In Endless Dreams

by SnowofSilesse

A mission in Gaspard goes awry when a village boy, pursued by undead invisible soldiers, turns into a dragon. Faced with unearthly magic and the ghosts of their past, the leaders of Fódlan must ally with heroes from other worlds against their common enemy, before they-and reality as they know it-are broken beyond repair. A crossover between TH, Fates, and the entire FE Universe.

36. For Whose Sake

Chapter 36: For Whose Sake

Imperial Military Camp, The Dukedom of Velthomer, Jugdral

Grann. Year 776

Seliph raised his spyglass to his eye. The rain was thick, heavy, and relentless, even in the shelter of the greenwood he and his allies had settled under, but if he steadied his hand, squinted hard enough, and aimed the spyglass just right…

He found what he was looking for: a military camp marked by crimson flags bearing the crest of House Velthomer, known by many as the "Fire Emblem." A fitting name for a family obsessed with flames, fire magic…burning people.

Seliph gripped the spyglass tighter and stuffed the terrible thoughts away, refocusing his mind on the mission at hand.

Silver field tents emblazoned with the empire's sigil peppered the campgrounds, each tarp flapping and folding against the gales of the storm. Dozens of imperial soldiers worked tirelessly to keep the tents from flying away with the winds, but from the soldiers' strained postures, slippery feet, and muddied uniforms, it was clear they were fighting a losing battle.

The storm had not been kind to them, and promised them no pity as night took hold behind the dark, swollen clouds. They were disoriented, disorganized, distracted…

All the makings for a perfect infiltration.

"Looks like this is our best way in," Seliph said, tossing the spyglass to Lewyn. "This camp won't last for much longer in this weather. If we slip into their ranks now, before they begin their retreat back to Castle Velthomer to seek refuge from the storm, we should be able to march right through the castle gates alongside them without any issues."

"Hiding in plain sight, using the imperial army itself as your cover." Lewyn nodded and scanned the stormy horizon for himself before stuffing the spyglass away. "It's a good plan, perhaps the only good plan we have, but…"

"But?"

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Lewyn asked. "Should anything go awry, should the Liberation Army lose its leader at such a critical point in this war…" A sharp frown deepened the wrinkles around his mouth. "This is a dangerous path, Seliph. One that you—and all of Jugdral—may not ever recover from, should you choose to walk it."

Seliph quietly gritted his teeth, fingers plucking at the imperial armor he had "borrowed" for the mission ahead. Dangerous, as Lewyn had dubbed his decision, was a gross understatement. What he was about to do was akin to walking through a nest of vipers, barefoot, with thousands of poisonous fangs looking to tear into his vulnerable flesh. One wrong step, and they would rip him to pieces.

No, he wasn't sure about anything. He was terrified. But today, he didn't have the luxury of cowardice.

Not when the fate of the world, and his sister's safety, hinged on this mission's success.

"I know the risks," Seliph said. He slipped his helmet over his head, tucking any loose strands of blue hair under the steel rim. "But I'm not letting Julia do this alone. She's putting her freedom, and potentially her life, on the line to get this tome—as is Lord Azelle. I'm not going to just stand by and do nothing while they sacrifice everything to see this mission through. Not when I have the means to help them."

Lewyn sighed and tilted his chin up toward the blackened sky, letting the wind and rain run freely over his weary, aged face. "You have your father's valor and compassion, Seliph. Such qualities are the reason so many have chosen to follow you, why so many have risen up against the empire to fight and die in your name."

Seliph frowned down at the mud caking his boots.

"But tread carefully: Sigurd's valor and compassion were also his undoing." Lewyn's distant gaze slid back to Seliph. The wind howled in their ears, and for a brief, rare moment, a glimpse of the pain and regret trapped behind Lewyn's eyes broke through his hardened visage. "I pray you do not follow in his footsteps, and find yourself stumbling into an early grave."

A lump settled deep in Seliph's throat, and the frigid winds brushing against him sent a shiver down his spine. Lewyn's ominous warning weighed heavily on his mind, but…

He was here to protect Julia, and he would not be deterred. Not now.

"I'll be careful," Seliph said. "Besides, Shannan taught me everything there is to know about espionage and sneaking through the shadows. It's time I finally put some of that training to good use."

Lewyn nodded, short and resigned, and shrugged a Warp staff off his back. "My mages and I will trail you from afar and await your signal outside the castle. As soon as you secure the chest and the circlet—"

"And Tyrfing," Seliph added.

"—and Tyrfing, if you can manage it, leave the castle as quickly as you can." Lewyn brushed the end of his staff against the muddy ground. "The sooner we can pull you all out of enemy territory and return to Melgen, the better."

Despite the nerves scrambling around in his chest, Seliph managed to throw Lewyn a short smile. "No arguments here. We'll be in and out before you know it."

Lewyn did not return the smile, nor did he make an effort to even acknowledge it. He simply turned on his heel, tightened his fingers around his staff, and said, "Good luck."

Then, with the wind at his back, Lewyn trekked deeper into the forest, disappearing between the rain and the trees. Seliph sighed, folding his arms over his chest.

"You could really stand to work on your motivational speeches, Lewyn," Seliph muttered under his breath.

"Seliph?"

Julia trotted over to him, stepping carefully to avoid slipping on the mud-soaked ground. The boots she wore were at least a half-size too big for her feet, the red tunic a bit baggy and the armor a bit bulky around her small frame, but she seemed to be adjusting to the imperial uniform well enough. Two staves hung off her back: one for healing, and one for putting her targets to sleep.

"Is something wrong?" she asked. "You seem—"

"I'll be fine," Seliph said. He pulled on the chin strap of her helmet to test the fit, then turned her around in a slow circle, checking to make sure all traces of her long pale hair were hidden from sight. "And you?"

