Nicola found himself cursing as he was escorted outside the banquet hall alongside the heir of the Tethys Duchy in relative silence. The crunch of freshly settled snow accompanied them as they returned to the central plaza, followed shortly thereafter by the banquet goers. The plaza was empty, the hundreds of faces once crowding it long gone as the winter sun dipped behind particularly dark clouds approaching the capital. There would be a blizzard in the next day or so then, the former summoner noted. Not that it mattered when more immediately pressing matters needed attending to.

Nicola hadn't been in a duel in years, not since he swore off using weapons other than polearms. Apollyon clearly didn't share that same misgiving, but his other wasn't the one that had challenged a noble to a duel in cold fury.

"While I wouldn't ask you to relinquish control, I could control your sword arm instead. I won't fault you for refusing to wield a blade yourself."

It was a nice thought, perhaps endearing to a degree, but the spearman had to decline–

"Why?"

Because this was something he needed to get over on his own, rather than running away from it.

"Understandable, but the road to recovery doesn't involve simply ripping at your wounds and forcing them to close. Some need to mend over time, while others need coercion and external aid to truly start. That you acknowledge them is well and fine."

"Your help is unwanted here," Nicola whispered. "I'll handle this mess."

"Very well, I will not dissuade you if this is the path you wish to go down, but do not say I didn't warn you."

That was the best he could ask for. Besides, if he needed help he would request it. He wasn't that stubborn.

"..."

H-he wasn't that stubborn, right? Regardless of that, he needed to get his head in the game. He needed to be focused, precise and remember exactly how much strength was reasonable when using a sword: he was both uninterested in killing his opponent, that would be an unprecedented disaster without a doubt, and breaking whatever sword he was given for the altercation. There had been a reason Demna had been so specifically crafted to be sturdy and his unfortunately growing strength was one of them. His upcoming visit with the smith Anna was becoming more and more dreaded by the day.

It felt like an eternity before Nicola and his opponent reached the center of the plaza and were loosely encircled by the attendees and staff of the banquet, save for a few members that left to gather important individuals to the affair at hand. A second eternity passed and they returned with a very disgruntled looking Frederick and who Nicola presumed to be lord Pleione's mother with how closely they resembled one another. Both had raven-black hair and eyes the color of the sea, with sharp features and fair complexions. The Duchess of Tethys wore a striking black dress with aquamarine studs as buttons and a thick fur shawl that hung loosely over her shoulders. A thin scar ran across her left eye, though it appeared to have no impact on her vision.

The heir of Tethys wore a darker blue coat over a teal dress shirt and black pants. Dark brown boots with black metal tips adorned his feet while a thick fur cape hung over his shoulders. Like the Duchess he had sea colored eyes, dark hair and a fair complexion, but his eyes harbored intense indignation and five red welts cut across his face where he'd been slapped.

"What, pray tell, happened here," the duchess asked, watching Nicola like a hawk as she approached. "I was enjoying a nice tête-à-tête with the Lady Exalt, only to hear that my dear brother had been struck unjustly by a ruffian. Is this true?"

Nicola began to answer, but was cut off by Alysia.

"No such thing happened! Lord Pleione struck a member of the Pegasus Knight Corp for no given reason and was struck by Sir Apollonyia in return."

"I was not asking for your version of the events, commoner," the duchess said, eyes flaring. "Be silent."

Power rippled through the air and Alysia's mouth snapped shut as the older woman looked at her. She then turned her gaze back to Nicola. "I ask again, did you strike my brother?"

"I did, for the reasons just given," Nicola breathed, voice cool as he locked gazes with the duchess.

"Call off this duel and offer an apology," the dark haired noblewoman commanded, power once more rippling through the air as she spoke. "Do that and this issue can be resolved without violence, though I will thoroughly chasten my brother for lashing out at others without reason or thought."

"But sister–"

"Quiet. You have caused enough–" The duchess turned to address her brother, only for Nicola to speak up.

"I refuse," he said simply. "Were the circumstances different and I had been struck instead, I would have left matters well enough alone. Instead, he struck a dear friend of mine..." The words made his tongue feel like lead. "And such a thing I am unable to let go of so easily."

"Could your dear friend not make the decision to defend themselves on their own, without your interference?"

"She–"

"I could have," Cordelia spoke, red eyes burning bright. "I did not at the time because I needed to process what had happened and prevent myself from simply retaliating against Theodore and embarrassing him in front of his peers. After all, it would reflect poorly on the heir of a prospering land to be bested by a commoner such as myself. Wouldn't you agree, Alexandra?"

There was venom in the red haired woman's words and it didn't escape Nicola's notice that she ignored the titles of both nobles. She was angry enough to pick a fight, her acidic disdain nearly palpable.

"...I see that you yet, live Lady Brigitta– Ah, my mistake, your family lost its title after your father attempted to raise a coup against Lady Emmeryn shortly after she became the Exalt, did it not? A rather unfortunate turn of events, but that is to be expected from the kin of a traitor."

The crowd murmured at that, but Cordelia seemed unperturbed, perhaps even unburdened.

"My father did indeed do that and I feel the bite of that fateful decision everyday, but my father's sins are not my own and comparing me to his shadow prevents people from seeing me for who I am rather than for the blood that runs in my veins. Your brother's strike awakened me to that and I refuse to be seen that way any longer."

"Such impudence from one who could not but grovel and lock herself away for years before being taken into the military," Alexandra spat. "I believe such an impudent tongue should be removed."

"Lay a hand on my friend and I will no longer have just a feud with your brother, Lady Pleione," Nicola breathed, eyes sharp. He could feel his temper boiling, already short from the crowd and anxiety it brought earlier in the day and shorter still from the attack on Cordelia. All it would take was one more thing to go wrong before he lost his temper and was forced to rein himself in.

"Then I challenge you and her to a formal partnered duel: myself and my dear brother against yourself and former Lady Brigitta, Ashen Lancer."

"Very well." Nicola nodded. "Believe I will need a wooden sword, a metal blade in my hands is far too dangerous."

"Nicola, that's an unwise move," Frederick began, pushing his way towards the spearman and the people within the crowd murmured amongst themselves. He'd offered several slights to the Tethys duchy within minutes, but none so grave as to request a training tool or toy in an honor duel. It was one thing to have little regard for one's opponent, it was another thing entirely to treat them as if they were unworthy of even a proper fight.

Dark fury flashed across the younger noble's face.

"It's one thing to strike at me, but you would dishonor me by not treating me as a proper opponent?"

"If I were to treat you as a proper opponent, this would be a duel to the death and I would not request a weapon that minimizes my chances of grievously wounding you," Nicola breathed, fixing the noble youth with a gelid stare. Despite his indignation the youth wisely chose to stand down as the spearman continued. "We are on opposing sides at this juncture, but not proper enemies or opponents. My enemies I face without a drop of mercy or restraint. Those I find myself crossing blades with in spars or in training I show restraint against lest I hurt them by accident. It isn't a matter of dishonoring you, it's a matter of not wanting to spill blood when a lesson would do instead."

