Chapter 27: When the Rush Comes

Bulgar, The Nation of Sacae, Elibe

Year 1000

Helping a city recover after a siege was tiresome work. Hundreds of wounded soldiers to treat, several pounds of rubble to clear away, panicked civilians in need of assurance that the danger had finally passed. It was nothing new to Petra—her life had been steeped in war for as long as she could remember, first in Brigid then in Fódlan—but the task was still exhausting, nonetheless.

Petra sighed and wiped away the sheen of sweat building on her forehead, all but collapsing onto one of the benches lining Bulgar's central street. Lilina sat motionless on the other end, ankles crossed beneath the seat, hands folded over her lap. Dust and soot clung to her hair, her face, and the white silk of her dress.

One look down at her own clothes and Petra could see she wasn't faring much better.

They kept each other company in silence for a long while. A blanket of black smoke from the burning fields clouded the sky overhead, drifting over the length of the city and blotting out the sun. It carried an uncomfortable heat and the thick stench of scorched wood and dirt. Petra coughed to keep it from building in her lungs, breaking the strained quiet between them.

Lilina glanced up at her. Her eyes were red and puffy, partly from the hot, smoke-laden air, partly from all the tears she had shed over the past few hours. Petra struggled to think of something to say, something to help console her, but just as she began to open her mouth…

"Thank you," Lilina whispered.

Petra leaned forward, her elbows resting against her thighs. Her thick, disheveled hair fell over her shoulder, sweeping through the grime stuck to her leather armor. "You do not need to be thanking me."

"I do." Lilina lowered her gaze to her lap. "If you and your friend hadn't been there to help us through the plains…I fear…I fear we…" Her fingers curled into her dirtied skirts. "Roy and I would have been killed, either by my f-father's axe or by those terrifying monsters. You risked your lives for us, for two complete strangers. Why?"

Petra brushed a hand through a knot tangled in her hair and shrugged. "Because you were needing help."

"Why were you even wandering around the plains in the first place?" Lilina asked. "The way you speak, your manner of dress, the mount you ride into battle…clearly, you are not from Sacae, but you don't seem to be from Bern or Etruria or anywhere else in Elibe."

"Elibe?" Petra pronounced the name slowly, thinking through all the worlds she and her friends had traveled through so far. It didn't sound familiar. "Is that where we are?"

"…You don't know the name of the continent you're on?"

"It is…difficult to be explaining." Petra pursed her lips, tapping her heel on the stone beneath her shoes. How much was she allowed to say? "I am from a land very, very, very far away. I do not know why we are here."

Lilina arched an eyebrow. "You must at least know how you came to be in Elibe. It's not like you just fell from the sky."

Petra coughed again and turned to look at the ground.

"You…you didn't fall from the sky, right?" When Petra didn't immediately answer, Lilina gave a soft gasp and slid across the bench until their knees knocked against each other. Her eyes twinkled with a bright curiosity, chasing away the dull, far-off gaze that had plagued them prior. "You did, didn't you? How is that even possible? You must have extremely powerful magic, or perhaps…perhaps the Eight Legends themselves sent you here to save us!"

Petra scooted to the edge of the seat to regain some of her personal space. "That is not what happened. We are…um, how should I be explaining this…"

"Maybe you could start at the beginning," Lyn said from behind them, resting a hand on the backrest of the bench, "and share everything you know—or at least, everything you're allowed to say—with the rest of us."

"Auntie Lyn!" Lilina twisted herself around. "You're back! Did you find or hear anything from—"

"We weren't able to make it all the way to Bern because of the fire, but we did intercept a messenger." Lyn pulled a sealed scroll from her belt, smiling. "A messenger sent by one of the Etrurian generals. Cecilia, I believe?"

Lilina's eyes and face shone even brighter. "From Miss Cecilia? That means…that means she's still alive!" She took the scroll into her own hands and hugged it against her chest. "She survived! Thank the gods, she survived!"

"And from what the messenger told us," Lyn said, "it sounds like your friends in the Etrurian and Lycian armies survived the battle, too. Hect—" the chieftain cleared her throat "—the monsters and the ghost that attacked you left the rest of the army alone after you and Roy were sent away, for the most part."