Julia snapped her shoulders back, throwing her hand up in salute and deepening her voice. "All units are armed and ready to move out, sir!"

Seliph gave a soft chuckle, but it sounded forced and hollow in his ears. "That will do, but let's try to leave the talking to Ashe and Felix, okay? We don't want to attract any more attention to ourselves than absolutely necessary."

Julia nodded and slid the visor over her face, securing the staves she carried on her back. "Yes, sir."

Seliph glanced past her shoulder to the others. Felix sat crouched beneath a dry patch of leaves, sharpening the edge of an imperial short sword with a whetstone (a sword he, hopefully, would not have to use). Ashe stood over him, back resting against the tree trunk, twirling the needles of his lockpick around his fingers. And Azelle, the only one among them not in disguise…

Seliph fought back a frown. Azelle simply stared out into the rain in the direction of the castle, letting the water run over his face, through his hair, and into his well-worn traveling clothes, lost in whatever thoughts or memories currently plagued his mind. Perhaps, too, steeling himself for the sacrifice he was soon to make.

Seliph would make sure that sacrifice would not be in vain.

"Everyone ready?" he asked. All eyes turned to him, and everyone shared a single, determined nod. The plan was set, and all that was left to do was for Seliph to put it into motion.

Seliph cast aside his fears, his doubts, and flicked his visor down.

"Let's do this."

—

By the time they reached the outskirts of the military camp, Seliph was soaked to the bone. Mud coated his greaves in thick, clumpy splotches, rainwater sloshed around in his boots, the frigid wind tore right through the small gaps in his tunic and chainmail, scratching his skin like the icy claws of Forseti himself.

The storm in this part of Jugdral was certainly thicker, harsher, much less merciful than the weather they had left behind in Melgen, but Seliph couldn't complain. He and his fellow "soldiers" at least had their helmets to protect their faces from the worst of the elements.

Azelle had no such luxury. With his hands bound behind his back and his mouth gagged under a tight cloth, Azelle was forced to take the brunt of the storm head-on as Ashe and Felix dragged him along the path to the imperial encampment. Seliph had tried protesting the rough treatment, but Azelle was insistent: they needed to make his "capture" look as convincing as possible.

After all, the empire was not known for treating their prisoners kindly.

Seliph clenched his jaw, clenched his fists, and marched on.

Soon, a short outpost began to peek through the haze of the rain. Ashe and Felix approached first, shoving Azelle up front with enough force to send him tumbling down to his knees. The soldier stationed at the top of the outpost—likely the captain of the watch, given the short red plume decorating his helmet—lifted his visor and regarded them with a curious, if somewhat mildly annoyed, arch of his brow.

"More stragglers, huh?" the captain said. "The last patrol rounds were supposed to end twenty minutes ago—general's orders. You're lucky the storm didn't swallow you up out there."

"Sorry, sir," Ashe said, offering the captain a short but firm salute. "We got caught up with a merchant caravan traveling the imperial roadways without the proper permit. We investigated their carts to ensure they weren't trying to transport any smuggled goods or rebel fighters across our borders, and found…" He nudged Azelle with his boot. "A stowaway, hiding among the merchandise."

The captain rolled his eyes and shook his head. "And you knuckleheads wasted your time dragging him back here, instead of just killing him, because…?"

"He claims to be Azelle of House Velthomer," Felix said, crossing his arms. Then, after a beat, he added a curt, "Sir."

The captain's eyes flew open, back snapping up straight at the name. "Azelle? The emperor's missing brother, that Azelle?" He leaned over the edge of the outpost, shielding his face from the rain and squinting down at Azelle. Azelle returned the look with a glare, his knees still stuck in the mud. "The one who fought for the Traitor?"

The Traitor. Seliph gripped a tight fist behind his back. A false title meant to tarnish his father's name, used by those who foolishly believed the empire's lies about his character, who believed his execution at Arvis's hand had been an act of justice.

The same people who would gladly strangle the life out of Seliph himself, if given the chance.

"He tried casting fire magic at us before we confiscated his tomes and staves, sir," Ashe continued. "So, we thought he might be telling the—"

"Bah! Any mage worth his salt can cast a spell as simple as Fire." The captain slid down the outpost's ladder and bent down to Azelle's level, shoving the cloth down his chin to free up his mouth. "No one's seen the emperor's brother in almost two decades. How am I supposed to know you're him?"

Still glaring, Azelle stretched the soreness from his jaw before answering, "The red hair and red eyes aren't clue enough for you?"

The captain looked him up and down, pinching his lips into a scowl. "You look a bit too young for a man who's supposed to be in his mid-thirties."

"Thanks," Azelle said dryly. "You flatter me, sir, but I'm afraid I'm already spoken for."

A blast of thunder rumbled through the clouds, and everyone, the captain included, flinched at the booming sound. Cursing under his breath, the captain curled a fist into Azelle's soaked shirt and yanked him to his feet.

"We don't have time for this," he growled. "Whether or not you are that traitorous bastard, give me one good reason why we shouldn't just slit your throat and let the storm tear you apart for—"

"What is the meaning of this?"

The air crackled with static as a woman marched toward them from inside the military camp. Her long purple hair, tied up high on the side of her head, sagged over her shoulder from the weight of the rain. The long cape hanging off her back whipped around her body, the heels of her white boots sank into the ground with every muddy stride. But despite it all, she still somehow managed to walk through the storm with all the poise in the world.

At the woman's approach, the captain immediately dropped his grip on Azelle and bowed at the waist, deep and reverent. Keeping his head lowered, he said, "Good evening, Lady Ishtar."

Seliph's entire body stiffened.

