going to catch us! We can't outrun them like this!"

"We must be trying!"

Roy began to loll off to one side of the saddle, still muttering about numbers under his breath. Petra had to shove him back upright before he could slide out completely. "Hold him tightly and do not slow your ride until you reach the city. Tell her the directions and she will take you—"

"But what about you? You don't mean to follow us on foot, do you?!" Lilina secured an arm around Roy's waist, holding the reins in a tight fist. Her other hand hovered over the binding of a red tome embossed with a golden flame. "You'll never make it! We won't leave you behind, not after you've helped us!"

Petra frowned at the holes in her wyvern's wings. "She is not able to carry all of us. More weight will be causing her too much pain." She raised two fingers to her mouth, ready to send her mount off with one last whistle. "Your friend must be finding a healer now! Go, we will—huh?"

White light pulsed around Lilina's tome. Flames sprouted from the corners of its pages, spiraling around her fingers and licking her wrist. The air around them shimmered with sweltering heat, and Lilina shouted,

"Forblaze!"

A fire storm rained over the four Faceless, transforming the field behind Petra into a sea of blistering flames and black smoke. The fire consumed the dry grass without mercy, spreading across the plains in a matter of seconds to create a blazing barrier between the living and the dead. The screeching quieted behind the crackling flames, the tremors stilled…

And Odin's mouth dropped to the ground. Petra felt hers begin to follow. The strength of the Flame Spirit was stronger in this young girl than in any other person she had ever known!

"What—what—" Odin sputtered. "What in oblivion was that?!"

"A distraction!" Lilina said, shaking embers from her hand. "Come on, before they find a way through—if Forblaze didn't kill them already!"

Lilina's heels tapped against the wyvern's side as a cavalier's would a horse. The wyvern huffed at her —I am no horse! Petra imagined her mount was saying—but she heeded the command and began to bound across the plains. Petra moved to follow, but Odin…

"No way…no way…" Odin's attention was firmly set on the wall of fire, his fingers tangled tight in his blackened hair. "The Binding Blade and Forblaze? To witness such legends with my own two eyes, it's—"

"Odin!"

"Coming!"

Petra and Odin hurried to follow the wyvern's trail, feet tearing through grass and dirt to put as much distance between them, the fire, and the monsters trapped behind it as possible. Strangely, the flames did not spread beyond the wall, but Petra was not about to question it. Better to not have to outrun both monsters and a wildfire.

And run they did. Running until the scorching fire became nothing but a prickle of distant warmth on the back of their necks, until their lungs threatened to burst.

Running, until the outline of a city of yellow stone appeared on the horizon, growing closer and closer with every step.

"This has…gotta be…" Odin wheezed, "it…right?"

Petra could only nod, unable to speak through her own panted breaths. Lilina was still several feet ahead of them on the wyvern, riding for the city gates and the long line of mounted archers pouring out of it. People who could help! Petra couldn't help but smile at the sight of them and their bows, the arrows they were nocking and…aiming at…

The smile quickly fell away.

"Pull—back—!" Petra yelled, gasping for breath between each word. "Pull—back!"

Startled, Lilina yanked back on the reins. The wyvern slid to a lurching stop, kicking up dust and blades of grass just as dozens of arrows riddled the ground in front of her.

Warning shots.

"Wyvern Riders of Bern!" a woman in the front lines called out. Her short green ponytail fluttered against the midday breeze, as did the furs of the orange pelt draped over her shoulder. "You are trespassing on Sacaean soil. Lay down your weapons and remove yourselves from—"

"Auntie Lyn!"

Lilina waved one arm wildly above her head. "Auntie Lyn, it's us! Don't shoot, don't shoot!"

The woman squinted at them, leaning forward on her horse, then…

"Lilina? Roy?!"

She signaled for the archers behind her to lower their bows and spurred her mount into a gallop toward them. Another person followed close behind, their face and body hidden beneath a heavy green cloak.

When they pulled to a stop, "Auntie" Lyn practically leaped from her saddle and hurried to Lilina and Roy's side.

"What are you doing here?" Lyn asked. "And on one of Bern's beasts? I thought you were supposed to be with the Etrurian army fighting Bern's king—"

She sucked in a breath as her eyes went to the semiconscious Roy. Her face tightened at the blood staining his uniform, the ashen complexion under his sweat-matted bangs, the fresh tears spilling down Lilina's cheeks. Lyn's hooded companion rushed over to Roy with a vulnerary in hand, reaching up to treat the boy's wound without a word, but Lyn herself…

"Who did this to you."