"They're all safe?" Fresh tears sprung to Lilina's eyes, though these were clearly much happier than the ones she had spilled earlier. "Th-thank you, Auntie Lyn. Thank you so much! I don't know what else to say, or how to repay you, but—"

Lyn shook her head and patted the girl's shoulder. "There's no need for that. You and Roy, Eliwood and…your father…you're all family. And as family, we protect each other. No matter what." She glanced toward the source of the smoke, voice softening into a whisper. "No matter what."

A relieved smile settled over Lilina's lips. She began to dig her thumb under the red wax seal holding the scroll closed, but Lyn placed a gentle hand over hers before she could pop it open.

"Let's not be too hasty," Lyn said. "I think Roy will want to hear what the letter says, too. He should be finishing up at the clinic right about now."

Lilina nodded, hopping off the bench and hurrying down the street with a skip to her step. Lyn stared after her with a frown, hand planted firmly on her hip.

"Barely fifteen…" she muttered. "What were you thinking, Eliwood?"

Petra slowly rose to her feet, taking a moment to stretch her muscles as she stood. Lyn waited for her to finish before saying, "So it's true, then."

"Hm?" Petra turned to face her. "What is true?"

"I talked to your friend earlier," Lyn said, "before he went to get his own wounds treated at the clinic. He said he'd been injured fighting these 'invisible soldiers' before you both found yourselves here." She lifted her eyes to the blackened sky; the smoke was finally beginning to thin. "Falling from another world into this one, unable to share specific details about the enemy because of some kind of curse. I honestly thought he was joking at first, or that I was misunderstanding his…more exaggerated, theatrical way of speaking."

Petra cracked a smile at that. It was a habit Odin couldn't easily break, she had quickly learned, but his enthusiasm and grandiose speech patterns were starting to grow on her. Interacting with him reminded her of afternoon tea with Constance, of the long nights she had stayed up listening to Ashe read aloud his favorite tales of chivalry and knighthood.

Wherever they and the rest of her friends were now, she just hoped they were okay.

"But then I heard you talking to Lilina," Lyn sighed, "about coming from somewhere far away and literally falling out of the sky…I guess he was being serious after all."

"I know it is difficult to be believing—"

"Oh, I believe you." Lyn started for the clinic, motioning for Petra to follow. "Our city was nearly overrun by fifteen-foot monsters unlike anything I've ever seen in Elibe—monsters you both knew how to get rid of—and the ghost of my dead friend. I'd be foolish not to believe you after that." The door of the old building creaked as she pulled it open. "Besides, you saved my best friends' children. Saved the people of Bulgar. Putting a little trust in you two is the least I can do."

The soft hum of healing staves greeted them as they stepped into the clinic. Each room they passed was chock-full of patients, with most cots holding two or three people at a time. The hallways were no less cramped; several soldiers were slumped against the walls, downing vulneraries or waiting for their wounds to be healed by the warm magic permeating the air.

Lyn led them to a small room in the back. Inside, Roy sat cross-legged on a cot to himself, a single pillow supporting his back and a thin white blanket draped across his lap. The blond cleric Petra had met earlier had a hand pressed to the boy's forehead while Lilina smiled at him from the foot of the bed, waving the scroll excitedly in front of his face. Off to the side stood Mark and Odin, the latter muttering in hushed whispers to the former.

Hopefully, he was explaining the whole situation so Petra wouldn't have to. She still wasn't sure what was safe to talk about, and she really, really did not want to risk triggering that curse.

"How's he doing, Lucius?" Lyn asked, joining the cleric's side. "I'm surprised you got him to sit still for more than just a few minutes."

"Sitting for way too long," Roy murmured. He reached up to pry the cleric's hand off his face. "I'm better now. I should be out there helping people, and working on finding a way back to Bern and—"

"We'll let the doctor be the judge of that."

The cleric, Lucius, chuckled and lifted the hand away. "He's certainly his father's son—a bit lacking in his sense of self-preservation—but he'll be fine. The wound has completely healed, though he might feel a bit lightheaded or woozy for the next day or two from the blood loss." He gathered up a few medical supplies and picked up a healing staff leaning against the wall. "I'd recommend you take it easy for the rest of the day, Roy, but other than that, you're all cleared."