What was Ishtar doing here? The last Seliph had heard, Ishtar was supposed to be stationed in Miletos with her mother, aiding her father Bloom and his war effort against Leonster from afar by sending him troops and supplies from the imperial reserve. Troops and supplies Seliph's army had been prepared to block, of course, but it appeared she had abandoned that plan in favor of doing…whatever she was doing in Velthomer instead.

Just his luck. They really couldn't afford to be caught now, not with the so-called "Goddess of Thunder" breathing down their necks.

He quickly forced himself into a bow, mimicking the motions of the captain, before his shock could give him away. Thank the gods for helmets.

"What are you all still doing out here?" Ishtar asked, her hand pressed firmly against her hip. "You should be preparing for our evacuation to the castle, not arguing out in the rain like this. It's not…safe…"

Her words trailed off as her gaze fell across Azelle. For a moment, her eyes widened, her lips parted with a soft gasp, as if she were staring into the face of a ghost.

"Who is this?" she asked, though her reaction suggested she already knew the answer.

"Our men caught him trying to sneak across the border with some merchants," the captain said. "Don't know why yet, but he says he's the emperor's brother—"

"He will be coming with me."

Both Azelle and the captain shot her a worried look, though that worry was rooted in two completely different places. "My lady, are you certain?" the captain asked. "We haven't finished interrogating him. He may be lying, or a spy, or worse—"

"I will be the judge of that." Ishtar stepped around to Azelle's back, sliding a small knife through the rope binding his hands together. "Are you hurt, Lord Azelle? Are you able to walk on your own?"

"I'm…" Azelle cautiously rubbed the raw skin of his wrists, confused by the kind gesture. "I'm fine?"

"That's good to hear." Ishtar offered him a slight but genuine smile. With a gentle hand, Ishtar began to lead him back into the main grounds of the military camp. "Let's get you someplace warm, someplace we can talk without this storm hanging over us."

Seliph's knuckles went white under his clenched gloves. Azelle was here to keep Arvis busy, not Ishtar. What did she even want with him?

"Get our soldiers packed and ready to leave for the castle within the next few minutes," Ishtar ordered the captain. "I'll not lose any more lives to this dreadful weather. As for the rest of you…"

Ishtar turned her kind smile on to Seliph and the others, and Seliph's heart nearly burst out of his chest with how fast and hard it was beating against his ribs. Beside him, he could feel Julia tense up, hear her breath come to a silent standstill.

Ishtar and Seliph had never formally met face-to-face or crossed weapons on the battlefield before, so it was unlikely she would recognize him through his disguise, but Julia…

"You did a great thing today," Ishtar started, "bringing the emperor's brother home. I will see that you are all duly rewarded for your efforts." The smile began to slip as she looked upon the shortest among them. Her eyebrows furrowed, watching Julia bend forward into another stiff bow.

Seliph's fingers twitched toward his sword.

Ishtar pursed her lips, then said, "All I need are your names and rank—"

"I need to speak with Arvis," Azelle cut in. "About his son. The prince."

Ishtar's eyes snapped away from Julia and settled on Azelle once more, wide with worry at the mention of the prince—her fiancé. "Julius?" she whispered the name. "Regarding what matters?"

"I know what happened to him." Azelle took a few muddy steps back, drawing Ishtar's attention away from the others. "That's why I came back. I didn't want to make a scene like this, or cause a panic, but I…" He sighed. "I need to speak with my brother now, Lady Ishtar. Please."

"…Yes, of course."

She snapped her fingers. Sparks of thunder magic danced across her hands, flashing in unison with the streaks of lightning stitching the sky. A line of imperial mages took notice and rushed over to her side, bowing their heads as they awaited her orders.

"We must return to Castle Velthomer immediately," Ishtar said, gripping Azelle's shoulder. "We have urgent business with the emperor. Warp us there now, then help guide our soldiers to the castle as quickly as you can."

"But, milady," one of the mages started, "the tents are still—"

"Leave them. The tents can be replaced, our men's lives cannot." She pushed herself and Azelle a step forward. "Now, if you would?"

Azelle glanced over his shoulder, over Ishtar's hand, meeting Seliph's eyes through his visor one last time. His face tightened with resolve. Seliph felt his do the same.

Thank you, Azelle, Seliph wanted to say. He settled for a subtle head nod. And good luck.

One of the mages waved a staff around in the air, drawing runes out of thin, white light, then slammed the end of the staff into the mud. The runes flashed, bright and blinding…

Then, Ishtar and Azelle were gone.

Seliph breathed out a soft, quiet sigh of relief. Julia did the same beside him, though hers came out a bit more choppy, unsteady. He was tempted to reach a hand over to her, to try to provide her a little bit of support and comfort—

"What are you lot standing around for?"

A harsh hand slapped his back and shoved them both forward, sending them stumbling into Ashe and Felix. Julia squeaked in surprise, but she quickly covered up the sound with a deep cough. Thankfully, the captain didn't seem to notice.

"You heard the lady," the captain said. "Back to the castle. Get in line, and get moving!"

Seliph and the others hurried to do just that, itching to get out of the rain, get out of the storm…

And reclaim their stolen holy weapons.

—

Azelle walked the long halls of his childhood home with tight knots in his stomach. Everywhere he looked, House Velthomer's red motif assaulted his vision.

Red drapes and imperial banner flags hung low from the vaulted ceilings (like fire raining down from the sky). Blocks of ornate furniture, upholstered in a rich, crimson velvet, decorated every open room he passed by (like smoldering meteors crashing into the earth). A lush, red carpet carved a path through the castle's dark depths, running over the finely-pressed stone floor (like the blood and ashes of his friends—Tailtiu, Lex, Sigurd, Ayra, Alec, Naoise, Midir, Dew, everyone—staining the ground beneath him).

Azelle's knees threatened to buckle. His gait stuttered, and he stumbled toward the wall to steady himself, to steady his breathing. Lightning flashed outside the window, chasing away the shadows of the hall. Illuminating the red.