Lyn's voice was low, simmering with worry and rage that threatened to boil over at any moment. Her shoulders sat rigid; her knuckles were white around the handle of her bow. "Zephiel? One of Bern's generals?" Sharp green eyes flicked to Petra and Odin, the eyes of a dangerous hunter. The glare made Petra's hair stand on end. "These two?"

"N-no! They helped us escape! E-escape from…" Lilina sniffled and bit her bottom lip. "F-father…and his monsters…"

Lyn blinked up at her. "Hector? Hector…attacked you? Why?" Her fierce expression faltered, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening. "I thought…I heard he…he died defending Araphen…"

Lilina wiped her nose. "H-he did."

"…I don't understand…"

"His gh-ghost was there, in Bern!" Lilina said, voice trembling. "He just came out of n-nowhere after Roy defeated the king with other ghosts and m-monsters!" She pointed to the fire burning on the other side of the plains. "Like the ones back there!"

"His 'ghost'? Monsters?" Lyn frowned at the wall of flames. There was still no sign of the Faceless or the invisible army…perhaps the spell had destroyed them after all? "They did that, too?"

Lilina looked away, sheepish, fiddling with the fabric of her skirt. "U-um, no, I did…"

"You lit half our fields on fire?"

"Yes, but only to—"

"Rescue all of us from certain doom!" Odin cut in. His hands were on his knees, still working on catching his breath, but his smile was beaming. "This Maiden of Firelight vanquished our foes with a single incantation, setting ablaze a path to you, milady—"

"Chieftain," Lyn said, turning to watch her hooded companion apply the vulnerary to Roy's wound.

"—Chieftain, so that the great heroes of the cosmos—the harbingers of light and darkness, the masters of destiny, together as one—could join forces to quell the dead and best the architect of—"

"How is he doing, Mark?" Lyn's full attention went to the hooded figure and the boy he was treating, even as Odin continued to ramble. "What are we dealing with here?"

The hooded figure, Mark, answered with coordinated hand motions instead of words.

Lyn's brows furrowed. "Struck by an axe?"

"That is what I saw, too," Petra said. "When we found them, he…his blood was spilling greatly."

Mark nodded in agreement with them, gesturing to the empty vulnerary in his hand then to Roy's still-open wound. The bleeding had slowed but had not stopped.

"Then I'll bring him inside to a healer." Lyn reached up to brush back the boy's hair and attempted a smile for him. "Don't worry, we'll get you patched up in no time. We'll get Lilina home safely, and you back to your father, okay?"

Roy's eyes fluttered open briefly, staring down at her from the saddle but not really seeing. "Eight are…the keys…" he muttered. "Four…four children…eight…four…"

"Shh, quiet now. It's going to be all—"

A clap of thunder cracked across the sky. Everyone except Roy jumped up and whirled around, watching as the beginnings of a storm cloud swirled over the wall of flames and the burning grass below.

Petra's hands went to her sword and her axe, eyes narrowing. A storm cloud in an otherwise empty blue sky? Not even an angered sky spirit would create something so…unnatural.

The cloud darkened, hissing with sparks and purple energy as it spun, and spun, and spun, each rotation faster than the last.

"Lilina, Mark," Lyn said, stepping protectively in front of the two of them and Roy, bow raised, "stay back."

An armored figure stepped through the flames, unburned, spinning an axe over his head in time with the storm cloud. The weapon's silver edge crackled with lightning, illuminating the man's tattered cape, his thick blue beard, and his soulless pink eyes even from halfway across the field.

Petra gritted her teeth. One of the undead puppets who had ambushed her and her friends in Valla, one of the generals who had hurt her professor and her wyvern…

"Hector…?" Lyn breathed out the name, arms dropping in her disbelief.

…someone the people of this world seemed to care deeply about.

Lilina paled, her face almost matching the color of Roy's bloodless cheeks. "N-no, not again…Father…why? Why?"

"Do not let your eyes be fooled by his appearance!" Petra warned. "This is not the man you know! He is being controlled by An—"

"Careful!" Odin whispered.

"—by an…an evil spirit." Petra fumbled around the last words. Ugh, stupid curse!

