TW: death, suicidal thoughts, implied sexual assault

Pale blue ether crystals lined the path, casting just enough light to see by. In the gloom of predawn, it was the best they could do. The party slowed their pace. Slick rock and low visibility made a deadly pair. And there wasn't much standing between them and a plummet of a thousand feet. Just ropes of chain, strung between jagged stone pillars.

More beasts flew overhead, swarming the intruding Mechon like bees defending their hive. They were the same kind as the one they'd fought on Central Seal Island. Or, related so closely that Dunban couldn't tell the difference anyway. Not that their exact classification mattered. If they delayed him, he would cut them down without sparing another thought for academic details. These ones, at least, seemed to be too preoccupied with keeping the Mechon out to notice him. Good. He needed to save his strength for Metal Face. His hands curled into fists.

He didn't care what happened to the emperor – a thought that pricked him like a thorn. The guilt was a minor discomfort. And the sacrifice of a man he didn't particularly like was a price he could pay. His gaze landed on Melia's back as she guided them to the top of Prison Island. It wasn't personal. If saving her father didn't interfere with his revenge, he would do so.

Honestly, he'd let himself die too. As long as he took Metal Face down with him.

But Melia – and the rest of his friends too, of course – had to make it out alive. He wouldn't lose any more of his loved ones. They all had so much life left to live, goals to accomplish. Melia would inherit the High Entian empire and likely spearhead an alliance between her people and the Homs. Shulk would end the war. Even if he didn't realize it yet. Sharla had a brother who needed her to come home. Riki was a father. And Reyn would return to Colony 9, throwing himself back into public service. His strength would be greatly needed during the rebuild. Both for construction and serving the militia.

Dunban paused by a ledge, staring down at Eryth Sea. The sky was beginning to lighten and he could only make out the shapes of the hovering reefs. What place did he have in a post-war world? With his arm the way it was, he imagined he wouldn't be of much use. Just a drain on their already strained resources.

The last year had shown him just how incompatible with civilian life he was. He'd pushed himself to recover faster, couldn't stand the idea of being dependent on others for so long. After his parents died, he'd had no choice but to become self-sufficient. For Fiora's sake. The neighbors helped where they could, but even back then, guilt consumed him. He hated the pity, the kindness he couldn't repay. And that sentiment never left him.

He couldn't return to a life of perpetual debt – a life where his very existence burdened the people he'd once fought so hard for. It would kill him. The damn house, too. He'd lived there long enough without Fiora. In the weeks following the Mechon attack, he wandered the place in a daze. Mornings were the worst, when the dregs of sleep made him forget. Then he'd find the kitchen cold and her bedroom empty…

"You okay?"

Shulk's voice jolted him out of his memory, forcing him to turn away from the ledge. He frowned as he realized that only Shulk was behind him. The others rested several yards ahead. Reyn sprawled on the ground, one arm slung over his face. And snoring. How long had he been lost in thought?

"I'm fine," he said, a bit more forcefully than he'd intended.

"It's just…" Shulk glanced down at his feet. Then, when he'd gathered his courage, he met Dunban's eyes, fingers curling into fists. "You've been acting off since we left the palace. Taking bigger risks, arguing with Sharla…" He had the sense not to mention what had happened with Melia. Not yet, at least.

But it would come eventually. With the marriage finalized, Dunban was sure their friends would have questions. Kallian's words came to mind: You've won. His friends believed the same, leveling all sorts of accusations at him. Though most remained unvoiced, he could almost hear them. A constant nagging in the back of his head. They confirmed the worst things he thought of himself. He'd used Melia, taken advantage of her culture and her sense of duty. If he could marry her against her will, what else—

"Dunban?"

He cringed at the interruption. Or perhaps it was the dark turn of his thoughts that caused the reaction. "I don't know what you want me to say."

Shulk sighed. "Nothing. Never mind. Let's keep moving."