Nicola would have found the words more convincing if he wasn't trying to recall how to use a sword that wasn't as tall or broad as himself, as truthful as they were. There was a marked difference between holding back against an opponent as a way of belittling them and not doing one's best compared to holding back so that each exchange didn't send one side tumbling back several meters or shatter the weapons of both parties. Nicola was firmly in the second category, he couldn't really hold back his proper abilities when he needed to remember them in the first place and he wouldn't even if he wanted to: rude as he may be, going all out against an opponent was the truest way to fight... within reason.

"Nicola, if you would come this way," Frederick all but demanded, grabbing the spearman by the shoulder and dragging him away from the others. Once they were well away from the crowd, the knight rounded on him, eyes blazing. "Do you know what you've done?"

"Caused a scene?"

"You've insulted the head of one of the eight Duchies of the halidom, in public no less! That is the exact opposite of what you were supposed to do."

"Was I supposed to let the lordling get away with slapping my friend?"

"By Naga no, especially if she bid you reclaim her honor in her stead—which she did not, mind you—but challenging him to a duel by marring his face? If not for lady Emmeryn's favor, they could have had you hanged or worse! Did you even think things through before you acted!?"

"It was less an intentional act and more my body moving on its own, Frederick. It was a matter of me acting then or seeing what Maribelle had in store for him, if Cordelia didn't snap at him before she could."

Try as the knight might, he couldn't deny that Nicola was the lesser of three evils. Only by a hair's breadth, mind you, but still the least poor option in a series of all around bad choices. Maribelle, despite her rather dainty appearance, was far stronger than she looked and had a rather nasty habit of reactively calling out her affinity when incensed. A strike from her would have likely sent Lord Pleione flying and made his injury a blistering mess that would have been a nightmare to heal and take months to fully hide. Comparatively Cordelia was more tame, having learned her discipline from Wing Commander Phila, at the cost of also having picked up the senior knight's nastier habits. One such habit was masking her intent before striking without warning and another was always being at the correct location at just the right moment to strike most direly. He wasn't quite certain Cordelia had acquired the second habit—that appeared to be one of the Wing Commander's idiosyncrasies more than anything learned—but she had long mastered the first and that was both disheartening and a red flag. There were few things he could think of that would make one as stoic as the leader of the pegasus knights and none were anything good.

"At the very least, do you know how to use a sword," the knight asked, moving his thoughts along before he grew more irritated. He knew that Nicola knew how to defend against swords from his spars with Lon'qu, the prince and himself, but he'd never seen Nicola handle any weapon other than a spear.

"I'll be rusty as all can get, but yes," Nicola nodded, not filling Frederick with any measure of confidence. Said lack of confidence plunged through the ground as the spearman tacked on: "If I remember what I'm doing again, at least."

"That is far from reassuring," the older man breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What don't you remember? I may not be able to assist you in the duel, but I can give you a tip or two as to not embarrass yourself in the bout."

"It's hard to explain. I remember all the motions and such I should use, but not the order or rhythm to them. More than that is the fact that I'm not sure if what I'm recalling can even flow together in the first place, not without bringing my full strength to bear at least and that wouldn't go over well."

Frederick remained silent. It was true, Nicola was physically strong to a brutish degree. While the younger man hadn't been able to pierce his defenses, his strikes were about as bad as Prince Chrom's—both were liable to splinter practice arms when they accidentally used their full strength and both were able to make him budge slightly when he brought forth the full scope of his defenses. He wasn't quite sure which of the two was stronger, but both had enough strength to kill a man without trying if they were careless.

"Do you recall the basics of swordsmanship at the very least," the knight finally asked. When the spearman nodded he breathed a sigh of relief. "Stick to the basics then. Don't try anything fancy and stay on the defensive. If you see an opening go for that, but do not go on the offensive otherwise. Lord Pleione is a revered duelist and he will poke holes in your defenses if you let even the tiniest of cracks show and his sister is nearly as good, but far more experienced."

"He's as good as Lon'qu?" Of course Nicola would bring up the foreign swordsman, though not without good reason. Lon'qu was a damned menace with a sword, even if he didn't hit as hard as Nicola or Chrom. In exchange he was far faster than both and had no qualms capitalizing on vulnerabilities the other two would have ignored.

"With the exception of Lord Chrom, myself and two others I can think of, I don't believe anyone in the halidom is on par with Lon'qu when it comes to swordsmanship. That being said, I wouldn't rate the future lord of Tethys as far from that level. You have been warned."

Nicola nodded a second time. "Then I have an idea of how to go about things."

"Good, now give me some time to fetch you a suitable broadsword–"

"Could you get me a greatsword instead?" The spearman winced as Frederick fixed him with a hard glare.

"No, that would be against the spirit of the duel, as much as it would likely serve you better than a broadsword." He paused for a moment, recalling something. "In addition, we are running low on training swords of that size due to a certain someone–"

"Chrom?"

"–who will not be named. Is that clear?"

Another nod. The knight huffed and made his way away from the plaza, grumblinging about a long day not letting up as he did so. Nicola winced a second time, he hadn't wanted to make Frederick's life more difficult, but he had regardless. He would need to make that up to the knight before he left the halidom.

"Learn to control that power of yours and perhaps we can avoid these situations in the future."

The former summoner frowned. He didn't need his other's sass, even if it was well deserved this time around. He'd master his power when he felt like it wasn't going to drive him mad and consume him, which was to say eventually. Once he had a grasp on his more down to earth aspects he'd deal with that.

"Oaf, did you have to challenge him to a duel," Maribelle asked, approaching Nicola with her father at her side. Once more he was taken aback by how pretty the severe noblewoman looked when her hair was loose, but he quickly brushed those thoughts aside as he gave his reply.

"Do you mean in not apologizing or in striking him?"

"The latter." Maribelle rolled her eyes as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I wouldn't have apologized either, especially after his sister chose to Speak and compel you into doing something."

"Speaking?"

"Using a measure of her power and authority to command those of a lesser station than her to do something they would at least be somewhat inclined to do. By nature at least." She raised a hand as Nicola began to speak up. "And before you start, I do not mean you should have let the slight to your friend pass. Instead, you should have rendered him unconscious or otherwise incapacitated him. There would have been a greater commotion, but none of this."

She gestured to the crowd and the young lord glaring daggers at him from within it.

"While I do not agree with my daughter's way of phrasing things, I do share her sentiment," Patrikalos nodded. "The Duchess of Tethys far overstepped her bounds when she attempted to use her Speech on you, but it is good enough that you were able to remain steadfast in that regard. Curious even, but that is a matter for another time. As much as it would have caused dishonor to the young firebrand you struck, you should have given him a rather clean blow to the chin and cut the night short. Naga above, such a pretentious banquet needed not happen in the first place, but the other nobility felt that it was the best time to host such a thing." He scoffed. "As if hiding the flaunting of their wealth behind the veneer of goodwill would have worked in the first place. If Lady Emmeryn had come up with the idea herself rather than been pressured into it, it would have been a different story entirely."