"Lord Azelle?" Ishtar faltered in her stride, turning to him with a frown. "Are you all right? If our soldiers treated you too harshly…"

Azelle shook his head and pushed off the wall. He tried to wipe away the rain and sweat dripping down his face with his sleeve, but given that his clothes were thoroughly drenched, his efforts were in vain.

"I'm fine," he said, throat rough and hoarse. "Just not fond of storms, is all."

Ishtar's frown deepened. Slowly, silently, she offered him a small hand towel. He eyed it for poison powder and hidden spikes before, cautiously, using it to dab at his face. Why was she—Ishtar, Thunder Goddess of the despicable House Friege, fearsome general and future Queen of the Grannvale Empire—being so nice?

"…If you would find it preferable…" Ishtar murmured, keeping her voice hushed as the occasional soldier strolled by, "I can pass along whatever information you wish to share about Julius, so you don't have to meet Arvis in person yourself. I know your relationship is…strained, to say the least…and I don't want you to suffer more than you have already."

Azelle just blinked at her. The concern in her face, the concern in her voice, made her words actually seem sincere. Genuine.

What exactly was she playing at? Did she know about the mission? Was she trying to bait him into making some kind of mistake?

"I won't tell him you were here," she continued, and it sounded like a promise. "There's a secret passage out of the castle, not far from here. You can wait out the storm there, Uncle, then leave once this all blows over—"

"Hold on, what?" Now Azelle was confused in more ways than one. "Uncle?"

Ishtar glanced away, quietly berating herself. "Forgive me, Lord Azelle. I've overstepped—"

"No, I just…" Azelle bunched his hand into the towel. "I don't know why you would call me that. Or, really, why you would be so eager to let me go, when everyone else in the empire seems to want me captured or executed."

Ishtar lowered her eyes to the carpet. "Well, in truth, it is because of…" A long, drawn-out sigh curled from her lips, then, "Aunt Tailtiu."

"…Ah."

Hearing his late wife's name was like a dagger to Azelle's heart, a hammer to the back of his knees, but he forced himself to hold his ground. He still had a job to do, and he couldn't afford to lose his nerve now.

"I suppose you would have spent a great deal of time around her," Azelle said, more bitter than he had intended to let slip, "while she was being held captive and tortured by your parents."

Ishtar pressed her mouth into a grimace. "Aunt Tailtiu was always so kind to me, despite her circumstances. She was like a second mother to me, and Tine, your daughter, was like the sister I never had." She carded her fingers through the thick, damp hair of her ponytail. "For what it's worth, I'm…I'm sorry for what happened, sorry that I couldn't do anything to help them. What Aunt Tailtiu went through…it still haunts me…"

Chest heavy, Azelle raised his head to the red banners of his family's house (the fire and blood seeping down the castle's stones).

"It haunts me, too."

"But she always thought the world of you," Ishtar said, an obvious attempt to steer them away from the trail of dark memories. "And Tine looks just like you, you know. That's how I could tell it was you out in the storm—I see her so clearly in your face."

"Hm."

Azelle glanced out the window as Ishtar led him quietly through the castle halls, looking for anything to distract him from the painful thoughts of his dead wife, his captive daughter, his estranged son. The sky had darkened with the storm and the passing of dusk. No moon, no stars to provide any form of light for the soaked soldiers now marching through the gates, only the occasional bolt of lightning washing the world in a fleeting, startling brightness.

Before the light from the last flash began to recede, Azelle could have sworn he caught glimpse of a strange crack stretching across the clouds, like the lightning itself had ripped through the heavens. The crack vanished as soon as it had appeared, though, slipping back into the shadows of the sky. How odd.

Must have just been a trick of the storm.

"His Majesty is currently engaged in a private meeting," Ishtar said, breaking the stretch of silence, "but I believe he should be finished soon. If you wish to take me up on my offer, to tell me what you know about Julius and slip away before Arvis is made aware of your presence…" She locked eyes with him through a sideways glance. "Now is the time."

Azelle simply shook his head. "I came here to speak with my brother. I'm not leaving until I do."

If I ever get the chance to leave at all.

"If you say so," Ishtar sighed. She gestured to a door sitting at the end of the hall, a door Azelle remembered well from his youth: Arvis's study. Four burly guards stood at attention on either side of it, staring down any soldier or servant who dared pass them by. "Once the meeting is over, I'll request an audience—"

"I need to speak with him," Azelle pressed. Eyes flicking to the window once more, he could see that most of the soldiers had been ushered through the castle walls—Seliph and the others somewhere among them. "Now."

"I really think we should wait for him to finish," Ishtar said, voice hushed but heavy with warning.

"I doubt there's anything more important to him than the prince's—"

"He's meeting with mymother," she whispered, "and she is…quite irate, at the moment."

Azelle's blood turned to solid ice.

"…Hilda?" The name rolled slowly, harshly, off his tongue. "Hilda is here, too?"

Ishtar nodded, and Azelle was struck with the sudden urge to abandon this mission all together and fling himself from the nearest window. A death from this height would be far less painful than being stuck in a room with both Arvis—the man who had executed his closest friends—and Hilda—the woman who had tortured and murdered his wife.

But Seliph was counting on him to do this. Azelle had already failed Sigurd once before; he wasn't about to fail his son, too.

(Though it would have been nice if Lewyn, with his vast network of spies and his uncanny foresight, could have spared a moment to warn him about the horrible mess he was about to walk into)

"Great," Azelle gritted out. "I'm sure this information will be pertinent to all three of you."

Ishtar looked far from convinced, but she didn't push back against his decision. Forcing her chin up high, she walked the remaining length of the hall with Azelle in tow and strode right up to the guards of the study, presenting herself with an air of authority that could make any man tremble.