Before waiting for Dunban's reply, he jogged back toward the group. Dunban followed more slowly. He agreed that they shouldn't waste more time than necessary and yet… he wanted to be alone. The not-so-subtle glares were beginning to wear him down. A stream of excuses flooded his mind, combatting the judgements he imagined them making. But none of it worked. None of it silenced the doubts that plagued him, the fears that, maybe, he was doing something wrong. Even though Melia had reassured him that she harbored no ill feelings toward him. Her opinion should be the only one that mattered on the subject.

And he actually believed her. He'd been skeptical at first – until she opened up about Kallian. That vulnerability had been unexpected, but welcome. He wanted her to feel comfortable with him. It was selfish, to seek her validation, to wish so fervently that she'd forgive him for what he'd done. Just to make the guilt fade…

Melia avoided his gaze as he approached. He shouldn't have expected anything else, especially not after how he'd treated her on the hovering reefs. But then, with that moment between them, after the fight, he'd assumed he was forgiven. Or at least, she hadn't been thinking of it at the time. Why?

He imagined the feeling of her fingers against his cheek. Her skin so hot, it almost burned. The pink flush to her cheeks. From exertion, probably, or the critically low levels of ether that could have claimed her life a second time. She seemed stable now, at least. Crouched down beside Riki with that little frown she almost always wore. The Nopon gestured along to words Dunban couldn't hear, but he knew they existed. If only because of Melia's solemn nod. And the movement of her lips as she responded.

She stood, tilted her head back to look up at the sky. Dunban followed her gaze. Directly overhead, it was clear aside from the parting rainclouds. No Mechon. No Prison Island guardians. The chaos around them remained unchanged, metal carapaces whizzing past, reflecting the explosions of their fellow Mechon.

"Something is happening," Melia said, raising her voice so the entire party could hear her. "The ether—"

The ground beneath their feet vibrated as shimmering teal ether cascaded down from above. It encased the island like a shell, repelling any enemies that strayed too close. Dunban relaxed a fraction. He'd expected another fight, not to be gifted an advantage. Protection, however temporary. More time. But Melia's frown deepened and any relief he'd felt evaporated.

"We must hurry!" She turned from the rest of the group, sprinted up the incline that lay before them. They ran after her without hesitation.

A massive door awaited them at the top, engraved with a golden sigil. The symbol emanated a warming light that bathed their faces in an imitation of sun's rays. Statues perched beside the door, one on each side. Towering works of black stone that were too weather-worn to make out much detail. Wings sprouted from its back and swept upwards. Like it might launch itself into the air at any moment. Its jaw hung open, frozen in a soundless shriek. Although its features were marred by the passage of time, Dunban knew two things for certain. This thing – whatever it was – was no more than a beast, wild, careless in its power. And he'd seen it before.

"Dinobeast! Dinobeast!" Riki cried, bouncing toward the nearest statue.

So, Dunban hadn't been the only one to notice the resemblance. Even Reyn agreed.

"It is common knowledge among the High Entia that our ancestors were very different from us. Physically. This… may be a depiction of them," Melia said. At their questioning glances, she elaborated. "Our records of that time are unclear at best. With no surviving documentation, all we know has come from the stories of our elders. Passed down through the centuries, taught to each generation as fact. I wonder…"

They waited for her to finish, but she didn't. Instead, she strode forward until she stood before a slab of polished obsidian. This, too, was engraved with sigils. An alphabet that again struck Dunban as familiar, but he couldn't place it. Melia traced her fingers over the glassy surface, followed the dips of the carvings.

"What does it say?" Sharla asked, voice low.

"I don't know. These characters are not from the High Entian language." She stepped back and craned her neck to examine the door. Then she gestured to the symbol there. "That one, however, is. It's a sealing rune. So, perhaps the rumors are true."

Before anyone could ask what she meant, she walked around the stone slab and extended her hand toward the door. Her fingertips brushed against a vein of gold – the very bottom stroke of the rune. Whispers hissed through the air, wrapping around them. Dunban twisted to see over his shoulder, certain that he would see someone behind him. But there was nothing. The hair on his arms rose as shivers wracked his body. He couldn't decipher the words. No matter how hard he listened, how loud the whispers sounded to his ears. Reverberating through his head like fists punching through his skull.