"Whatever he is," Lyn said, jaw stiff, "me and my men will deal with him. The rest of you, get Roy inside—"

The armored apparition slammed his axe into the earth. Fissures split the ground around the axehead, swallowing the wall of fire deep below the surface. Water sprayed from his body and the storm cloud in tandem, dousing the rest of the burning field until only wisps of black smoke remained.

The fire, their protective barrier, was gone, but Hector and the Faceless were not.

And they were continuing their march forward.

Mark was the first to act. Eyes flashing white beneath his hood, he snatched a horn off his belt and blew as hard as he could to signal the troops behind them to open fire. Hundreds of arrows whistled over Petra's head, striking the giants in their arms, their legs, their chests, even through their iron masks. A few clinked harmlessly off Hector's thick armor plate.

Not a single arrow slowed any of them down.

Mark blew another three blaring notes into the horn. Soon after, catapults along the city walls were flinging giant stones alongside each volley of arrows. One managed to smack right in the center of a Faceless's mask, forcing it to reel back a few steps, but the other rocks were effortlessly batted away by its meaty fists. The next two were launched at Hector instead…

He split them both in half with his axe.

"Fire, stones, arrows," Lyn growled under her breath, shooting her bow without pause, and without results. "Does nothing work against these things?!"

"To be killing them," Petra said, helping Lilina readjust Roy into a safer position on the saddle, "you must give them a fatal blow! They are made with water and have no care for pain, so any other attack will not be stopping them."

"Blessed holy magic!" Odin added. "A weapon that will blow them away and tear them asunder!"

A quiet gasp jumped from Mark's throat. His hands made frantic gestures at Odin and Petra, ending with two open palms thrusting up toward the sky. Petra tilted her head as he repeated the action.

"Um…I am unsure of what your hands are meaning."

"He's asking if an explosion would be enough to 'blow them away'," Lyn translated. Then, her eyes snapped up to his shadowed face, incredulous. "Wait, an explosion? Are you serious?"

Mark nodded.

"How would you even set one off? They just put out the fires of Forblaze! If that wasn't incendiary enough, then I don't know what—"

One of the Faceless began to hurl stones back at the catapults, striking the defensive walls with loud smacks and sending shards of rock flying in all directions. Each hit dented and cracked the foundation of the walls, chunk by chunk.

Not good!

Mark tipped a curved hand over the other as though he were pouring an invisible cup into a pan, then threw both hands over his head. He puffed out a long blast of air for extra effect.

"That…could work…" Lyn rolled back her shoulder before nocking another arrow. It struck a Faceless through the knee, but the monster only stumbled a bit before pushing forward again. "But we'd have to sacrifice the rest of the fields, our hunting grounds…"

Mark pointed to the encroaching enemy, gestured to Roy, Lilina, and the city standing behind them, then dragged his thumb across his neck. Lyn drew a shaky breath, lowering her bow.

"You're right. Whatever it takes to keep them safe." She threw a quick glance over her shoulder, gaze lingering on Petra and Odin. "Mark has a plan—a risky one—but it's going to take all of us working together to pull it off. Can we count on your help?"

Petra offered a simple head nod. Odin, despite his own wounds, flashed a grin and a thumbs up.

"Odin Dark is always prepared to ward off the villains of the infernal depths! The swift and mighty Chieftain need only say the word and he will act on her command."

"Great," Lyn said. "Have you ever tried to put out a grease fire with water before?"

Odin's heroic stance faltered. "I…uh…don't think so?"

"Water is heavier than oil." Lyn tugged her quiver off her back, tying it and her bow to her horse's saddle with nimble fingers. "When water comes into contact with burning oil, it sinks below the oil's surface and quickly turns into steam. That steam then tries to push itself back up into the air and"—Mark threw his hands up and puffed again— "boom. A small kitchen fire becomes an explosive inferno, and a burning field fueled by that same oil…"

"…would rival the pits of hell itself," Odin finished. "Everything, living or dead, would be completely incinerated if that axeman or the Faceless tried to extinguish the flames again."

"The water from their bodies may also be triggering that effect. Only a little water is necessary." Petra had learned that the hard way watching Ashe try to teach Annette how to cook when they were all students at Garreg Mach. Over half the kitchen had gone up in flames from just one tiny cup of water! "But where can we be finding—"

"Leave that to us," Lyn said. "Mark will guide you through the city to the closest clinic. My tribe will hold off those monsters for as long as they can, and once the oil trap has been set…" She looked to Lilina as another crack of lightning lit up the field. "We'll need one more powerful burst of fire magic to spring it."