That lined up with Frederick's remarks earlier in the day. Clearly people beyond him were irritated at the sudden event and for more reasons than just more work piled atop them. Judging from the look Maribelle was giving him, however, it was not the time or place to ask about it.

"Then what should I do in this case," he finally asked.

"Win decisively," Duke Adrasta answered. "You need not brutalize the youth or his sister, that would reflect poorly on you, but you must win clearly and without question."

"You, regardless of your feelings on the matter, are a representative of the Themis duchy in this situation," Maribelle explained, eyes dark as her father sighed. "There are many things at play here which you do not see and hopefully will never be exposed to, but your actions reflect upon my father and I at this time. Both our names and our reputations are related to this duel and you are our champion in the eyes of many."

"Because I helped save people within your duchy?"

"Because..." Maribelle looked to her father. The duke nodded and she continued. "There are rumors spreading that we are courting as a way to preserve and save our duchy."

Nicola could practically taste the bitterness in those words. That explained why she hadn't wanted to be seen next to him during the banquet and why she had been odd recently. Their relationship dynamic had been forcibly changed by rumors and them being together in public all but confirmed it.

"To be clear, we did not instigate such rumors, nor would we," the duke added. "My daughter is, as you mentioned in our talk not long ago, not interested in you romantically nor you her. That does not change the fact that it was the two of you alone that ventured to our home and the two of you together, before the bulk of additional aid arrived, that were seen defending our duchy from her assailants. These two things in conjunction with the fact that my daughter forbade anyone other than herself treat your wounds, while still injured herself no less, painted the picture that the two of you were out and out lovers."

That explained why the duke had asked if he loved his daughter.

"And while that is pointedly untrue, people believe it rather wholeheartedly," Maribelle continued. "Those rumors spread faster than the ones about you being a monster or blackmailing the exalt in actuality, what with how often we were otherwise seen together."

"Oh gods, that was why everyone thought we were flirting months ago," Nicola groaned.

"Indeed."

"So I have to win—Cordelia and I, rather—decisively and that'll make the rumors go away?"

"Not in the slightest, but we can spin such a victory into the Ashen Lancer being the protector of the Themis duchy rather than the lover of the thorny heiress of the Themis duchy," Patrikalos answered. "Given enough time and some reinforcement, that would ultimately supplant the rumors of you courting and give you some modicum of peace and comfort."

It didn't take long for the dots to connect. He'd been roped into politics. He hated being roped into politics. He hadn't liked it back home, anything resembling it on Zenith and certainly not at the present. Yet once again he was being pulled into such a thing. At least he wasn't being given an area to govern like he had in Zenith, he wasn't going to do that ever again if he could help it.

"So long as I am kept apprised of said rumors as they shift and removed from anything resembling the political sphere the moment such a thing is possible, I will acquiesce," Nicola finally said. "With that being said, winning decisively may prove to be an issue as my swordplay will not be as good as it reasonably could be."

"Please tell me you've used a sword, oaf," Maribelle sighed.

"I have." He left it at that.

"Nicola..."

"It will be fine, Maribelle. Just trust me." The strained smile he gave did very little to reassure his friend or her father.

Cordelia was screaming internally. She'd just done that, just insulted a pair of nobles in front of a sizable audience with other nobles in attendance. Had she been knocked clear of her senses when Theodore struck her? No, he hadn't hit her that hard even as she felt her cheek burn. The priest in the area had quickly tended to the injury and prevented it from swelling or staying red, but healing seldom removed pain in her experience.

She needed to think. She wasn't the best duelist, not for lack of skill but lack of focus. Spears and lances were her forte rather than swords, even if she was allegedly a fair hand with them. That would do little against Alexandra, though she did have the experience advantage on the older woman. Unlike her, Cordelia was far more used to facing opponents more skilled than she and could generally come out victorious against such an opponent. Generally. Commander Phila, Aquila and the Guardian could run roughshod over her without much issue and her usual sparring partner could outlast her in a battle if he felt like it. Her opponent wasn't nearly as skilled as any of them, which was a boon without question, but Duchess Pleione would not an easy opponent regardless.

They had dueled before, years ago. The day after her father succumbed to madness and tried killing Lady Emmeryn. She hadn't held a sword before then, hadn't held a weapon once in her life. That she managed to survive a duel meant to kill her was a miracle of timing. Had Lady Phila not been in the area she would have bled out in the pouring rain, her only mark on the world being the scar over Alexandra's eye where her blade had struck true despite the cold and pain. Since then both of them had grown, Alexandra into a wealthy ruler while Cordelia had failed to join the army and instead joined the Pegasus Knights—following in her teacher and benefactor's footsteps.

Cordelia had thought herself past the bitterness and venom she had felt that day, the smoldering anger that overtook her when her father was insulted and her mother took her life from grief. Beyond the day she'd been torn from her room by all too eager nobles and told to pay for her father's transgressions with her life. She'd buried it and ultimately forgotten, having devoted herself to protecting the Halidom with all of her being. Yet the moment she'd been struck it all came flooding back. The bitterness, the now simmering anger and the venom she'd done away with. Even now she could feel it, like a voice telling her to let her control go and give in, to show her enemies what she could really do when upset. It was the voice of a vengeful woman she did not want to become, the voice of a person who was alone and sad, worse off than she in all ways. Yet in the moment it called to her and she almost, almost listened before she forced herself to calm down. Hatred, no matter how just she felt it was at the time, would not see her through. Composure and focus would, those and trust in her partner for the endeavor ahead.

They could win. They would win, even if it meant she had to step in for Nicola should he prove incompetent with a sword. He'd never used one in their spars, even when the Wing Commander had them pick arms different from their preference. He would always choose to fight barehanded at those times, striking with the proficiency of one skilled in facing blades empty handed. That left his swordsmanship dubious to say the least, something she could only hope matched his spearmanship even if it likely did not—why would it if he refused to pick up a blade other than a spear at each of the various points he could have?

"There is no grudge to bear, no hatred to bring forth," she whispered to herself as she and Nicola approached the center of the plaza, Aquila giving her a slight nod as they passed the senior rider. That was tantamount to her being told to hold nothing back, something the red haired woman could easily agree to. The Pleiones were her enemies, they had been for over a decade. Today she would break free from that shackle on her heart.

Alexandra and Theodore waited for them in the center of the plaza, the younger of the two freshly healed as they welts along the side of his face had shrunk and faded considerably from the angry red they'd been minutes ago. Contempt burned in the heir's eyes as he looked over Nicola, gaze fixated on the wooden sword the spearman held. That had been a brilliant insult to Theodore, telling him he was unworthy of the bite of steel, as unintentional as it was.