And then it was over. Silence.

Green light burst from a shallow groove in the door's metal. It washed over Melia, sweeping down to her feet then back up to her head. Sharla unslung her rifle and Shulk called out in surprise. Dunban reached for his sword, though his movements were sluggish. He hadn't even managed to draw it when Melia stopped them.

"No, stay back. It's alright," she said, throwing out an arm as if to bar them from coming to her aid. But she didn't look at them. "The stories claim only those of royal blood may break the seal and enter Prison Island. It's verifying my lineage."

The sickly green ray, upon finishing its quest, flickered then died. As soon as it faded, the door broke into three sections and receded into the surrounding rock. Dunban sighed. He couldn't help but wonder how they would've proceeded if they'd convinced Melia to stay behind. Would they have come so far only to fail before the true fight began? With a shake of his head – still rattled from… whatever those whispers had been – he followed his friends into the Central Hall.

It was a sprawling chamber, lit by countless torches. Real torches, not ether lamps. Blue flame sputtered, casting its eerie hue over everything. If no one had disturbed the island in centuries, how did the fires still burn? But it didn't matter. He had his mission and he mustn't let himself become distracted by such trivial things.

Just ahead, in the center of the path, the air rippled. Almost like it does in excessive heat. But there was something else too, a reflection of the blue flame coiling with shadow. It called to him. Or… pulled him. The sensation was more akin to a hand, reaching through his chest, tugging at his heart. All that discomfort, just to indicate the direction in which he should travel. The rest of the party felt it too. He could tell by their shuffling, the way their eyes were drawn to that twisted dance of light and dark. Yet, they let indecision win out and they stayed rooted in place.

He pushed through them, to the front. Melia caught his eye, bit down on her lip for a moment. Then her resolve hardened and she joined him. They stepped into the rift together.

Kallian shielded his eyes against the brilliant beams of energy that shot out from Prison Island. Whenever one streaked across the sky, it lit up the entirety of Eryth Sea as if it were noon and not dawn. Brighter than noon, actually. Each beam had the light of a sun, burning and burning until it consumed itself. They left bruises across his vision, vibrant shadows that mimicked their forms.

Like the bruises on his own skin.

His hand settled at his throat, where the marks broke the pale monotony of unblemished flesh. He remembered the look on Melia's face as she noticed them. Disgust. The same feelings that churned within him, plucked at his veins, constricted his lungs.

In the wake of the rain, the atmosphere had cooled. But it couldn't pierce through his scorching shame. A nice breeze wasn't much competition for lava blood and wildfire emotions. He would suffocate on his own smoke. What other choice did he have? If there was any more time, perhaps he might burn out like the blinding rays that cut through ranks of Mechon as he watched. Only to die when his task was finished. His usefulness no longer outweighed the cost.

He stalked to the edge of the Sky Terrace and looked down at the dome covering Alcamoth. There were farther falls. When he'd thrown himself from the hovering reefs, for instance. But the water had shown him mercy then. He doubted he'd find the same care – the same softness – in those glass panes. With luck, he'd break through, plummet until he hit the street. And they could all gawk at his broken body. The way he knew they wanted to.

One step. The toe of his boot hovered above the open air and the pressure in his chest eased. He could end this. Tears boiled against his lower lids, refused to spill over. Just one more step. One more and it would be over. The pain that lived in him, that piloted his husk of a body and forced him to inflict the same on those he loved. Mangled and thorned, it was an ugly thing. The harder he pulled against it – tried to dislodge it – the deeper it dug its barbs into him. And he was ugly too. That rot inside him seeped outward through scars he kept ripping open, tainting the beauty he'd once had. Until only hideousness remained. They saw it and recoiled.

But if he died, then the pain would perish as well. He would no longer be a tool in their hands. Freedom, true freedom. Though he didn't deserve it. He deserved to be used until he fractured, to be taunted by nightmares that persisted even in wakefulness.

The press of his fingers on his neck turned harsh, nails stabbing him. He wished he could claw away her bites, tear the marred skin away in patches. Blood bothered him less these days; there was always so much of it. His pulse pounded against his fingertips. His ears drowned in the sound of it and he finally released his grip. No longer strangling himself, the horrid thuds eased.