"Let us pass," she commanded.

The guards exchanged a nervous glance. Behind them, a flurry of angry, muffled voices rumbled from beyond the door. Azelle wiped away the sweat building on his palms, clenching his hands tight to keep them from shaking.

Ishtar leveled a piercing glare at the guards. "Now."

The guards bowed their heads and stepped aside. Azelle drew in a long breath, forcing the fear to flee from his face.

All he had to do was distract three of the most powerful people in all of Jugdral. No pressure. No pressure at all.

Ishtar opened the door.

"I don't care how many men it takes!" a woman's furious voice boomed from within the study. "Those rebellious rats killed my son taking Castle Melgen! My only son! I'll sacrifice every single soldier in our army if it means seeing Seliph's little blue head rotting on the end of a gods-damned spike!"

"I won't risk sending any more reinforcements out into this storm, Hilda," a firm voice (a voice Azelle had never wanted to hear again) said. "If your husband needed extra troops to strike down the rebel army and reclaim Leonster, he should have waited to march when it was safer to do so. He made the decision to attack prematurely—I won't let my soldiers pay the price for his rash decisions."

"Coward!" Hilda spat. "Prince Julius would have never stood for this. He never would have allowed Seliph and his pathetic band slip so easily from our grasp, not without fire and bloodshed!"

"Julius is not the emperor, not yet. You would be wise to remember that."

Ishtar cleared her throat. "Forgive my intrusion, Mother, Your Majes—"

"Oh, shut up, you stupid girl!"

Hilda whirled around to the door, lips pulled back into a dangerous scowl. "What is it now?! I told you we were not to be—"

Hilda's mouth snapped shut. She pinned her sharp eyes on Azelle, threatening to crush him under the weight of her glare alone.

But the menacing stare was nothing compared to the wide-eyed shock nailed to his brother's face.

Arvis shot up from his desk, nearly knocking his chair flat on its side. "Azelle?"

"It's been quite some time," Azelle said slowly, to keep his voice from wavering, "hasn't it, Lord Brother?"

The many years Arvis had served as emperor had clearly taken their toll. Heavy lines haunted his eyes, his mouth, his forehead, each wrinkle deepening as disbelief settled around his face. Short streaks of gray peppered the red roots of his hairline, and a thick tension coiled his back up into a slight hunch. He looked weary, like he hadn't rested in years, and aged, like the crown resting on his head had sapped away most of his strength and vitality.

It filled Azelle with a flicker of twisted satisfaction, seeing Arvis like this. Knowing that the man who had ruined everything was somehow, in some small way, suffering like the rest of them.

"Azelle, what…" Arvis was, for the first time Azelle could remember, at a loss for words. "What are you…?"

"Some of our soldiers found him outside of the military camp," Ishtar said. "He insisted on meeting with you, Your Majesty. It's quite urgent."

"Oh, please," Hilda scoffed, waving her hand in dismissal. "A known traitor, so boldly demanding an audience with the emperor? What kind of foolish game are you playing here?" A fresh scowl sharpened her mouth. "Or, perhaps, you're here on behalf of Seliph. You always were so fond of his imbecile of a father."

"I haven't seen Seliph since he was a babe in his crib," Azelle said. "I'm here of my own accord. I just want to talk, because I've seen things—"

"Do shut up. I didn't travel all this way to Velthomer just to listen to some brat prattle on about—"

"Let him speak, Hilda," Arvis said, firm and final with no room for argument. That was the brother Azelle remembered. "Do not interrupt him again."

Hilda pursed her lips and narrowed her glare, but she kept quiet as ordered.

"I've seen things," Azelle started again, weaving a story for them composed of both truth and lies. "Terrible, unnatural things moving through the storm. Shadows of people who have long since passed, attacking civilians and soldiers alike. I know it sounds mad, but…" He slid his gaze to Arvis and forced himself to hold eye contact. "They're the reason Julius has gone missing. And despite our history, or what you may think of me now, I don't want to see your son—my nephew—hurt."

Arvis lowered himself back into his chair, brows furrowed, waiting for Azelle to continue. He looked guarded, skeptical, but Azelle didn't really care if Arvis believed him.

All he needed was Arvis's attention.

And he had it.

—

Once Seliph and the others made it through the castle gates, slipping away from the rest of the imperial army went relatively smoothly.

The castle attendants had ushered the bulk of their forces into a grand mess hall, providing their weary soldiers with blankets, a place to rest, and fresh meals from the kitchens. As they began to settle in for the night, eating, drinking, recovering from countless hours stuck out in the rain, Seliph and the others saw their chance to quietly split off and sneak farther into the castle's depths.

They blended into the common areas well enough. No one seemed to bat an eye as they wandered the halls, too engrossed in the day's gossip("Did you see that man with Lady Ishtar?" "I hear the Traitor's son is moving to conquer Munster now—how long until he comes for us, too?") and too focused on the storm outside to scrutinize a few random soldiers for long enough to grow suspicious of their intentions.

Still, Seliph had to remind himself to relax his shoulders, to breathe. It was sometimes difficult for him to differentiate the storm's thunder from the blood pounding against his ears, but he did his best to keep up the appearance of a casual, confident soldier in proud service of the empire.

A difficult feat, indeed.

"To the right," Julia whispered. Seliph nodded and led the group according to her direction, weaving them through the long, dark halls, sticking to the shadows as they crossed into parts of the castle where mere foot soldiers were not permitted to roam around for long. The castle's activity thinned within the deeper recesses of the castle, but that made them all the more cautious not to be spotted by any noble guests or patrolling guards.

Seliph slowed them to a stop when Julia indicated they were nearing the entrance to the royal residential quarters. Just around the corner, soft murmuring flitted through the quiet air. Two distinct voices. Two guards, then, protecting the first set of doors they would need to pass through to reach the emperor's room and the royal treasury.