Nicola was many things, but he was never purposefully insulting from what she'd seen. Strange and prone to speaking in odd ways that made little sense when he went off on tangents, but kind and polite to all people from what she'd seen. The sole exception was Lady Maribelle of Themis, but that was because of the unresolved romantic tension between them. She has seen the catty way the two of them looked at each other and how they butted heads like a married couple when Commander Phila began having the noble woman train with them after they caused trouble, if only to keep them from causing trouble elsewhere by being within proximity of one another. The fact that they would blush like maidens around one another didn't help things in the slightest, but that was an aside. She needed to keep focused on the opponent before her, she could worry about her friend's romantic life later.

The rider turned her gaze to Nicola and immediately felt something was off. His look was confident, far too confident. Disingenuously so. That was concerning, but she wouldn't have time to press him on that.

"Are you certain you wish to go through with this," Alexandra offered as she and Theodore were presented their fine silver blades. "A simple apology and this can stop here and now."

It would have been a tempting offer had she not been slighted and her friend both insulted and forcibly silenced.

"No, this was a long time coming, Alexandra," Cordelia instead said. "I had thought to avoid you and your family for the rest of my life, but clearly that was impossible. I will not deny I want to see you defeated before me, but more than that I want to set our slate clean. A fair battle with no enmity between us."

"You expect me to forget your father's crime," Alexandra scoffed, then raised her voice. "You expect me to forget that his bloodline of traitors and heretics nearly destroyed our nation amidst its greatest period of turmoil since our first ruler waged war against the Fell Dragon? Nay, I will not forget such a thing and your name will never be clear of the shame and dishonor he wrought. For as long as you live you will never be forgiven, Cordelia. Not you or any who bear your wretched blood. You may be tolerated for now and the people may have forgotten, but my family never will and the day you bare your fangs towards anything but the enemies of the halidom I shall remove your traitorous head."

And there it was. There could be no peace between them. Cordelia had figured that was the case when her former peer brought up a twelve year old tragedy, but this confirmed it.

"Then I have nothing else to say to you," Cordelia sighed, accepting the silver sword gingerly presented to her by a rather shaky knight. The crowd was now discussing among itself the insinuations that the duchess brought to bear. It was an attempt to demoralize her and sow mistrust towards her. No doubt she would feel the full ramifications of that in the future, but she wasn't expecting Nicola to place a hand on her shoulder.

"Easy there," he breathed. "Your breathing was becoming uneven and your aura was flaring."

She hadn't even noticed as caught up in her thoughts as she was. She took a deep breath and held it, noticing the crackling red aura around herself sputter and die as she did. There really was no hope for her when it came to the Pleione family, was there? She'd have to rein herself in then, not incidentally call upon the power she'd only recently developed and had little knowledge of how to use.

"You have my thanks," She returned, offering a weak smile as her ally withdrew his hand. "Is there anything you would say to them before we begin?"

"No, no I'm terrible at banter before a fight," he said honestly. "I wish them good luck and an honest duel. Nothing more, nothing less."

There was that simplicity of his again. It wasn't a bad thing, not at all, but one would think he had a single mean bone in his body somewhere.

"Are you all ready," a knight—no, that was the Argent Vanguard, Cordelia corrected herself—asked, impatience clear in his tone.

"We are," Alexandra nodded.

"Yes," Cordelia agreed.

"As much as I can be at this juncture. Also, sorry in advance Frederick." That didn't bode well, but the great knight ignored the second half of Nicola's remark as he looked to Theodore. The heir of Tethys gave a stiff nod and the knight continued.

"Very good, now step away from one another and enter your stances. When I give the word, you may begin. SHould your opponents be unable to continue, a strike against them will have you immediately removed from the fight and this paired duel called off. Is that understood?"

The four of them nodded and stepped back. Alexandra and Theodore took on the stances of traditional Ylissean fencers, the most commonly taught form of swordsmanship to the halidom's nobility while Cordelia leveled her silver blade at the duo. Nicola took a much more unorthodox stance, holding his wooden blade loosely near his back foot while his free hand was just slightly raised towards Theodore. The pair of nobles before him frowned and Cordelia had to admit she wasn't quite sure what her partner was going for either, especially with how loose his stance was. This was no doubt something his teachers had taught him in his homeland, it had to be.

"Good. You will battle until the other side surrenders or is incapable of continuing. You will not attempt to take the life of your opponent or maim them in any way, nor will you aim any strikes towards the face, neck or heart. You will pull your strikes or you will be removed and the bout ended. Is that understood as well?"

Once more they nodded and silence overtook the then chattering crowd. A faint breeze blew, carrying little snow and what sounded like a soft melody with it. The sound was sad, foreboding, foreign yet pleasantly familiar. She couldn't allow herself to focus on it, not now at least. Perhaps when all was over...

"Begin!"

The red haired woman snapped to attention and dodged, avoiding an elegant lunge that would have pierced her shoulder. Her own blade sang through the air in a beautiful crescent, but met empty space as Alexandra appeared to glide out of her reach. The noblewoman smirked tauntingly as she drew herself back into her stance, eyes set with a dark emotion Cordelia did not want to read for all that she knew it well. She came again, swift as the crack of a whip, but light as an autumn leaf as she struck again and again, probing the pegasus rider's defenses.

Cordelia gave her no openings, her own blade arcing to meet the silver rapier as the wind grew fierce. Theirs was a deadly dance, melodious as silver blades chimed and rang from each clash and equally beautiful as darting blows befitting an elegant bird matched fluid strikes that rode on the winds. There was no pattern to their dance, only free form rhythm as they wound around the outer ring of the clearing, the crowd having wisely stepped back moments prior. The center of the ring was—parry, step in, strike, withdraw, repeat—reserved for the blisteringly quick exchange between Nicola and Theodore. She couldn't focus on them, not while her opponent could still fight, so she had to put faith in Nicola's abilities.

"Looking away will cost you," Alexandra breathed to the cadence set by her sword. Speaking without losing focus was a skill only reserved for the best of warriors as splitting one's concentration was the difference between life and death in a true battle. Much to her credit, Alexandra was rather talented, but not so talented as to pull that off.

Mistake. The word echoed in the red haired woman's mind and across her being as a flash of white pain cut across her shoulder, her opponent's blade scoring first blood as she allowed herself to grow conceited for a brief moment. A smug look crossed Alexandra's face, smugness that warped into an ugly snarl as Cordelia's caught her just below her collar and cut down. The black dress the duchess wore would be ruined until a seamstress could look over it, but the thin scar that would forever mar the duchess without the aid of a healer was a far greater blow.