He… He wished Alvis hadn't left him alone.

"Leaving early?"

Her voice encased him in ice, turned his limbs rigid. Too rigid to move. Two words – such innocent little words – robbed him of his only chance to stop what he knew was coming. She drew closer, footsteps noiseless. But he could feel her presence, looming over him, spiking his heartrate as the distance dwindled down to paltry inches.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, gentle. Like a lover. His stomach twisted and bile rocketed into his mouth. He would've vomited if he wasn't so damn scared of showing her how weak he was. Not that she didn't already know. She was a predator; she smelled the fear on him. And it seduced her, tempted her to continue their game. He'd played enough. She beat him every time, toying and torturing to her heart's content. Then, when she grew bored… He swallowed down the bile before it could choke him.

The talons scratched his scalp as her hold tightened. "And here I thought it was all an act." She laughed and yanked him away from the edge by his hair. "You forget that your life is mine; you die only when I allow you to."

He hissed in pain.

"Do you know what I do to thieves, Your Highness?" His title was a threat on her tongue. A term drenched in poison. She nipped his earlobe, pressed the point of a dagger into his side.

Still, he dared not look. He didn't want to see the cutting smirk framed with her painted lips. Lips that he knew the taste of. Tears stung his eyes, nearly as painful as the hair tugging. He shouldn't have hesitated. He should have leapt from the Sky Terrace and embraced the nothing.

"Terror suits you," she murmured. Then, she pressed kisses down his neck, to his shoulder, where she forced aside the collar of his shirt. Teeth sunk into his flesh, dragged a groan from his throat. She sighed into him, her breath hot enough to burn. "Such a pretty prince… It is a shame that I haven't the time to ruin you properly." She planted a vicious kick behind his knee.

He barely caught himself before his face smashed into the floor. Palms aching from the fall, vision spinning, he stayed on the ground. As motionless as he could manage. Seconds passed, bundled together into minutes. Possibly hours. At last, he risked a glance behind him, finding that his tormentor had gone. She'd put him on his knees then left him to pull himself back together. Just like so many times before. He couldn't stop her, not when she dangled his family's safety in front of him. If he took that one step out of line, she'd snatch everything away from him.

She had taken too much already.

His legs refused his orders to stand, trapping him on the ground. Numbness consumed him. The water-slick tiles soaked into his clothes, but he felt none of it. Just a vague sense of cold. Though he couldn't tell if that came from without or from within. She still needed him. It was the thought that dominated his mind, even after all she'd done earlier that night, when she'd come to his room and sent his guards away. They listened to her. Everyone listened to her… Death would've been the sole escape. But he couldn't do it.

Worthless coward.

He hunched over – until his forehead hit the floor – and wept.

Lances of pain spiked up through her shins as Melia dashed up the final flight of stairs. Her chest heaved, lungs protesting, begging for rest. But she couldn't stop. Not until she was certain her father would survive the night. Well, morning now. By then, the sun had fully freed itself from the horizon's clutches. Their shadows stretched across the black stone pathway as though reaching for something. An escape, perhaps, from the carnage Shulk had foreseen. If it wasn't her father – her entire empire – at stake, would she still barrel forward, intent on saving the day?

Or would she shrink from battle? As her people had done only a year ago, when the Homs had needed their aid more than the air they breathed. It hadn't been their fight, the emperor had insisted. The Mechon weren't a threat for them. But now, they were. And where would the High Entia be if Shulk refused to help?

At the top of the stairs, she noticed her father first. He stood with his back to her, Imperial Staff grounded and a bright aura of ether surrounding him. So bright, that she almost couldn't see the… thing behind him. A semicircle of silvery blue metal rose out of the ground. In its center, knelt a being larger than most monsters. Its hands were pulled behind its body, suspended through smaller rings. Advanced shackles that pulsed with ether energy.