Seliph sidled along the wall, up to the corner edge. He cast a quick glance behind him: Felix was bouncing lightly, silently, on the balls of his feet; Ashe had his lock picks out and at the ready, secured in a tight grip; Julia had her staff clutched close to her chest, waiting for Seliph's signal.

Seliph nodded to her. She inhaled a short, quiet breath to steady her nerves, pushed off the wall…

Then walked around the corner.

One of the guards made a choked sound of surprise. "Hey, you're not supposed to be—"

"Sleep."

The spell bathed the hall in a quick flash of soft, white light. Seliph and Felix sprung around the corner, dashing past Julia to catch the two guards before their armored bodies could collapse and clatter to the floor. Ashe followed right on their heels, getting to work on the locks the moment his fingers brushed the thick steel doors.

No one dared a breath. To Seliph, the light clinking of the lock picks sounded like cannon fire against the heavy silence of the hall. He could only hope the strong winds and thunder pressing against the windows were enough to block the slight noise from any hidden ears.

Two long, nerve-racking minutes later, and the way was open. No one came to stop them, but they knew all-too-well that their luck could flip in a matter of seconds if they weren't careful.

Quickly, they slipped through the doors. A low-lit, spiral staircase leading to the castle's upper floors greeted them on the other side, but it did little to slow their pace. They simply laid the sleeping guards across the bottom steps and hurried along, climbing the stairs as fast and as quietly as their legs could carry them.

Another set of locked doors and another pair of armored guards awaited them at the top, but Ashe's lock picks and Julia's Sleep staff made quick work of both obstacles.

"We have about twenty minutes until that spell starts to wear off," Seliph whispered, stepping carefully into the lavish chambers reserved for members of Velthomer's royal family. There were no other guards to contend with, as far as his eyes and ears could tell, but it always paid to be vigilant, especially so deep into enemy territory. "I'll help Julia find the circlet with the key, while you two—"

"Break into the treasury and snatch the magical chest and magical sword," Felix said. "Just point us in the right direction, and we'll see it done."

"It should be…" Julia rubbed her temples through her helmet's visor, wrangling with her scattered memories. "Down the first hallway here, then…the last door on the right, I think. Julius and I used to play in front of it all the time as children, pretending to be thieves and treasure hunters."

"Got it." Ashe stretched out his fingers before securing his grip on his lock picks once more. "We'll meet you back here as soon as we've got our hands on them."

Julia bowed her head in thanks and uttered a soft, short prayer for them. "May Naga's will guide you to success."

But by the time she lifted her gaze, Ashe and Felix had already disappeared around the corner, off to fulfill the final, most crucial step of their plan: securing the holy weapons. Whether they had Naga's will or not, time was of the essence. Every second was precious, and they could not afford to waste a single moment.

All the more reason for Seliph and Julia to hurry and find that key.

"All right," Seliph said, pressing forward into the royal chambers, sticking close to Julia's side. "Which way to your father's room?"

—

"If I am understanding you correctly," Arvis said, "you believe that these so-called…invisible soldiers, the spirits of the undead…are responsible for Julius's disappearance?"

Azelle nodded. "That's right."

"And you've seen them for yourself?" Arvis slowly tapped his fingers along the edge of his desk, studying Azelle with a careful, calculating expression. "With your own eyes?"

"A few times, yes," he lied.

"For the love of—!" Hilda slammed a fist down onto the desk. "How much longer must we be subjected to this nonsense?! Listening to the ravings of a mad man—a traitor—will get us no closer to finding the prince."

"It does sound a bit…unbelievable, Lord Azelle," Ishtar added from her corner of the room. "Are you sure that's what you saw out in the storm?"

Before Azelle could respond, Hilda bit out a sarcastic laugh and said, "Of course he isn't! He's either lost his grip on reality, or he's trying to waste our time with rubbish and fairy tales."

A bead of sweat rolled down the back of Azelle's neck.

"It is unwise to ignore information simply because, on face value, it sounds like an impossibility," Arvis said. "Besides, his story has some merit." His expression took on a suspicious glint as it passed over Azelle's face, and he emphasized, "Some."

Hilda snorted. "On what grounds?"

"Manfroy and the Loptrian mages have reported similar sightings." Arvis shuffled through a thick stack of letters, setting a few aside and running his fingers along the ink. "Shadows moving through patches of fog and rain, attacking devotees of the Loptr Church during times of worship and tribute, sometimes overturning military camps belonging to both sides of the war, then disappearing without a trace. It aligns too well with Azelle's experience to be mere coincidence."

"Wait, you already know about them?" Azelle asked. "Then why aren't you doing anything to stop them?"

"Who says I'm not?"

"You are, by allowing this war to continue!" Azelle said, exasperated. "You could be devoting your time and resources to defending your people—to rescuing your own son—from the dead, yet you've been sitting here arguing with Hilda about how to deal with the Liberation Army instead! You could put an end to the fighting right here, right now, but you're too stubborn to even consider—"

Azelle started forward, but as soon as he took his first step Hilda and Ishtar wedged themselves between him and the desk, preventing him from getting any closer to the emperor.

"Consider what, exactly?" Arvis asked, leaning back into his chair. "Extending a truce to the rebel fighters to fight our 'common enemy'? I sincerely doubt Seliph would ever trust a white flag offered to him by my hand. I expect he would sooner plunge a sword into my back, rather than risk my betrayal."

"Seliph wouldn't do something like that," Azelle insisted. "He's honorable, I've seen it. If you would just make an effort to—"

Azelle froze, realizing his mistake far too late.

A frown further wrinkled the heavy lines around Arvis's mouth. "You think quite highly of someone whom you, allegedly, only knew as an infant."