"Thanks for everything, Lucius," Lyn said, clapping him on the shoulder. "We're lucky the Winds carried you and Raven to Sacae for this day. Your skills in the art of healing are next to none."

"Well, you get a lot of time to practice when you're traveling with someone as reckless as Raven. His mercenary friends are no better." Lucius nodded to all of them with a smile before stepping outside. "I'll be helping some patients a few rooms down if you need me. Until then, Saint Elimine shine on you all."

Once Lucius disappeared into the hallway, Lilina hopped up onto the cot next to Roy and tossed the scroll into his lap. "Here, from Miss Cecilia," she said. "You should probably be the first one to read it, being the commander and all."

Roy's face instantly lit up. "Cecilia is okay? Sh-she's alive?"

"According to the messenger she sent, they all are." Lyn gestured to the scroll. "Go on. What does it say?"

With a widening grin, Roy popped off the rest of the wax seal and silently read through the letter, eyes poring over every word. Lilina peeked over his shoulder, too excited to wait for his summary.

"Let's see…she hopes we were able to find safety after she warped us away…they tried to stop Hector and the monsters from pursuing us, but a small horde of strange apparitions—flickering images of people wreathed in pink and purple flames—interfered with their efforts."

"We have been calling them 'invisible soldiers'," Petra said.

"Right…" Roy hummed softly. "Some of the soldiers left in the direction of the Dragon Temple while the others seemed to target Fae, but she and the rest of our allies were able to fend off the attacks relatively easily." His shoulders sagged as he sighed in relief. "No casualties or major injuries to report."

"And, just venturing a guess," Odin cut in, "that this Fae has some connection to the dragonkin herself?"

Lilina blinked and gaped at him. "She is! She's a manakete—one of the last Divine Dragons. How did you know?"

"Ha!" Odin curled his hand over his face and smirked. "Odin Dark has been blessed with visions from the cosmos themselves! His intuition matches that of the gods, and his—"

"The invisible soldiers have been attacking and capturing powerful dragons, people and creatures who are related to them, and divine beings," Petra said. Odin pouted at the interruption. "This is their main goal from what we have learned."

"Their main goal, huh…" Lyn muttered, sharing a pensive, worried look with Mark.

"There's not much else to this letter," Roy said. His fingers ran along the edge of the wrinkled parchment. "Just a confirmation of King Zephiel's passing—Princess Guinevere is arranging his burial and preparing Bern's official surrender—and the defeat of…of…"

Roy's face turned sullen, eyes falling away from the scroll to his sword resting on the floor with his armor plate.

"…What is it?" Lyn asked.

"The…Zephiel's Dark Priestess, Idunn…the Demon Dragon…" Roy's voice had become quiet and tight. "She was found dead at the altar of the Dragon Temple. Slain by one of the invisible soldiers. A man with a golden sword, according to Cecilia."

A golden sword? Petra thought. That must be…the man who killed the Shadow Dragon in Archanea. Her hand curled into a fist at her side.

The one who stabbed Professor Byleth.

"But that's great news!" Lilina said, nudging her friend's side with her elbow. "Isn't it? I mean, that's one of the reasons we were fighting Zephiel in the first place, right? To keep him from releasing the Demon Dragon and her brethren on the world and causing another Scouring."

The scroll crinkled between the hard press of his thumb and forefinger. "It wasn't her choice," Roy whispered. "She didn't want to hurt anyone. Her soul was taken from her, and she was forced to carry out Zephiel's commands, but with Zephiel gone I was going to…to…" Roy crumpled the paper up and hung his head in his hands. "Damn it! I was going to save her!"

"…Oh…"

"She probably didn't even fight back," Roy said, his voice muffled by his palms. "They found her still in her human form, kneeling in a pool of her own blood…as though she had been waiting for someone to give her orders. Waiting for someone to help free her from her curse." His fingers gripped the roots of his red hair. "I should have known something wasn't right. I should have—"

"Roy, look at me." Lyn lifted his chin, locking their eyes together. "This isn't your fault. No one could have predicted an army of ghosts and monsters would show up out of the blue and attack you or this dragon you're talking about. No one."