Lavender skin strained around its thick muscles, cracking and splitting in places. Especially around its shoulders and biceps. Even the glimpse of bloody flesh was enough to unsettle her stomach. The rest of its body was, thankfully, hidden from her view by waves of hair. Silken and pure white in spite of centuries of neglect.

"Father, what…? Who is this?" She stood beside her father, as close as she dared.

It was a relief to see him alive again. And unharmed. She'd been so sure that they would be too late that, at times, she wondered why she kept going. The fear of what she might find at the top of the tower had dragged her down, nearly convinced her to turn around. To give up. But here he was, safe. She couldn't help but be drawn in, hovering around him like a child. Yearning to seek protection in the folds of his robe. Then she could pretend that none of this was real.

He didn't look at her, didn't speak. His jaw was tensed and his eyebrows knit together in concentration. Each new beam that materialized in the sky above caused his grimace to deepen. He huffed, grit his teeth harder. Her fingers twitched, but she held herself still. She couldn't reach for him, couldn't break his concentration. Not when the wellbeing of Alcamoth depended on his actions. The ether rays he conjured cut through Mechon like paper. She had never seen such raw power before – even Kallian's display from before the wedding couldn't compare. Was it him or the staff?

"I am Zanza," the creature said, voice gravelly. Though it – or, he – answered her question, his words were not directed at her. His gaze landed on Shulk and did not waver. "And I have waited centuries for you."

What? She turned to examine Shulk. While it was possible that she'd underestimated his age, she doubted that her original estimate could be off by so large a margin. By all accounts, he was just a Homs boy. Could he have really lived for centuries? But, before her imagination could take over, Zanza launched into his explanation. That he was the creator of the Monado and, as such, knew each wielder of his sword by instinct. Or by fate.

The subtler implications evaded her. A quick glance told her that her other companions were just as confused. Moreso, in Reyn's case. She might've smiled but her mind worked faster than she could control, leaving no room for emotions and even less for expressions of those emotions.

As she attempted to muddle through all the information, the conversation progressed without her. Until Zanza mentioned releasing the seals on the Monado's power. She crashed back into the present moment, all else fading to the background. The potential lies of her ancestors, the things they hid, and their motivations… None of it mattered.

From what she gathered, the Monado in its current state could not harm beings of Bionis. But Mechonis's faced Mechon were also immune. Somehow. And if Zanza wiped away that limitation, none would be safe.

"Don't do it, Shulk!" she cried, taking a step toward him. No mortal needed that much power. The power of gods…

She trusted him, of course she did. But she trusted her ancestors too. No one was incorruptible – not her, not even her father. They were all capable of great evil under the right circumstances, with the right tools at their disposal. Should Zanza's claims be true, that the Monado could 'control all things', then it would be the most dangerous weapon in existence. Shulk could do anything. There would be none strong enough to oppose him.

"But, why?" He'd turned to face her, though he didn't look at her. Not really. His eyes were glassy, focused on a point somewhere beyond. Possibly beyond their realm.

Was it another vision? She clenched her hands into fists, couldn't make herself reach out and touch him. Perhaps that would've made a difference. Perhaps it would've snapped him out of whatever trance currently engulfed him. But as it was, unable to push through her own boundaries, he ignored her pleas. Nothing she said was enough.

"I thought you of all people would understand," he said then whirled around and approached Zanza. "I'll do it."

The sting of his words almost outweighed that of the Monado's light against her eyes. She turned her face away, blinking fiercely to keep the tears contained. She'd… failed.

When the light faded, Zanza was free. He staggered forward, his legs shaking, unaccustomed to bearing his own weight. So close to them now… With the distance between them reduced, she could see that what she once thought were bloody cracks across his skin were actually runes. Tattooed in a glittering red ink. She tried to read them, but the attempt only managed to make her dizzy.

Then chaos descended.

A voice rang out, one she'd never heard before. Malicious in a way that only Lorithia could match. Though this one was much more metallic than the minister's. Like rusty gears grinding together. The wind had picked up, drowning out the words, whooshing louder than an airship taking flight. Something thin and black whipped past her head. Only when it came to an abrupt halt, embedded in Zanza's chest, could she determine what it was. A spear. Deadly sharp and glowing with a faint green light.