"I…I'll be ready!" Lilina said, hugging her tome close to her body. "But what about you? What will you be doing?"

Lyn unsheathed two swords from her belt, a golden katana for each hand.

"Sparring with an old friend."

Mark shook his head at her, but Lyn was undeterred. "I know Hector's fighting style better than anyone. If this is truly his spirit returned from the afterlife, I'm the only one here who can cross weapons with him." She flipped the swords around to test their weight. "One of you will need to protect Mark in my place while I'm out there. He's vulnerable when he's issuing orders, especially when his abilities are active."

"Just leave it to Odin Dark!" Odin said. "Many battles of defending his own army's tactician have whetted his prowess in battle, each fight a stone sharpening the edge of his soul. Today will be no different."

"…As long as you keep him safe."

Lyn faced the plains, closing her eyes and bringing one of her sword's hilts to her lips.

"May the Winds fly at our backs and guide our friend's spirit home to his final resting place."

She swung each blade across her body, one foot in front of the other.

"Forgive me, Hector."

Lyn sprinted through the fields, her feet carrying her faster than the gales of a storm, and met Hector's flickering form head-on. The cavalry at the gates charged forward to follow her lead, swords and bows raised to the sun, riding right at the roaring Faceless. Beginning the battle of monster against man without fear, without hesitation.

Petra was not going to slack on her part, either. She grabbed her wyvern's reins and turned toward the city, asking, "What is the way I need to be going?"

Mark pointed to the gates but didn't clarify further.

"I mean when I am inside the—"

The silent man's eyes flashed white again beneath his hood, so bright Petra had to shield her face from the glow. It felt like he was staring straight into her soul!

When the light finally dimmed and she lowered her hand, she found a giant, flat arrow beneath her feet, shimmering with the same white light reflected in Mark's eyes. Like a line drawn on a map, it stretched from the soles of her shoes through the gates of Bulgar to show her exactly where she needed to go. The mounted soldiers behind her had similar arrows guiding them across the battlefield, helping them dodge the Faceless' flying fists; Lyn, too, as she slid under a deadly swing by Hector's axe and swiped at his calves in retaliation.

Was Mark directing all of them at once with this…illusion magic? Telepathy? Petra didn't really know what to call it besides 'impressive.'

"We have everything covered here, O' Nimble Huntress!" Odin shouted, pulling a sword free from the small supply stock on Mark's horse. "Go! You have a life to save!" More quietly, he murmured, "Welcome back, sword hand. It's been too long," and positioned himself defensively in front of Mark.

With a short nod, Petra tugged her wyvern's reins to guide her and her riders along the arrow's path as fast as her legs would allow.

"She shouldn't have to fight him," Lilina said from atop the saddle, sniffling, holding Roy and her tome close. "Father, Auntie Lyn…they're friends! And friends should never have to fight each other!"

Petra kept her eyes forward on the path, on the city, on the mission, trying to ignore the pain that flared in her heart at the girl's words.

They met no resistance as they ran through the gates of Bulgar. The streets were empty; every door, every window, every building was sealed shut as the civilians hid themselves from the sights and sounds of the battle being waged outside their homes. The only signs of life were the archers and catapult men hefting barrels of oil up the stairs of the defensive walls to launch into the field, each following the trail of one of Mark's arrows.

The arrow beneath Petra's feet weaved her through the heart of the city, flying past alleyways and abandoned vending stalls until it reached the door of a small storefront. The wooden sign hanging overhead was too faded for her to read.

"Hello?" Petra called out, banging on the door. When she didn't get an immediate response, she tried opening it herself and jiggled the doorknob. Locked. "Hello?! Please answer, we are in need of—"

The door swung open. A tall man in a cleric's uniform stood in the entryway, his long blond hair braided over his shoulder. Dark circles sat under his eyes, and his lips were pressed together into a thin white line.

"I'm sorry, miss, but we're at full capaci—"

"There is no time for speaking!" Petra said quickly. "Mark has brought us here so someone can be healing this boy!"