Alexandra's eyes burned, smoldering like coals before growing lighter like a freshly frozen lake. The wintery chill in the air, the one the pegasus rider had been ignoring as best she could, intensified as small patterns of ice formed on the noblewoman's blade. An enchantment on the weapon? No, it had to be her aura. As low as Cordelia thought of the noblewoman, she was not one to so obviously cheat. Still, her aura posed a problem because Cordelia could not simply counter it with hers. Hers was still unruly and formless, as liable to burn like a bonfire as it was to flow around her like a river. That would not do, especially as her opponent vanished, the ground where she once stood now marked by encroaching snakes of frost.

Alexandra was gone, but Cordelia could feel her in the air, sense the triumphant smile she had. Cordelia opted to close her eyes, not trusting them in the slightest at that moment. Her decision was quickly rewarded, not from a sudden strike from her opponent, but a sharper understanding of the still growing wind. Alexandra had hidden in the ice and snow carried on the air, so Cordlia needed to find her, find her... found her.

Her blade lashed out and metal rang as it struck ice. The ice shattered musically, like dozens of chimes in the wind as Cordelia felt deep cold pierce her side and cut across her legs. Another mistake? No, a success, but a costly one. She could feel Alexandra again without the wind's touch and the other woman looked distraught when Cordelia finally opened her eyes.

Oh dear, she was hurt rather badly. Blood red ice covered and dug into her wounds as trails of rose colored frost spread from them, each cold enough to turn her skin blue around them. She would be unable to ride for at least a day after this, but Alexandra fared little better. Her shoulder had been pierced, an ironic twist considering the noblewoman's intentions just moments prior. The wound was deep, but she would recover and be no—step, twist, thrust, pivot, reverse stab, duck, hook leg, pierce. The thought was interrupted as Cordelia's body moved on its own, shattering three frozen duplicates of the noblewoman invisible in the air around her. Each would have struck a non-vital point, but each would have no doubt frozen the areas they touched and rendered her incapable of fighting—perhaps permanently. So little concern for the spirit of the duel.

Such a thing would have worked if she wasn't so used to facing Nicola and the misty, shadowy afterimages he called upon. His own had less substance to them and vanished with ease, but Nicola's proficiency with them put Alexandra to shame. At the very least he had the creativity to strike with his duplicates when he knew she couldn't easily escape their range rather than simply surrounding her with them and lashing out all at once. It was a matter of experience, experience she had from fighting, losing and drawing with her partner numerous times as they both grew. Experience Alexandra lacked for all that she was a more skilled swordswoman than Cordelia was.

Offensively, she mentally corrected herself. Alexandra was her better when it came to attacking, but defensively she was lacking.

"How," the Duchess of Tethys snarled and readied her blade once more vanishing into what should have been a beautiful mirage of a lunge aimed at the red haired woman's back, but it never connected. She'd lost her rhythm and her focus. Hatred drove her in that moment and a being of undisciplined hatred could not, would not, lay a finger on her.

Cordelia was like the wind. She was one with the wind. She was the wind and her blade an extension of it. There was a sharp keening sound as silver cut through silver, followed by an unlady like grunt as cordelia cut through Alexandra's blade in half a motion and swept her feet from beneath her in the other half, the wind flowing around her like a veil before it dissipated and she was no longer connected to to it so intimately. The ice covering her wounds melted shortly thereafter and Cordelia sagged, blood flowing easily and rather quickly for her liking. She took a knee just as Nicola skidded back, blocking an explosive thrust from Theodore.

The noble youth hopped back, readying his blade a second time before charging, light glinting off of his blade as he roared with rage. He was faster than she'd ever seen Nicola move in that moment, perhaps even faster than Lady Phila or the Guardian, but Nicola remained calm, contemplative even as his once blue eyes bled to pale green. She knew that look well, it meant he was assessing the situation.

It was a poor time to be assessing the situation when an attack was racing his way, yet he didn't seem to mind. Rather, he seemed completely unaware of it until Theodore was about to reach him.

"Oaf, move!" Cordelia heard someone shout. Lady Maribelle.

"Nicola," she heard another call as her own body moved, drawing the wind to her once more. Once more she was one with it, then she wasn't. The air around her dispersed and she fell to her knees once more after having barely moved. She hadn't faltered, she knew that without a doubt. She'd been on her way to intercede then and there, but had been stopped in her tracks. Her first thoughts went to the Argent Vanguard, but his face was schooled to a mix of concern and worry and she was beginning to feel rather disoriented.

Her attention drifted and she found that the crowd had once more gone quiet as Nicola entered her sight. His wooden, training blade was simply blocking the silver rapier his opponent held as it glowed pale green. The spearman didn't even appear to be straining as he looked over Theodore and huffed, the youth pulling back and readying his blade for another charge.

"I wouldn't," Nicola advised, stance as loose as it had been before the duel started. "I guarantee you will lose should you try that lunge a third time, Lord Pleione."

His eyes were catlike in that moment, full of wild cunning and keen understanding that he rarely displayed. The odd spearman was done assessing the situation as far as Cordelia could tell and Theodore appeared to see that as well, the younger swordsman shifting stances as he eyed Nicola warily. The next exchange would be their last.

When the duel started Nicola was ready, ready as he could be using a blade he wasn't the most comfortable with. It was less a matter of preference and more a matter of not wanting to violate any rules of the duel. A larger, two handed sword would allow him to do that easily, if clumsily. The shorter blade he had was going to make that much more difficult, given all he could remember with such weapons were strikes directly to vitals or the throat.

That cost him the opening movement of the duel, his opponent all but materializing beside him as he thought about the best way to approach them. The silver saber sang in the air towards him as the clash between Cordelia and her foe took place. Another fumbling stroke, one that almost cost him his sword as he blocked the noble's strike at a poor angle. Despite the immense difference in their strengths, Nicola found his wooden blade nearly wrenched from his grip from the blow and found himself backpedaling to avoid a second arcing slash.

Right. He couldn't get distracted here or he'd lose rather badly if Frederick's assessment was to be believed. Judging by the swift and powerful strikes Theodore was delivering, the knight wasn't far off. Defense truly was the key then.

Nicola allowed Theodore into his guard with what should have been an unbalancing strike, then pushed the blade aside with his free hand. The youth's eyes bulged as he was pushed off balance instead of Nicola and yelped as the spearman closed in with a diagonal slash of his own. The lordling skirted away, narrowly avoiding the first blow. He managed to find his balance in time for the second, slantwise cut Nicola followed with and deflected the rather stunted lunge the spearman attempted with grace of a thrashing bull.

He wasn't ready for Nicola to pivot on a dime to catch the cut that would have gone clean across his back, his grip on the wooden blade reversed. The two parted and took their stances again, both having learned from the quick exchange as the wind in the plaza picked up.

Nicola wasn't going to be able to pull off that lunge he tried, not the way he remembered it at least. The wind up would be a dead giveaway and the sword he held felt wrong in his hands. He recalled abandoning the sword for a reason and he no longer had the muscle memory built to use what he did remember, even if he wanted to. A rather dire thing against a swordmaster, but he'd have to make due with that until everything clicked again.