Hot rain spattered her, just a brief cloud burst then it was over. But it was thick for water. And… and sticky… She glanced down at her pale shirt, mottled crimson. Nausea struck, blocking her throat, turning the cool air of a spring morning into a furnace.

The voice came again, but now, she couldn't hear it over the blood rushing in her ears. It was the exhaustion. It had to be. She wasn't normally so weak, so effected by battlefield realities. Still, she managed to rein in her body and exert control once more.

Her friends maintained a tight formation around her and the emperor. Just like her guards had in Makna Forest when the Telethia attacked. No, please, not again. And now, the ether barrier was gone, destroyed by the Mechon's spear. There was no protection against the smaller drones, nothing to prevent the second faced Mechon from landing. It hovered beside the first and the two couldn't have been more different. Where the first was bulky and dark, this new one could have been made of the same material as Alcamoth. Glimmering in the light of the rising sun like a treasure.

Shulk broke formation, launching forward with the Monado. Though it was now rendered powerless with Zanza's death. The Mechon dodged, a dragonfly avoiding the imprisonment of clumsy fingers. Without Shulk, their defensive circle crumbled. Even as Melia stepped forward to take his place, do her part, Dunban shoved her away. She remembered her promise, but… They couldn't hope to win without her. Although, her participation didn't come anywhere near to guaranteeing their victory.

She just needed to do something. How could they expect her to stand aside and watch them get hurt? Yet, the mere thought of summoning ether wrapped her muscles in threads of pain. She drew her staff anyway. In a pinch, it could bludgeon an enemy well enough, stall for time.

The stout Mechon – Metal Face – guarded the other from Shulk's blade and sent him flying back toward Zanza's corpse. All the while, calling taunts. They were insects to be crushed, rags to be shredded by his claws. Sharla sprinted to Shulk's side, helped him stand. On the frontline, Reyn and Dunban pushed forward, aimed their weapons at Metal Face's legs. But their steel bounced off his carapace, ineffective. Reyn dodged the resulting kick. Dunban did not. He skidded across the damp stones, though remained on his feet. An arm clutched at his stomach as he attempted to catch his breath.

Metal Face reeled back, poised to strike while he was still recovering. And there was no one else around to help him. Sharla was still helping Shulk. Riki and Reyn guarded against the second faced Mechon, preventing her from coming too close to the emperor.

"Dunban!" His name tore free from Melia's throat, unbidden. She raised her staff.

The blast of ether she conjured belonged to no single element. It was akin to what a child might create, too unskilled to separate the various kinds of ether. Though, a child's mistakes usually resulted in a fire/water hybrid that doused itself or earth that absorbed their lightning long before it made contact with an enemy. But she was stronger than that.

It was sand and wind and light, just meant to push the Mechon away. Distract him long enough that Dunban could return to the fray. And, while it served its purpose, there was little power behind it. If anything, it only succeeded because of the annoyance. Metal Face turned to her, cocked his bone-white head. The eyes blazed like chips of carnelian, reflecting the explosion of a star. They seared into her, almost as hot as the ether burn in her chest. She froze. Mind empty, she could do naught but stare as the Mechon swiped at her.

Then her back hit the ground. The breath fled her lungs in a harsh exhale and she couldn't easily replenish her supply. Dunban lay over her, his sword cast aside, his head pressed into her shoulder. And, past him, she watched Metal Face's knife claws slice through the air where she'd just been standing.

"I told you not to—"

"And if I hadn't, you'd be dead already," she snapped. She hadn't expected gratitude, not in the heat of battle, but she'd be damned if she let him waste time with a lecture.

He pushed himself up to his hands and knees, still leaning over her. Without his weight bearing down on her, her lungs functioned better and clarity returned to her mind. His eyes searched hers. For the first time since leaving Alcamoth, she caught a glimpse of his usual self. They couldn't stay like this. No matter how much she longed to keep him from falling back into the abyss of his anger. She knew he understood. Yet he didn't roll off of her.