Roy struggled to hold her gaze, shame flushing his cheeks. "But I should have known something bad was about to happen. I could feel it in the air, in my blood—like static, or the brush of the wind before a terrible storm—but I didn't react fast enough and…" His fingers grazed the dried bloodstain on his shirt. "I got Lord Hector's axe to the side because of it."

"…Ninian used to experience the same thing, you know," Lyn said softly.

Roy perked up at the name. "Mother?"

"Mhm. That sense of danger lurking nearby, disturbances in the world's balance of quintessence, your mother—and your Uncle Nils—felt it all, too." Lyn glanced up to the ceiling for a moment, a fond smile tugging at her lips. "When me, your father, and Hector were all traveling together, they would help warn us about incoming threats. Sometimes just in time, giving us an opportunity to prepare; sometimes the feeling came too late, and we were caught off guard."

She sighed, bringing her eyes back down and her mind back to the present. "But that was never their fault, just like today's mess wasn't your fault. Don't put that pressure on yourself…you're already carrying enough as it is."

"…Thank you, Lady Lyndis…" Roy picked at a loose thread hanging off the corner of his medical blanket. Then, absently, he said, "Maybe that's what Mother was trying to tell me…"

"What do you mean?"

"Before you all brought me here to get healed, I thought I heard her voice. What I remember of it, anyway." Roy shrugged and flicked the thread away. "It was probably just delirium from the blood loss, though. Or a dream."

"Is that what you were muttering about on the way here?" Lilina asked. "You were counting with your mother?"

Roy frowned at her. "Counting? Counting what?"

"You kept repeating the same two numbers when we were running away from those monsters." Lilina held up her fingers for emphasis as she spoke. "Eight and four, eight and four, over and over and over again…and something about children. You don't remember that?"

Roy slowly shook his head.

"Don't stress over it," Lyn said. "Right now, what's most important is getting the city back on its feet and keeping you safe. If they came after you once…" her lips tightened, shoulders tensing, "they might come for you again. We need to be ready."

"But why?" Lilina drew her knees closer to her chest. "Why do they want to hurt Roy so badly? Petra said their goal is to attack and capture dragons or things like them, but he's not a dragon." When Roy's ears took on a light tinge of pink, she added, "Well, not a fullone, at least."

Was she insinuating that Roy was part dragon, then? Because if that were the case, that would probably explain why—

Mark stepped forward, communicating something to Lyn with his hands. She tilted her head, mulling over the hand gestures, then translated for the rest of them.

"He says he doesn't think Roy's lineage is why they're targeting him."

"What?" Petra asked, perplexed. "Every time we have faced the invisible soldiers, they have been pursuing dragons or…manaketes, I think is the name. We have seen them kill wyverns, too, because they have relation to the dragons. They capture the most powerful, then kill the others for…" her arms folded across her chest, "…we still do not know why."

"But think about what the letter said," Lyn translated for Mark. "The enemy attacked Fae—one of the last pure-blooded Divine Dragons left in Elibe—with only a small group of soldiers who didn't seem to pose any real threat to her or the Etrurian army. But for Roy—a boy who is only a quarter ice dragon at most—they sent near indestructible monsters and a warrior wielding one of the eight Legendary Weapons to try to kill him."

"That is…strange…" Petra admitted, pursing her lips.

Mark nodded and signed again. "If their primary goal was to capture or kill powerful dragons, why prioritize Roy over Fae? Or even Idunn? From what it sounds like, they didn't even go to such extremes to ensure the death of the Demon Dragon."

Petra had no answer for him. A quick glance to Odin, who was being oddly quiet, told her that he didn't have one either.

"Then…what is it?" Lilina asked, hugging Roy's arm. Roy himself was staring at the end of his cot, jaw stiff and mouth tight as he worked through his thoughts. "Maybe they don't want him leading the army? Or maybe they want his sword?"

Mark shook his head and sighed, indicating his own uncertainty. After a lengthy breath of silence, he gestured to Lyn once more and she translated, "If you look at it from a strategic perspective, there's really only one reason why they would try so hard to kill you."

Roy slowly lifted his head. "And that is?"

"You're a threat."