Azelle's stomach clenched into a knot, a knot so tight it squeezed the air right out of him.

"All those years you've spent in hiding," Arvis sighed, "and you still haven't learned how to lie. I suppose that was the one thing I always struggled to teach you."

Hilda gave a dark chuckle, smirking like a snake that had just cornered its prey. Ishtar folded her arms and stared down at the floor, avoiding eye contact with him all together.

"I will only ask you once, little brother."

Arvis rose from his seat. Even with his hunch, even with the tired, aged droop of his eyes, he was still the most imposing, most intimidating, most dangerous person in the room.

The person Azelle had always feared more than anyone else in the world.

"Why are you really here?"

Azelle straightened his back and pressed his lips together into a grim line, refusing to answer. Rolling thunder filled the silence in his place.

Arvis walked around the desk, hands clasped behind his back, stalking closer and closer to Azelle until they were only a few inches apart. Azelle dug his heels into the ground to prevent himself from backing away.

"Who else came here with you?" Arvis asked.

"No one," Azelle said, as smoothly as his voice would allow. "It's just me."

Another clap of thunder rumbled outside the window. The castle seemed to tremble against the booming sound, almost as if the thunder's lightning had struck one of the castle's spires.

Or, perhaps, it too was afraid of what its lord was planning to do.

Arvis clicked his tongue and huffed out a soft, disappointed sigh. "Lying again, Azelle."

Azelle swallowed hard, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"Allow me to squeeze the information out of him, Your Majesty." Hilda's red, blade-like nails raked over Azelle's face. When he tried to flinch back, she captured his chin in a punishing grip. "I think you would make a wonderful addition to my dungeon, dear Azelle. Much more fun than that little whore you called a wife."

Fury flared against the fear. "You—!"

"Ah, ah, ah," Hilda tsked, bringing her free hand to hover over the Bolganone tome on her hip. Her nails cut deeper into his skin, drawing blood. "You're going to tell us everything we want to know—about your plan, about Seliph, about the whole liberation movement—or I'll fry your handsome face off. Or…better yet…"

She leaned in close, voice like rotten honey as she breathed into his ear. "Maybe I'll skin the flesh off your wretch of a daughter first. Chop off her toes, rip out her fingernails, gouge out her eyes…take her apart, little by little, until you're on your knees, groveling in the dirt, begging me for mercy."

"Hilda, that's enough," Arvis snapped.

"As His Majesty commands." Hilda shoved Azelle's face away and took a few steps back, a sinister glee shining in her eyes. "I doubt she would be able to last that long, anyway. She's just as weak and pathetic as her dear, departed mother."

Azelle lunged at her.

One of the guards caught his arm before he could make contact, wrenching his wrist behind his back and slamming him face-first into the desk. Azelle kicked and elbowed and struggled with all his strength, but there was little a tomeless mage could do against the crushing grip of an elite, fully armored guard.

"Tie him up," Arvis ordered. "Keep him locked in here and restrained until the castle has been secured. Alert the watch: no one enters or leaves until we have cleared every corner of every room for rebel sympathizers, and any traps they may have tried to lay for us."

"Time to go hunting for rats, boys!" Hilda cackled with a wicked laugh.

Panic shot through Azelle like a hot bolt of thunder magic. "Arvis, wait—"

Azelle was yanked off the table by the guards and forced onto his knees, unable to move a muscle as the guards bound his arms in thick, coarse rope. Blood from his nose leaked into his mouth, tears burned at the corner of his vision, but he continued to fight the restraints in whatever ways he could.

"Oh, don't you worry." Hilda sneered down at him and ruffled his hair with a rough, mocking hand. "We'll be back for you, too."

Azelle barely resisted the urge to spit at her.

As she strode out the door with her tome in hand, Arvis—for just a moment—let his hardened expression slip. He frowned at Azelle, solemn and grave, then moved to take his leave with his guards at his back.

"Arvis, wait!" Azelle begged, desperation fueling his every word. "Please, just listen to me!"

Arvis paused in the door frame. He didn't turn around, but he tilted his head, giving Azelle one last chance to speak.

"You asked me why I came back?" Azelle shuffled on his knees, as far forward as his bindings would allow. Blood stained his teeth and settled on his tongue, making him taste copper. "I came back because I want to keep my family safe. If you believe the reports from those letters, then you know as well as I do what's waiting out in that storm—and if we don't do anything to stop it, my children, your children, our people, they'll be the ones to suffer."

Arvis glanced over his shoulder, and Azelle met his gaze head-on. "I don't want to lose anyone else," Azelle said. "Do you?"

Arvis tightened his mouth, turned away, and left the study without another word.

Gods, damn it! His brother was a stubborn bastard!

Azelle slumped back and strained desperately against the rope, stretching and twisting and wriggling his arms to no avail. Damn him, he needed to find a way out of the bindings, find a way to warn Seliph and the others before they—

A fire tome and a short knife thunked on the floor in front of him.

Azelle blinked up. Ishtar stood over him, face tight but determined, hands balled into fists at her sides.

"Ishtar?" he asked. "What are you…"

"I don't want to lose anyone else, either," Ishtar whispered. "Something dangerous is coming through the storm, I can feel it. Get your people and get out of here—before it's too late."

"I…" Azelle coughed on the blood tickling the back of his throat. "Th-thank you."

Ishtar nodded and hurried to the door. "Be on guard, Uncle," she said. "Don't make me regret this."

She disappeared into the hallway beyond and closed the door, leaving the outer lock unlatched.

—

"I think I've got it, Felix!"

Ashe scooped the chest he had been tinkering with up into his arms. It was lightweight but sturdy, built with a smooth, lacquered wood to protect its contents from damage and the passage of time. The detailing work was minimal, making it a rather unassuming box compared to all the other ornate, gold-encased chests stacked around the room, but that was likely by design. The less attention a chest holding the world's most powerful tome drew, the better.