"Look at you! Worthless without the Monado," Metal Face said, dragging Dunban's gaze away from Melia. The Mechon broke into laughter like sandpaper, spoiled his taunt before he could say it. "Isn't that right, Dunban?"

Icy water poured through Melia's veins, rather than blood and ether. The insult should've been thrown at Shulk. Why target Dunban? Above her, any softness evaporated from his features. He hauled her back to her feet, always careful to keep his body between her and the Mechon. Guarding her… The realization made her stomach flip and flutter. Dread and affection. She darted away, snatched up his sword and returned it to him. Anything to keep her mind from straying to the past. The way she'd failed others who sought to protect her. What if the same happened to him?

Metal Face rocketed into the air. The sun glinted off his metal skin, gifting him with the appearance of something divine. Then he plunged downward. Claws flashed in a mighty slash and Dunban barely avoided their punishing bite. He dove to one side, stumbled, but stayed upright.

His face contorted as if— No. It wasn't possible and Melia had no time to entertain impossibilities. She reached for her staff. Her promise no longer mattered. The situation was more dire than she could've imagined when she'd made it. If she'd known then what awaited them, she never would've agreed. Her questing fingers met with splinters. The staff had shattered during her fall, left her with only one option to defend herself.

Across the battlefield, the other faced Mechon pleaded with her ally. And Metal Face ignored her, leveling the end of an ether canon at Dunban and Reyn. Melia raced to close the gap between them, hand extended. She wasn't going to make it. She had to… Ether arced down her arm like electricity through a faulty wire. Every part of her burned and she pushed harder, begged for the fiercest gale she'd ever summoned to save her friends. But it never came.

Blue lightning wrapped around Metal Face's body. It fried his internal mechanisms and he crashed to the ground, immobile. Sizzling and hissing. She turned to find her father with his own hand raised. The electricity still sparked about his fingertips. He'd done it. Her father had won the battle with only the ether he controlled. No power from Zanza.

And, in spite of the relief and exhaustion threatening to defeat her, she ran to him. She flung her arms around his neck. They hadn't embraced in so long, since she'd been a child. She wanted to savor it for as many minutes as she could wring out of the universe. Even though the prickle of his short beard stung her cheek. He cast away the Imperial Staff to return her hug with both arms. The weight of his hand on her back energized her. She felt, for a moment, that she could jog several laps around Eryth Sea before resting. Easy.

"Are you hurt, Melia?"

"No, Father," she said, snuggling into his chest, listening to his heartbeat. The sound was a comfort, a confirmation that they hadn't only defeated the Mechon today. They'd conquered fate.

A shadow fell across her face.

Time slowed to a crawl as she stared up at Metal Face. He was alive, poised to strike. Then she was falling again, tumbling through open air, until the ground caught her. Disoriented. She couldn't discern up from down. It was dark and empty and cold. Her arm slipped against the wet stone, opening a shallow gash in her wrist. The pain brought back her senses and she opened her eyes.

The Mechon's blades hovered an inch from her face, dripped blood down her nose. Her father fell when the blades withdrew. They'd been his sole support. She lunged forward, breaking his fall as best as she could manage. Her hands scrambled to tear away his armor and staunch the blood flow. How…? How…? His breastplate had yielded to those wicked claws like clay under a master's hand.

"Sharla!" She shrieked the healer's name again and again, prayed she might hear over the din of the continuing battle.

Even after Sharla responded, the screams wouldn't cease. She'd lost all control of her body. She rocked side to side, as if the Bionis had developed new gravity and she simply couldn't acclimate. Tears carved trails through the blood that stained her face. Zanza's blood. And now, her father's…

She didn't care about the faced Mechon anymore. Didn't care about the fight raging behind her. Revenge didn't fuel her the way it did for Dunban. She couldn't turn hatred into tangible action or let it color her every decision until she was satisfied with the destruction she'd wrought. All that mattered now was saving the emperor's life. There was still a chance; she just had to seize upon it. Her knuckles dug into the stones beside her. Blessedly, the ether responded.