Without waiting for an invitation Theodore sprang forward again, unwilling to let Nicola gain his full bearings. Nicola began to sidestep but that quickly became a retreating block as the noble whirled into a spinning slash. Once his feet touched the ground, Nicola brought his blade down on the youth, but the noble managed to block the strike and force himself away from the spearman in a fluid motion. He darted in a moment later, blade passing through Nicola's guard with no resistance and biting into his shoulder. The noble immediately danced away, confusion crossing his face as his blade hadn't pierced anywhere near as deep as he thought it would have. Nicola capitalized on that without hesitation.

In a sudden burst, the spearman was in front of Theodore and brought his blade down a second time. With similar speed the youth hopped out of the strike's range then lunged forth once more. This time the blow was aimed at Nicola's legs, but the former summoner saw it coming a mile away. Theodore did not see Nicola hopping just over the silver blade, managing to roll out of the way of the haymaker that followed by a hair's breadth—one that cracked the stone they fought on.

The noble youth paled when Nicola looked unaffected by the impact and more when the spearman's near glowing eyes snapped to him and narrowed. Then Nicola was in front of him once more, twisting into a rising slash. Theodore was sent reeling from the blow, the wooden blade catching him just below his ribs as it ripped skyward. The air left his lungs as he tumbled back, but his bones hadn't been crushed like the ground had been. Clearly his opponent knew how to moderate his strength rather well.

It was almost insulting with how Nicola allowed him the time to regain his bearings rather than capitalize on his weakness. It was like he was taunting Theodore as his eyes grew brighter still, but more than that it felt like he was learning.

The noble had no doubt that Nicola had far more experience in combat than he did, but he had the speed and skill advantage. He struck like lightning, keen to disable the warrior's sword arm but met the air. Pain lanced through his shoulder as the wooden blade chopped down on it, the spearman's movements growing sharper and more sure as he observed Theodore.

The first thought the heir had was that Nicola was copying him and using his tricks against him, but he quickly dismissed the notion. For one,the noble hadn't used any of his particularly fancy techniques, not against an opponent he felt wasn't taking him remotely seriously. More importantly, until just moments ago he wasn't even sure Nicola was worth using anything special against. It had felt more like his opponent had been shakily going through the motions, unsure of what he wanted to do but was slowly and surely grasping just that as the duel went on. Yet even without the surety and clarity he was approaching he wasn't a bumbling buffoon, as the noble had believed initially. The spearman was clumsy and terrible in both footwork and technique, but he wasn't wildly flailing his sword around without a semblance of reason behind it. He'd been trained and he knew something that looked like the basics of swordsmanship, but in a grossly confused manner—like he had an idea of what he was attempting to do, but was missing the steps needed to properly go about it.

Theodore had felt, from their last exchange, that his opponent's confusion was fading and an unpolished, but keen mind and sharp blade would soon be pointed at him. The duel needed to end before then. The spearman could not be allowed to fully come into whatever knowledge he had.

The noble and spearman readied their blades again, the former taking the initiative with another lunge as the cold air grew frigid and the wind grew fiercer. Theodore's blade glimmered with light this time, no longer treating the duel as a farce as he overshot his opponent. He expected Nicola to capitalize on the opening he presented and was right on the mark as the dark haired youth closed the distance between them. The spearman nearly tripped over himself in an attempt to slow down—another sign of his less than stellar footwork—as the noble whirled around, blade flashing as streams of light shot from its tip. That Nicola managed to barely avoid the streams was miraculous given how off balance he was, but that left him open for Theodore's follow up.

The noble had to pull and redirect his strike as his blade punched through his opponent's coat and drew blood. Had he lacked any self control, furious as he was, that would have pierced the spearman's heart rather than one of his lungs. The duel would have ended then, but with the noble's dishonor and the blood of a man who slighted him on his hands. He felt hard scrutiny from several sides as he withdrew: clearly his strike had not been well received and that made him burn with embarrassment. Perhaps he'd gotten too into–

The noble's thoughts grinded to a halt as his tunic was grabbed and he was hurled to the floor like a doll. The air was forced from his lungs for a second time as he rolled to a stop, hacking up blood and spit. It took him several moments to regain his bearings, enough to see his opponent clutching his chest with his free hand, while his sword arm was stained red from the shoulder down. Neither was coming out of this completely unscathed, which meant that the noble was going to be on the back foot. Even as he stood up he could feel the left side of his body and chest protesting, no doubt covered in bruises and scrapes beneath his coat. Comparatively, Nicola's chest appeared to be slowly darkening as blood seeped through his tunic and he was breathing rather heavily. One of his lungs had been pierced, but he didn't appear ready to stand down.

The knight presiding over the match looked ready to step in, but Nicola shook his head. As injured as he was, he was still fine to fight. Perhaps not at full capacity, but enough to finish the fight.

The heir grit his teeth, readying his blade once more. The wind carried the scent of spilled blood and the cold lost some of its sting, drawing Theodore's eyes away from his opponent briefly. His sister was kneeling, defeated as her foe shakily stood over her. The red haired woman was bloodied and battered, covered with deep wounds that appeared to be bleeding profusely, even as she became a blur of red and shattered what appeared to be three frozen duplicates of his sister. She hardly appeared to notice how pale and weak she looked and– He was getting distracted again. The duel needed to end even more quickly, especially if he was going to see to it that Cordova—that was her name, was it not— did not die of hypothermia and blood loss. It was not that he cared for the woman who slighted him just from being present, but his honor would not allow him to see another die because of his folly. Not if he could prevent it.

Light gathered around the noble's blade once more as he took note of Nicola's stance. It was that same loose, foolishly open looking stance from before. No, Theodore corrected himself, it was markedly different now. Before it appeared to be full of holes and lacking any form of defense, whereas now the only holes were where he was injured. The calm and cool look on the spearman's face was unnerving, as if he was looking through Theodore like he was glass, as his eyes took on a more green hue. The hair on the noble's neck raised as he lunged forth, realizing only at the last second that he was mustering forth the brunt of his power.

The youth had no way of stopping the strike, not without maiming himself, as the world became a blur of mottled grey and white with a tinge of red. His opponent was a rapidly approaching mass of blue, black and green, his features blended together into something unrecognizable as his blade connected.

The impact was jarring and he felt his arm nearly seize up from pain as the world came back into focus. He'd been stopped. It took a moment for that to sink in.

He'd been stopped?

Theodore looked down and saw that his saber had been stopped by the wooden blade Nicola held. Said blade looked relatively unscathed, perhaps slightly nicked at the point where the saber had met it. How then?

The catlike look in the spearman's eyes likely hid the answer. Theodore withdrew once more, wariness and weariness sinking into his features as he prepared one final lunge. He would end it with this, he would show the spearman what defeat tasted like. He would then collapse and take the next week or however long to fully recuperate from the duel. He was the better swordsman, the better duelist. His opponent was a foreign upstart courting one of his peers, hardly worthy of his time.