"Roy of Pherae!" Lilina clarified. Roy stirred at his name, mumbling again about eights and fours with half-lidded eyes and slumping against his friend's arms. "The son of Marquess Pherae and the commander of the Etrurian and Lycian armies. Please, he's lost too much blood already! I fear that…that…"

"…Eliwood's boy?" The cleric looked them all over, letting out a soft gasp at the wound marring Roy's side. Immediately he reached for a healing staff from inside the building. "I'll see what I can do. Please, stand back, milady."

After Lilina slid out of the saddle, he cast a ray of warm light over both Roy and the wyvern. Their injuries slowly—but steadily—stitched themselves together. The wyvern gave her wings a few test flaps, pushing around dust with every beat, and rumbled happily.

"My apologies for my earlier tone," the cleric said, heaving a weary sigh. "We've been inundated with patients displaced and damaged by the war, and—"

The ground shook beneath their feet, so violently that Roy was thrown out of the saddle. He hit the ground with a strangled yelp.

"Roy!" Lilina stumbled over to his side. The sound of stone striking stone, of something heavy slamming into the ground, reverberated through the city.

"What—what was—" Roy shot upright, coughing and holding his wounded side. "Ow! What—Lilina? What was that? What's going on?"

Lilina answered him with a tight, tearful hug. "Oh, Roy! You're okay! You're okay!"

"Okay might be a bit of a stretch, but—"

Another tremor rattled the stones pressed into the streets. As Petra fought to keep her balance, Mark's arrow turned away from the clinic and zipped back toward the city's entrance. It gave a single, desperate flash before disappearing from Petra's sight completely.

"…Lilina, I think it is time for us to be going back," she said, frowning at her feet. Had Mark let the arrow fade away on purpose? Or…

She didn't want to think about the 'or.'

Lilina nodded and rose to her feet, gently pushing down on Roy's shoulders when he tried to follow her. "Stay here," she said, her voice soft. "Let the cleric finish his work. We'll be back soon, I promise."

"From where?" Roy's brows pinched together in a mix of both pain and confusion. The cleric placed a firm hand on Roy's arm, keeping him in place as he channeled his healing magic through the staff. "Where are you going? What's happen—Lilina, wait!"

Petra and Lilina were already running back through the city before he could finish, the wyvern taking to the sky to follow them from above. The din of panicked shouts, harsh coughing, and screeching horses grew louder and louder with every step, and the air grew thick with a cloud of dust as they approached the outer walls.

Squinting through the haze, Petra saw that the left half of the city gates had completely collapsed. The right side was still standing with its soldiers launching their last oil barrels out into the field, but there were sizable cracks set in the wall's foundation.

"Hey, over here!"

Odin. Maneuvering around the wreckage, Petra and Lilina followed the sound of his voice—even at its booming volume, it was just barely audible above the clamor around them—and hurried to his side. Mark was just a few paces away, ushering the mounted soldiers through any gaps in the wall that were free of debris.

"What happened?" Petra asked, coughing to keep the dust out of her throat.

"The Faceless and that Hector guy happened!" Odin wiped away a trail of blood running down his cheek. "Throwing rocks, slamming that legendary, awe-inspiring, mystical, and annoying axe into the ground over and over and over again! If they get any closer, they might start taking down the entire city!"

"Then we must be causing the explosion before they do! Is the field ready?"

"Currently soaking in all the city's oil and cooking grease as we speak."

Lilina opened her red tome, dragging her hand slowly across its pages. "Then I'll go out there and—"

Mark violently shook his head, his hood falling to his shoulders with the jerking movement. Like Odin, there was a cut on his face—likely from flying debris or a stray stone shard—though his was running red over his eye.

"Why not?!" Odin asked, throwing his hands toward the frail defensive wall. "It's now or never! We brought your troops back inside, so they'll be safe from—"

Mark bunched up the back of his brown hair with one hand, imitating a ponytail, then pointed to the plains. Petra quickly pieced together what he was trying to say.

"The Chieftain is still outside?" Mark nodded. "Why? Is she stuck fighting?" Another nod, more vigorous. "Can you not be having a mage rescue her with a staff?"

This time, Mark shook his head. His hands formed the number 0.

"Sacae is known for its archery on horseback, not its sorcery," Lilina mumbled.

No staves? How were they supposed to…

The shadow of her wyvern's wings fell over her body. Her new, healthy wings.

Petra knew what she needed to do.

"Lilina, be preparing to cast your fire." Petra whistled, summoning her wyvern to ground level and pulling herself up onto the saddle. "I will help her escape. Once we return here"—Petra smiled at her—"you will bring the Flame Spirit's wrath down on the enemy."