A jagged wall of earth rose between her and the battlefield. Then, ignoring the pain, the sensation of something ripping in her very soul, she turned back to her father. She had no element to call upon, no cursed hybrid. Her connection to the world's ether was tenuous at best, dodging between her fingers. She could sense it but could no longer bend it to her will. And that was fine. She had her own.

Eyes closed, she reached inside herself, grasping the well of ether within. Not much left… She didn't care about that either. As long as she drew breath, she would do anything and everything. She guided the ether out of her, pushing it through her fingertips and into her father's chest. Her vision flickered.

Then she hit a wall. The ether couldn't pass through, couldn't break it down. And, finding no other route, returned to its natural place inside her. She peeled open her eyelids to search for the problem. But she didn't need to search long. Her father met her gaze, offered a feeble shake of his head.

"Save… your ether," he said, voice not much more than a sigh. His eyes flitted to Sharla. "Return to your battle. There is no more you can do for me and I… request a moment alone. With Melia…"

Sharla hesitated then rose to her feet. Before she reengaged the enemy, she squeezed Melia's upper arm. She nodded in return, face blank.

Once Sharla was gone, Sorean reached up and stroked Melia's cheek. Mixing blood with tears. "My dear daughter, I have known my fate for many months now." He paused to catch his breath. It was a shuddering inhale, more of a gasp than anything else. "All that I've done… has been for you. To leave behind stability. So that… you may thrive… without me."

"I understand." Any good parent would want the same. Even if she didn't quite grasp the connection he was trying to make. Perhaps he was only seeking his own peace before returning to the Bionis. Perhaps this was his way of apologizing.

The hand against her cheek fell back to his side. He took longer to recover the strength he needed for speech. As he waited – willing his tongue to cooperate – his gaze shifted to the battlefield. She followed his eyes, landing on Dunban as the Homs chased after the rapidly retreating Mechon.

Shulk and Reyn sprinted beside him, while Sharla and Riki hung back, throwing worried glances in her direction. They pitied her. She needed to pull herself together… But the tears rolled over her cheeks without shame and she knew she'd have better luck freezing a waterfall. Besides, if it wasn't proper to cry at her father's deathbed, when would it ever be? She'd earned this expression of sorrow. They had done everything right and still lost.

To his credit, Sorean didn't attempt to scold her, anyway.

"You will be a fine empress."

She sniffled, rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her palm. "Only because I intend to follow the example you set for me. Every day, I will strive to honor your legacy and—" A sob broke free from her lungs and she didn't have the strength to stop it.

Before he could reply, the rest of her friends joined them. He spoke to Shulk briefly, entrusted the Monado to him. She hadn't noticed before, but the sword seemed to have regained the power it had lost. They wouldn't have survived the battle if it hadn't. She didn't know how, didn't care to know. But, somewhere, she was glad that it had been restored. For Shulk's sake.

"Dunban, come closer…"

He flinched when the emperor addressed him. His eyes had been distant when he returned from the fight, always staring for too long at the horizon. Where the Mechon had disappeared. Nevertheless, he obeyed. He knelt down beside Melia but didn't spare her a glance. His focus rested entirely upon the emperor.

"What is it, Your Majesty?"

Sorean's hand darted out, grabbing Dunban by the shoulder and pulling him in close. Just enough to whisper something into his ear, inaudible even to Melia. Then, strength expended, he fell back to the ground.

"I will," Dunban replied. Such a simple response. It gave no clues as to what the request may have been, if it was a request at all.

The emperor lingered for a minute more. In those final moments, he gave the entirety of his attention to Melia, clasping her hand in his, showering her with all the praise he'd never had time to give. Ironic that he should choose now to compliment her, when he had no time left at all. Perhaps he realized the irony too. Perhaps he would've apologized for not telling her his true opinions sooner. But then, he shuddered.

His fingers slipped away from hers, eyes falling shut. Never to be opened again. She had thought she'd prepared well enough. She'd thought she had no more tears left to cry. Wrong, so wrong. The grief unmoored her, flooded each of her senses until she could no longer determine her location. For all the pressure and darkness that enveloped her, she assumed she'd found her way into a grave of her own.