And yet, he'd been pushed back, humiliated and even made to bring his all against such an opponent. More than that, some small part of him had found the duel to be fun. If the circumstances behind it had been different and lines not drawn in the sand, so to speak, he would have attempted to hire the spearman as a training partner, if only to see all the secrets he apparently held. That opportunity had passed the moment his sister had Spoken then turned her voice on him as well. She only did that to those she disapproved of and said disapproval was often permanent and followed by a hard refusal to change her views. Such a thing was stifling, but there was little he could do about it. Her Speech affected him as it affected most all commoners and some lesser nobility, after all. Yet his opponent and her own were not cowed by his sister's words nor did they even balk at them.

Something like jealousy swelled in his breast at that moment, but he'd suppressed it. Now it had returned and knew why. The man before him had one thing he did not: freedom. Freedom to do as he wished, lacking the responsibility and weight that he had as heir to a duchy or anything resembling the stifling chains that wore at him. At least, that was what Theodore believed in that moment. That burned as well, but he once again suppressed the feeling as he sprang for–

"I wouldn't," Nicola breathed, voice serene yet ragged as he maintained his stance. "I guarantee you will lose should you try that lunge a third time, Lord Pleione."

It was the first time in the duel that Nicola had spoken and his words pierced through the noble youth better than any blade would. Danger did not radiate from the man, even after having given such a dire warning. He had made neither a threat nor an empty declaration, he spoke the truth. Theodore knew that he would fall if he tried that again. He did not know how, but he could nearly see it as he changed stances. The spearman readied his own blade and the noble could have sworn that the smell of scented ash drifted on the wind before Nicola was upon him.

He did the one thing he felt was best in that moment, raising his blade to guard himself. He was met with a shrill ringing sound as the sword, and his guard with it, was cleaved in two. He hadn't even seen his opponent move, let alone see his wooden weapon as he stumbled to the ground in stunned silence. What had that been? Where had the spearman been hiding that technique the entire time? Then it dawned on him: Nicola hadn't been hiding it, he'd just reclaimed it.

With that realization came the second realization that the duel's audience was clamoring rather loudly, some pointing to the ground behind him. It took a moment for the youth to turn, his left side flaring with pain that became muted as he saw the reason for the commotion. The stone behind him had a deep cut carved into it—two rather. Both were the same length, as long as a fully grown person was tall, and width, as wide as the wooden sword the spearman held. Both cuts started shallow on opposing sides then deepened as they got closer to one another, stopping abruptly as what should have been their deepest points and where they would have been connected. Between them was a small section of untouched stone, just wider than the heir's shoulders.

Looking at himself, Theodore found that there was a thin cut across each of his shoulders, but he was otherwise unscathed. It rang hollow to him that he would have likely been dead had that not been the case.

He'd been defeated. He had lost. He... was being helped to his feet by the man that had bested him. Why? Bar practice, the victor of a duel had no obligation to help his opponent. He wouldn't have done the same had their roles been reversed, not directly at least, and none of those who had bested him over the years had offered anything resembling the same aid.

Was this another slight, another chance to insult him?

"Thank you for the duel," the spearman said, eyes having faded to a silvery grey. "I will not apologize for my actions that led to this, but I could have better controlled myself then. I will apologize for that lack of control, but not for standing up for a friend."

Theodore nodded dully as he was brought over to the cleric that had healed his face earlier, said woman and his sister already being treated by others in the area. He watched another healer attempt to flag his opponent down for treatment, but the slightly older man declined—only to be grabbed by the ear by Lady Maribelle and forced to sit while she and the healer treated him.

"Hey, I'm fi– Ouch! You don't need to pull so hard, Maribelle!"

"I'll stop pulling when you take your injuries seriously, you oaf!"

"Worry about Cordelia, not me! She's worse off by far!"

"She's being treated and agreed to treatment without a fuss," the noble woman snapped. "You were just going to downplay your injuries and try to sleep them off."

"I'm not that badly hurt."

"Oaf, you know good and well you were stabbed through the lung. The fact that you manage to speak even now is astounding, but less so than your bullish stubbornness. Now cease and let me heal you before you exacerbate the issue!"

He protested loudly for a moment, before the lady said something to him and he settled on glowering at her as he was healed instead.

"He has an interesting assortment of friends, does he not," the cleric said as warm light spread over Theodore's left side. "You'd hardly think that he is considered a great threat to the halidom by the church."

That snapped Theodore out of his thoughts. The cleric had a serene smile on her face, but it looked fake compared to when she'd healed him before the match. There was a coldness in her eyes, coldness and amusement twined around one another like a scarlet web. He began to speak, but found his voice gone as she continued.

"His life looks idyllic, does it not? Surrounded by those who care for him and those of great beauty, he must surely have few wants and needs."

The cleric glowered at the spearman and the noblewoman fussing over him. Her scarlet gaze returned to the noble a moment later, full of paralyzing sadistic glee. This was not the same woman as before, he realized as fear flooded him. The healer from before had been far more stoic and aloof, with disinterested eyes and a flat tone. There was no malice in her words then, only apathetic concern. The one speaking through her now—there could be no other explanation—felt far more sinister, even as she continued to heal him. He would have cried out, but he could not. His throat was tight and his expression would not change. The healer only smiled as she moved on to healing his chest, his vision obscured as platinum blonde hair swayed in front of him.

"But do not worry, little doll, his precious world will be shattered soon enough and you may play a rather large role in that. That would be entertaining, don't you think?" His head moved against his will, nodding in agreement as he strained against the force controlling him. "I thought as much. You see, you'll be needed to move a few pieces into place, pieces only you could move without arousing suspicion and giving things away before they come to fruition. Just a nudge here and a prod there and that beast's life, along with all he cares for, will come tumbling down like a house without a strong foundation."

A vicious look flashed across the healer's face and the noble wondered how she hadn't been heard. She was speaking all of this aloud, surely someone, anyone could have heard all of this!

"Don't worry about such small things, little doll. Simply worry about keeping your head on your shoulders and listening well." The woman said something in a language he could not understand. It was soft and flowed easily, almost melodic, but he could tell the words harbored something dark, something vile behind them. He needed to get away, he needed to–

"Is everything alright," a voice he didn't fully recognize asked. Theodore managed to turn his head to see the silver haired woman Nicola had been speaking with during the banquet. She looked concerned, which could have been his chance at outing the one before him.

"Oh, not much. Lord Pleione is in a bit more pain than he appears to be so I lightly sedated him for the time being," the 'cleric' explained as a wave of confusion washed over him. He blinked as the word grew hazy and his thoughts muddled and... why was he so afraid? So concerned? Oh, his sister would be furious at his defeat he realized as he connected the pieces. It was one thing to fight an opponent and lose because they were more skilled. It was another thing to lose from underestimating a weaker opponent by far. She was going to forbid him from anything that wasn't swordsmanship and keep his few friends away, those who weren't going to leave him after that embarrassment of a duel.