Both Mark and Lilina nodded to her, one grateful and the other resolute.

With one last whistle, Petra and her wyvern lifted off the ground, dispersing the dust cloud, and soared over the remnants of the city gates. She flew past three Faceless struggling to trudge through the oil-soaked fields, dove under a swinging fist from the fourth, and began to circle over the duel between sword and axe, waiting for the right opening.

"Come on, Hector!" Lyn grunted, rolling through the oil and grease to dodge a swing aimed at her head. Black and yellow smudges stained her hair, her face, her clothes. "Whatever's controlling you, you can fight it! Are you really going to let yourself be used as a weapon against your friends? Against your own daughter?!"

Hector's mouth curled into a snarl, but his glowing eyes remained as empty and soulless as any other Vallite soldier. "Friends…don't…abandon…friends."

"No one abandoned you!" Lyn blocked his next strike by crossing both of her katanas in front of herself. "We wanted nothing more than to be there to fight with you, to save you from Bern's invasion! But Eliwood is sick, Hector, and I—"

"Eliwood," his voice dropped low, crackling like the sparks dancing across his axe's head, "and you…left me…to die!"

Hector's hand shot out and grabbed Lyn by her neck.

"The son's death…first…" His fingers squeezed bruises into her skin. Mouth gasping for breath, Lyn clawed at his grip and kicked at his legs, to no avail. "Then…I will crush…Eliwood…Lyndis…"

He hurled her several feet across the field and spun his axe over his head, flashing lightning with every spin.

"Mysel—"

Petra's mount swooped down and snatched Lyn off the ground in her claws. Hector reeled back, screeching a piercing cry that grated Petra's ears as they made for the city.

(It almost sounded terrified, but Anankos's elite soldiers didn't feel fear…right?)

"Thanks for the assist," Lyn called up to her, her voice hoarse and shaky from Hector's hand. Her head was turned down in the apparition's direction, but Petra knew the pain, the anguish cutting through her core at the sight of a fallen friend.

Because Petra had felt it all herself before. Many, many times.

They soared past the Faceless again, pushing toward Lilina, Odin, and Mark, the former of whom was summoning fire from the pages of her tome, her flames burning brighter and brighter and—

Hector smashed a crater into the earth. A fissure as wide as a stream and as deep as a river split the ground in two, writhing through the plains, cutting through her wyvern's shadow, and striking the foundation of Bulgar's last defensive wall. The cracks in the weathered stone spread too far, too fast.

The wall crumbled, coming down right over their friends' heads. Odin shoved himself into the others and sent them all tumbling just barely out of the range of the falling debris. Odin's sword and Mark's horn went skittering across the grass as they hit the ground; Forblaze flew out of Lilina's hands, disappearing into the sea of stone, dust, and mortar piling up around them.

And Lilina looked mortified.

"No! No, no, no!" Petra was close enough to hear her voice now. She scrambled to her knees, feeling frantically, desperately, around the wreckage for any sign of her tome. "No, we need that spell! W-we need fire! Without that fire we can't—we can't—"

"I've got it!"

Through the ruins emerged a boy with a blazing sword. He jumped over the rubble and sprinted toward the field, the flames enveloping his blade growing hotter, larger, brighter. Lilina and Lyn both cried out his name—"Roy! No!"—but he didn't stop. Neither did his sword.

The Faceless roared and pounded their chests as soon as he stepped outside the city. They lurched forward and charged him as fast as the thick oil would allow with Hector right on their heels, axe raised in the boy's direction.

Roy didn't back down. He gripped his sword with both hands and swung it across his body with all his strength.

A wave of scorching flames flew from the blade's edge, catching every strand of dry grass and every drop of oil across the field. And when the fire reached the Faceless, when they reached Hector…

The plains erupted.

Plume after plume of fire and oil exploded beneath the Vallites' feet with an intensity that rivaled the sun, shooting up so high the blue sky turned red. The boom that followed was deafening, its aftershock so powerful it knocked Petra's wyvern back several feet in the air. Those on the ground were blown back, too, including Roy, but before the fire could spread too close to the city, Roy pushed himself to his feet and stabbed the tip of his sword into the ground. The blade pulsed with radiant light, repelling the flames away from its wielder and the city at his back.