Another long, suffocating pause. No one moved, no one spoke as they ruminated on Mark's words. It made sense on the surface to Petra—they obviously had gone to great lengths to get rid of Roy—but…what threat could a fifteen-year-old possibly pose to an ancient, mad dragon and his endless army of the dead?

"…I think we've broken our brains enough for today," Lyn said suddenly, drawing the attention of the rest of the room. "You should all try to get in a little rest while you have the chance—especially you, Roy. I'll write to Eliwood about what's happened and plan out our next steps." She stood tall, readjusted the pelt draped over her shoulder, and strode to the doors with the confidence and determination of a true leader. "Mark?"

The tactician nodded his farewell to them and, tugging his hood back over his head, left to join her. As they departed, Petra found herself staggering to the closest chair and slumping into the seat. The day's exhaustion was really catching up to her. Catching up to everyone else, if the quiet somberness of the room was anything to go by.

Perhaps Lyn was right…a moment of rest might do them all some good.

.

.

.

.

.

A village on the outskirts of Leonster and Ulster, the Munster District, Jugdral

Grann. Year 776

The sound of a door slamming open startled Ashe awake.

Instinctively, he shot up and reached for his bow and quiver, bleary eyes struggling to focus on the figure hurrying into the small, single-room cottage. A man covered by a heavy cloak, rain dripping off the tattered fabric and leaving puddles in the wake of his squelching boots, gasping for breath.

Ashe forced himself to relax and drew his hand away from his weapons. He knew this man. Not well, mind you, a half a day at most, but enough to know that he wasn't barging in to hurt him or Felix. After all, he had been the one to help them after they had fallen into that canyon and woken up in this unfamiliar world, dazed and injured from their battle in Valla.

"What's wrong, Doctor?" Ashe asked, sliding out of the bed he was borrowing. Felix observed the man in silence from the corner of the room, running his whetstone along the edge of his sword, but had the same spark of curiosity in his eyes.

The man shrugged off his hood, leaking more water onto the floor. He pushed back the soaked strands of red hair plastered to his face before saying, "I'm sorry. I wish I could have done more for you, but you have to go. Evacuate with the rest of the village, while there's still time."

"…Evacuate?"

"The empire and King Bloom's forces are marching this way as we speak." The man scrambled around the small room, stuffing food, some vulneraries and herbal salves, and a fire tome into a leather satchel. "They're set on taking back Leonster from Prince Leif before the Liberation Army arrives, and will no doubt be sending troops to every village along the way to ensure the people's loyalties" — he tossed both him and Felix a small bag of supplies of their own — "are, as they would say, in the right place."

Ashe and Felix shared a confused, apprehensive look. Had they just found themselves stuck in the middle of another war with another empire? Fighting Edelgard's for five years had been more than enough for him; he was sure Felix felt the same.

"And where are we supposed to go?" Felix asked.

"Anywhere but here."

A glower took hold in Felix's expression. "We don't even know where here is."

"Southwest, then." The man gestured to a river through the window, just barely visible through the thick sheets of rain pouring outside. "These lands are about to become a crossroad between three different armies, but if you stick to the edge of the river you might be able to avoid getting caught up in any fighting. They'll probably stay away from it with the storm and all."

Ashe was not keen on being anywhere near a body of water, or being stuck outside in the rain, not with the threat of the invisible soldiers looming over their heads. And a battle between three armies…if it was anything like Gronder Field…

It was going to be a bloodbath. Perfect fodder for the army of the dead.

"But what about you, doctor?" Ashe asked, frowning at the man as he tugged the satchel onto his shoulder from under the cloak. "Are you not evacuating yourself?"

The man shook his head, the few wrinkles on his otherwise youthful face deepening. "No, my…my daughter is out there somewhere, being forced to fight for King Bloom and the empire. I have to save her before the Liberation Army arrives, or she might…"

He let the sentence trail off, voice pained, then headed for the door.

"Wait! You can't go out there alone!" Ashe grabbed his arm before he could reach for the doorknob. "No one should be out there! Something terrible is coming, and whoever is stuck out there when it arrives is as good as dead."

"That's the nature of war, unfortunately," the man said simply, shoulders sagging.