"Is that so," the silver haired woman asked. "Will more assistance be needed, Lord Pleione?"

"N-no," he managed, gritting his teeth. His chest still throbbed, though the pain was fading rather quickly. He knew he'd still had a dull ache on occasion until his body finished naturally healing, though that would be a long way off wouldn't it? "Was that spearman, Nicola was it, always that skilled with a sword?"

"I wouldn't know. Until today I'd only seen him use a spear and he is far better with that than he was with the sword he held. I imagine he's going to be drilled on that in the near future, however." The silver haired woman shrugged, eyeing the cleric once more. Did she think something was off about the platinum blonde woman? She'd simply been healing him the entire time, nothing more.

Pain flared in his head for a moment and he nearly flinched, but caught himself. A noble was to appear noble, regardless of the pain they felt, He just couldn't help but think he'd forgotten something.

The Fell God woke up with a start for the third time in as many days. Her breathing was ragged and she almost panicked as red liquid filled her lungs. Then calm overtook her and her breathing, as odd as it was while fully submerged, eased.

It was that dream again. She'd seen her disfigurement once more, vivid and fresh as the day it occurred. Her injured eye winced and the shrinking scars across her body burned with blistering heat.

"You dare!? After all the pain you've wrought, ask for my cooperation!?" His voice drowned out the storm around them as rage colored his features. "After you killed my wife and ripped out our sister's heart? Are you mad?"

"She wouldn't listen! I asked her to help me, to show me how to regain the humanity in my heart and she attacked me! I defended–"

"YOUR SERVANTS KILLED HER HUSBAND," he thundered. "Then you, in your infinite wisdom, chose to return him as an undead monster that near killed their child. Do you not see why she wouldn't listen to you, why she would fly into a blind fury? Are you really that self-absorbed, Robin?"

The words stung more than the hail. She... She had made a mistake, a grave one years ago. In her madness she killed those she loved, those she cherished and that haunted her. She could still see the confusion in Chrom's eyes as the light faded, the betrayal in Cordelia and Nowi's eyes as they fell from the sky and were dashed against the stone below. The forgiveness in Lissa's eyes as she tried and succeeded in bringing her back to sanity.

Her brother had been cold then. Forgiving, but cold. He had defended her against those who wanted her head on a pike and her blood spilled across the marble floors of her palace, her home by birthright. He even comforted her when her husband died, keeping distant but offering his shoulder when pain overtook her.

Then 'that man' appeared and struck down her children with mad glee. That snapped something in her and she broke again, giving into her madness as she brought her children back from the grave as she remembered them. Perfect, innocent, kind. Loving. They didn't remember her, only recalling their father. Her brother stopped her from trying again, but not before she brought her husband and several of their friends back. After all, if she could return her children surely she could revive her dearest friends.

Only, she failed. Her power was not meant to bring back the dead as the living, it was meant to control the dead and have them wreak havoc. Perhaps that was why—

The Fell God shook her head, silver hair flowing wildly around her as it floated in the red liquid. She did not need to remember that, not again. She needed to remember the other dream, the one where her brother and her likeness laughed together beneath the rising sun.

It was the first time they'd seen the sun in full. In the sixteen years they'd lived and fought, the sun was always obscured by haze and smoke, flickering like the dying embers of hope in a world made bleak. Then they'd saved it, after years of sacrifice, struggle and perseverance, and that was beautiful to them. The sun's appearance was a boon in its timing as the duo hopped to the ground. Only then did the Fell God recall the unraveling corpse of ash and dark mist and the battle that led to the monster's death.

"Good work, e$bf/^n." The girl beamed, her name for Nicola garbled and broken. "Had you been any slower, I'd have been a little worse off."

"That cockiness of yours is why I came here in the first place, Luka. If you hadn't charged ahead, I'd be tuning up the other's gear and making sure they were good after the fight we just got out of. R#$2 in particular. He did a lot of hard work and he's been a pretty helpful kiddo."

"You say that like he's not near our age."

"I'm taller and therefore older, Luka."

"He's a year our elder, Nicola."

"I can dream."

Luka sighed in exasperation and then the world went black.

Luka was the one solid part of that dream. The name kept coming up and it always made her heart hurt each time it did. The young woman was her splitting image, bar her youth, the slight bend at the bridge of her nose where it had been broken and the silvery blue eyes. Everything else matched the Fell God's current form, from the color and way she styled her hair to the pointed tips of her ears. Even their smiles were identical, not that the Fell God had made such a genuine smile in years, and the way the girl carried herself perfectly mirrored her: tall and proud, but always aware of her surroundings.

Conversely, Nicola appeared unaware and inattentive to his surroundings, but she knew from experience that it was a ploy. The younger incarnation of her brother still carried himself the same way, though he wasn't carrying a spear. He never carried a spear when this dream came about. Her brother wielded a pair of curved blades, each a little larger than half his height. Like most things in the dream world, details were scant of their full details, but she knew he could wield the twin blades as a polearm or paired blade with deadly efficiency—enough to give her pause even as she watched the battle with the shadowy monster moments before.

If Luka was the one delivering slow but crushing blows with the great and terrible axe she carried, Nicola was a precise blade that slowly but surely disabled the beast as the Fell God's likeness struck it just as hard as it struck her. If she wasn't implicitly aware of the color of his soul, she would have never considered the younger Nicola and the one she knew to be the same person—as a warrior or an individual. He wasn't broken here, not afraid of himself or being himself.

How curious. Between that and how this Luka related to her, she would need to figure out many things. Perhaps that would give her something she desperately needed.

Was it closure?

She... didn't need that, did she? She was a god in all but name: immortal, eternal and world rending when she could muster forth her true power. Closure wasn't something one like her required, especially not from a mortal and a mirror image of herself. Despite that, a small part of her said otherwise, that rather than seek revenge and do out of malice what she had first done by accident she should seek closure and forgiveness. Clearly, that was the weakness in her heart, the fear of reprisal and pain that stirred beneath her fury.

"The same 'weakness' that allowed us to love, even after so much pain and betrayal," the treacherous fragment of the goddess chimed. "Or will we attempt to forget even that as we attempt to forge ourselves into a monster once more, to sharpen our claws on tragedy and drink deep the nectar of anguish? Is that truly what we want? One can only wonder."

It was easy to banish the voice of the fragment, but far harder to stop its words from resonating within herself. Was that truly how she felt? Only time would tell. Time and the war she had to orchestrate.

A/N: Slow moving, but pieces are moving. The assassination is coming, but there's a bit more before it. Two-ish chapters, give or take.

As usual, if you enjoyed this chapter and want to see things from other writers, consider visiting the Fanfiction Treehouse Discord Server (9XG3U7a). You don't need to be a writer to join or anything like that and the community is pretty active and comfy. Regardless of that, thank you for reading thus far and I'll see you with the next chapter.