Roy slumped forward onto his knees. All was quiet, save for the roaring fire and boiling oil consuming the plains before them. They waited there, exhausted, panting, looking for any indication that the monsters had survived. That the ghost of the man beloved by so many in this world had survived.

But this time, nothing walked through the flames.

Petra coaxed her wyvern into gently lowering Lyn to the ground. The others slowly rose to their feet, while Roy—

Roy swayed on his way up and collapsed back to the ground. His hand went to his injured side; a small trickle of blood leaked through his fingers.

"Roy!" Lyn knelt beside him, followed by Lilina. "That was incredibly reckless, you know that?! We just barely rescued you from the jaws of death, and the first thing you decide to do is charge headfirst into battle and set an entire field on fire, no questions asked?"

Roy winced but cracked a short smile. "Good to see you, too, Lady Lyndis."

Lyn sighed and shook her head, but there was a slight smile of her own blooming at the sight of him moving, talking, alive.

She brought him into a gentle hug. Lilina, lips trembling, quickly joined in, wrapping her arms around both of them and burying her face into their dirty uniforms. Her shoulders began to shake.

"…Dad…"

Petra turned her gaze away from what felt like a private moment between close friends. Family, even. Her eyes met Odin's, then Mark's, sharing a knowing nod with each of them.

They stepped through what remained of Bulgar's walls, the burning plains still hot on the back of their necks, to give the three some space…

And to see what they could do to help the broken city.

Character Bios:

Hector: General

—The late Marquess of Ostia. As a young man, he journeyed across Elibe with Eliwood and Lyn to stop Nergal and the Black Fang from stealing the quintessence of the world and its people. After the death of his brother, he ruled Ostia for many prosperous years before King Zephiel of Bern began his conquest of the Lycian territories. Died in the year 1000 defending the region of Araphen from Bern's wyvern generals before Eliwood's forces, led by his son Roy, could arrive with reinforcements.

—Wielder of Armads

—Relations: Father of Lilina. Husband of Florina (deceased). Brother of Uther (deceased). Best friend of Eliwood and Lyn.

Lilina: Sage

—The heir of Ostia. A compassionate but often stubborn girl traveling with Roy to help liberate Elibe from Bern's conquest after her father's unfortunate demise. Although she feels unprepared to take on the responsibilities her father has passed on to her, she is doing her best to learn all she can about leadership from her dear friend and their allies.

—Wielder of Forblaze

—Relations: Daughter of Hector and Florina (both deceased).

Lyn: Nomadic Trooper / Blade Lord

—Chieftain of the Lorca Tribe of Sacae and former noble of Caelin. A fierce yet caring woman who once journeyed across Elibe with Eliwood and Hector to stop Nergal and the Black Fang from stealing the quintessence of the world and its people. After their quest was completed, she renounced her birthright to Caelin so she could rebuild her father's nomadic tribe, the Lorca, and has since served as their leader for decades past.

—Wielder of the Mani Katti and Sol Katti

—Relations: Daughter of Hassar and Madelyn (both deceased). Best friend of Hector (deceased) and Eliwood, and "aunt" to their children.

Mark: Tactician

—A silent and brilliant man with an unparalleled mind for battlefield tactics and strategy. He was found unconscious by Lyn in the plains of Sacae when they were both young and helped her, Eliwood, and Hector, defeat Nergal and the Black Fang with his tactical gifts. He has the peculiar ability to direct hundreds of thousands of troops at once with just his mind…though no one is quite sure how he does it.

—Relations: Tactician of Lyn.

Roy: Great Lord

—The heir of Pherae and commander of both the Lycian and Etrurian armies. A young but thoughtful leader, he stepped up to command his country's troops against bandits and Bern's invasion of the Lycian territories after his father fell ill. Entrusted by Princess Guinevere of Bern with the Fire Emblem, he was granted the power to draw Elibe's most powerful legendary weapon to fight against Bern's king and the dragons he wished to unleash upon the world.

—Wielder of the Binding Blade

—Relations: Son of Ninian (deceased) and Eliwood. Nephew of Nils.

Mark's "guidance" abilities were inspired by the Lyn & Robin support conversation in Fire Emblem: Warriors. Lyn mentions that her tactician doesn't use words to issue orders on the battlefield, and instead guides their soldiers with their mind and "invisible arrows," referencing the cursor display on the overworld of the GBA games. I thought it would be fun to try incorporating those ideas here.

Next chapter: A moment of rest, and a moment of unrest.