"It's not just war! It's…" Ashe looked back to Felix for help but all he got was a shrug and an expression that said don't look at me, I don't know either! "We just…we have to stop this battle, before that happens."

"Stop it?" the man bit back a bitter laugh. "Good luck convincing anyone to back down from this war, especially my bro—"

He cut himself off with a tightened lip.

"It's probably impossible, I know—trust me, I know—but we have to at least try." Ashe glanced back to the rain pattering on the glass, sweat forming on his brow. He remembered all too well the last time he and his friends were caught up in a storm like this one. "Isn't there anyone we can talk to? Someone from this Liberation Army, maybe?"

The man sighed, hand falling away from the door. "You might be able to get an audience with their leader, Seliph of Chalphy, but I don't think he'll be amenable to the idea of surrendering this fight. Really, the best thing you can do is find somewhere safe to take shelter until this all blows over and—"

"Where is he now?" Felix asked, sword in hand and hood pulled over his head, ready to face the storm and whatever might come with it. The man just looked between the two of them, completely and utterly flabbergasted.

"You're not being serious, are you? You really think you're going to stop a continent-wide war with a simple conversation?"

Felix just repeated the question. "Where is he?"

"C-castle Melgen, last I heard. But I really don't think—"

"Which is where?"

Cursing under his breath, the man ran a hand over his face. "West of here. I'll…" he stared at his wet boots, contemplating his next words carefully, "I'll show you the way, but after that I'm leaving to go find my daughter, battle or no battle." More quietly, he said, "Besides, my presence will probably only hinder your efforts to convince him…"

Ashe threw him a grateful smile. "I know it's a long shot, but if there's any chance we can at least temporarily put a hold on this fighting, we'll be saving a lot of lives—perhaps even your daughter's."

The man nodded, but he didn't quite seem to believe it. With a shaky, nervous breath, the man motioned for them to follow him outside and said, "Stay close. The castle isn't too far from here, but with imperial troops approaching…we have to be careful."

"Thank you, Doctor," Ashe said. "We'll follow your lead."

"You don't have to keep calling me that." The man tugged up his own hood again to protect himself against the pelting rain. "I'm not a real doctor. Just a mage with many, many years of experience trying to patch up battle wounds inflicted by the empire."

"…Then what? You didn't share your name with us."

The man hesitated, taking a moment to study their faces (why the secrecy? Ashe thought, it's just a name). He huffed a relenting sigh, then…

"You can just call me Azelle."

Character Bios:

Azelle: Mage Knight

—Former noble of House Velthomer. Long ago, he and his close friends joined Sigurd of Chalphy on his quest to restore peace to Grannvale and the greater continent of Jugdral, despite the wishes of his lord brother, Arvis. After Arvis's betrayal and massacre of Sigurd's forces, he was forced into hiding with his wife, Tailtiu, and their two children until she and their daughter, Tine, were ripped away from him by House Friege. Since that day, he has traveled around Jugdral under the guise of a doctor, healing those hurt by his brother's empire and searching for an opportunity to rescue his daughter.

—Relations: Half-brother of Emperor Arvis. Father of Arthur and Tine. Husband of Tailtiu (deceased).

Lucius: Bishop

—A kind, religious man from Etruria. Raised in an orphanage after the death of his mercenary father, he dedicated himself to learning magic and medicine and used his skills to serve as a retainer to Lord Raymond—known to most simply as Raven—of House Cornwell. He fought alongside his lord as part of Eliwood's army to help stop Nergal and the Black Fang several years ago, and since then has been traveling around Elibe with Raven and his mercenaries helping those in need.

—Relations: Retainer and husband of Raven.

This takes place in the middle of Chapter 7 of Genealogy and Chapter 20 of Thracia. I've based some of the characters on their FE4 manga's counterparts since it does a pretty good job of fleshing them and the Jugdral saga out. Any spoilers for the Jugdral games are fair game now…though I think we've alluded to most of the major ones already.

Also, congrats to Seliph on making Top 2 for CYL! So happy to see him and Chrom win. Hoping to manifest that FE4 remake (or any Fire Emblem news) at the Direct later today with this chapter.

Next chapter: a conversation with the Scion of Light.