"It's the only chest I couldn't open with the lock picks," Ashe said, shuffling over to Felix's side. "There's a little divot shaped like a gem tucked under the keyhole, one that snapped my picks in half every time I tried to mess with it, as if by magic—"

"Shh." Felix pressed his hand to Ashe's mouth to quiet him. "I'm concentrating."

"On what?" Ashe asked, words muffled by his palm.

"The swords." Felix peeled his hand away and gestured to the grand collection of golden swords shining through the glass display cases of the royal treasury, each blade tempered with some of the finest steel work Ashe had ever seen. "I can't figure out which one is supposed to be the so-called 'holy weapon' Seliph is looking for. He said it has a golden hilt, but…they all do."

Ashe tucked the chest under one arm, squinting at the swords. "You can't, I don't know, sense it with the power of your Crest or something?"

"That's not how Crests work."

"Well, they said the holy weapons can only be wielded by warriors with a compatible bloodline, right? Like the Heroes' Relics?" Ashe glided his free hand across one of the glass cases. "If we try giving each of them a quick swing, whichever one ends up being dull and useless in our hands is probably—"

The castle rumbled beneath their feet. Shelves of valuable treasures and gold coins rattled as something in the castle's foundation caused the room to momentarily tremble. Then, as quickly as it had started, the treasury stilled to an eerie silence.

"…What was that?" Ashe whispered. "The storm? An earthquake?"

"Earthquake tremors usually last more than a second." Felix slowly unsheathed his imperial short sword, scanning the room with narrowed eyes. "Keep that chest close."

Ashe swallowed a nervous breath. His fingers twitched, itching to reach back for his bow for protection, but he forced himself to secure his hold on the box instead. Waiting… watching…

Faintly, somewhere outside, he heard the whistling of a magic spell burning to life in the distance. A familiar, powerful, dangerous—

"Felix!" Ashe panicked. "Get back—"

A meteor crashed through the ceiling, sending Ashe and Felix and all the room's valuables flying as it smashed into the treasury. Ashe struck the wall with a painful smack, and just barely rolled himself and the chest out of the way as the stone ceiling collapsed over his head.

Breathing hard, he lurched himself up onto unsteady feet. Felix did the same, pushing himself in between Ashe, the chest, and the smoldering rock, sword raised and ready to strike.

Hot steam hissed off the meteor's rough surface. Rain poured in heavy sheets through the hole overhead, dousing the rock until only thin trails of smoke wisped around its base, then…

A voice, hoarse and enraged, spoke through the rain.

"Where… is… my… wife?"

A figure solidified in the shadows of the rain. Dark purple energy slithered across the severe burns mottling his decayed skin, curled around the patches of singed blue hair hanging over his sunken, soulless eyes.

The Vallite general Ashe and Felix had faced twice before. A foe no one thus far had been able to defeat.

"Where… is… my… son?"

The figure punched through one of the glass display cases with his bare fist, ripping the golden sword inside violently out of its fastenings. The blade shimmered with divine light as he gripped its handle, too radiant and beautiful to be in the hands of a walking corpse.

"There goes the magical sword…" Felix muttered. He walked back in slow, careful steps, nudging Ashe closer to the door.

Ashe clutched the chest as tightly as his arms would allow.

"Arvis…" the figure hissed. "Grannvale… took everything… from me…"

Those soulless eyes snapped to Ashe and Felix. With a terrifying sneer, he leveled the holy sword straight at them. Its divine light burned brighter than the brightest of stars, fueled by the unbridled, furious rage of its master.

"And… for that…"

The figure stalked forward, bloodlust emanating from every burn on his body.

"All of you… will… pay."

---

Character Bios:

Hilda: Queen

—Queen of Miletos and Duchess of Friege. A vile, vindictive woman feared across all of Jugdral for her extreme cruelty. She serves as an active, willing participant of the Loptr Church's child hunts, and is said to have abused and tortured her imprisoned sister-in-law, Tailtiu, so badly that she died from her severe physical and mental injuries.

—Relations:Mother of Ishtore (deceased) and Ishtar. Wife of Bloom. Sister-in-law of Tailtiu (deceased).

Ishtar: Sage

—Lady of Friege and Fiancée to the Prince of the Grannvale Empire. A powerful but kindhearted woman with an incredible talent for thunder magic, referred to as the "Goddess of Thunder" by allies and enemies alike. She is loyal to her family and her lover, but often finds herself conflicted about their methods of warring and ruling—especially when it comes to the Loptr Church's child hunts.

—Wielder of Mjölnir

—Relations: Daughter of Bloom and Hilda. Sister of Ishtore (deceased). Fiancée of Julius. Niece of Tailtiu (deceased). Cousin of Tine and Arthur.

Sigurd: Holy Knight

—A Lord of Chalphy and Holy KnIghT of Grannvale. An honoraBle, loyal, bUt naïve man whose fieRce compassioN compelled him to fight to reStore peace and order to a continent plagued by war and corruption. After he was falSELy ImPlicated in the assassination of Prince KurtH, he was trickeD into journEyIng to Belhalla to cleaR his name, only for Arvis to orDeR him and his soldiErs executed for treason. Some say he Was tHE gREAtest knight to eveR livE…and now, he belongs to me.

—Wielder of tYrfing

—Relations: sOn of Byron (deceased). Father of Seliph. Husband of Deirdre (deceased). Brother of Ethlyn (deceased). Uncle of Leif and Altena.

---

This might be the longest chapter of the story so far, and the next chapter will likely be fairly long as well. I can't help it...as my pen name might suggest, I love Jugdral drama :)

Next chapter: Revenge.