A Summoner's Vow

by Lore Keeper Haos

Nicola didn't expect to wake up in a new world for the second time, much less after dying. However, now that has he's going to get as much work done as he possibly can and maybe, just maybe, find his way back home and save his world. Unfortunately, things are never that simple or easy.

27. Selflessness II

"The coast is clear," Morgan said, beckoning the other Morgan and Donnel to follow her. Her twin was good with magic, better than her when it came to proper spellcraft, and Donnel was far better with larger weapons, but she was king—er, queen?—when it came to stealth. That proved imperative when a large group of less than kind people stormed the palace and started attacking people indiscriminately and saved her and her friends a long and drawn out fight. Then a giant armored bunny tore through the group like they were ribbons on the wind and told them to flee before it bound off.

She didn't question it and neither did her twin. Donnel started to ask, but she silenced him quickly.

"Best to not think too hard about it," she had said with a smile. "Not the most outlandish thing compared to magic."

The villager muttered a quiet prayer in response. Magic was wild indeed if it could top giant armored rabbits.

At the present, they were making their way to the palace's side entrance. They'd briefly gone to the Barracks and grabbed everything they could reasonably carry, hoping to give the rest of the Shepherds things to change the tide of the ongoing battle. The only issue was they'd need to cross a long open stretch and that was just asking to be ambushed. She relayed that to the others of course, there was little use in keeping quiet about a potential ambush when the plan wasn't to intentionally walk into it.

"Can ya think of any other ways we can go," Donnel asked. Frankly, she couldn't. She'd been around the palace for about a month, but she hadn't really taken the time to explore it. Part of it was a lack of interest—she only really wanted to learn more about the places her mother and brother frequented—and she didn't like drawing unnecessary attention when she moved about. Anyone else, save for maybe the tall spearman who wasn't a part of the Shepherds but sparred with them regardless, could have pulled that off easily. She could not, her gait and natural way of moving made her out to be a thief or trickster of sorts, which wasn't necessarily far from the truth. Morgan didn't remember much of anything when she'd come to, but she had a curved knife on hand at the time and using it came naturally to her. So had, unironically, stealth and free running... if that was what it was called, at least.

"Nothing, sorry," she finally said before looking to the other Morgan. "Any path you can think of?"

"I have an idea or two, but one involves climbing and the other will draw more attention than its worth," he replied. Quirking his head to the side. She tended to do the same when in thought, but to the opposite side. Perhaps they were opposites? No, it was easier to consider him her twin or vice versa.

"I'm good with climbing, though the rain will make things hard," she said. Most surfaces became harder to find purchase on when it rained, something she did not know from trying to scramble up a tree a few towns prior, only to slip and land hard on her ass. She most certainly had not and she hadn't punched Inigo in the shoulder for laughing at her either.

"So long as we're not tryin' to get up wet stone, I can manage," Donnel whispered. He'd taken a pretty bad hit nearly a month prior and had only recently been cleared to move without assistance, so hopefully nothing too strenuous came of it. Neither he nor she liked the thoughtful hum her twin gave in response.

Thankfully, the path the other Morgan set them on did not involve climbing up much stone and they had his magic to help them out when things looked like they might turn sour. Her own magic would have been less than helpful for the group, her utility spells only affected her and she wasn't sure they really needed anything that would turn them into badgers.

...Actually that would have been supremely helpful, all things considered. It would have more than likely stood out too much, a minor issue when stealth was the name of the mission. The small fields of heat the other Morgan made were much more helpful in the moment, drying the stone paths the trio had to climb in exchange for the faintest increase in light for a few moments. Donnel, however, was the greatest asset of all.

When the dark haired teen said he could climb, he meant it. He moved faster than she could, practically gliding up the stone like it wasn't a vertical surface, then offering a hand to help her twin up when he struggled to climb. She helped of course, but Donnel handled the bulk of the work. He was far stronger than he looked, which was probably why he was in the Shepherds with her mother and twin, even if he had the confidence of a sack of potatoes. He wasn't like Ricken who quietly preened when praised, not that that was a bad thing when his magical prowess was on par with her twin's or greater.

"Alright, we've made it in," the other Morgan breathed, sighing in relief. He looked around the corridor they'd made it into. "So far so good, but we need to find mother or Prince Chrom and link up with them."

"Hopefully before we get pulled into a bad spot," she agreed. Donnel simply nodded. Morgan noted he looked a bit pale and saw that one of his hands rested on his back. He probably hadn't fully recovered from his back injury, which would be a bit of a problem if it led to a flare up. "We should also look for–"

Faster than Donnel or her twin could react, Morgan grabbed them and yanked them to the ground. A moment later something rippled over the area, something sinister and perceptive. She didn't recognize the feeling that came with that knowledge, the tingling like lightning was racing across her skin as her heart slowed and her senses sharpened. She must have had a terrifying expression because Donnel paled when he looked at her. The other Morgan didn't appear to notice, his blood colored eyes were wide and his pupils cat-like as deathly silence took him. He felt it too, then. She could see it in the way his eyes darted around, not frantically but certainly looking for something.

The word came to her as a wall of dread hit her. Anticipation.

A tall and willowy man wearing ornate open robes strode into the corridor, crimson cat-like eyes honing in on the trio. His skin was dark, but not nearly as dark as his robes embroidered with gold and midnight threads. His hair, save for a patch of white within his goatee, was raven black, cut in such a manner that it looked like flowing black flames framed by a pair of gold ornamental horns on either side of his face. His long dark nails were neatly cut, ending in polished talon-like points. His visage was cruel and calculating, like he was cutting the trio into pieces with his eyes as he gauged them. A pair of dark tomes hung at his side while a wicked looking ceremonial knife rested on his other side, the former of which were decorated in symbols of winged eyes along some form of horseshoe denoting the man as a sorcerer of great power.

Morgan didn't question where that bit of information came from, instead taking it in stride. The three of them were outmatched at the moment, which was a problem in its own right: The odds of them getting assistance were decent enough, but whether or not it would arrive in time was another matter entirely.

"An Ylissean rat and..." the man paused, eyes rolling over the twin Morgans. "Youth that bear my order's crest. How interesting. Tell me, where are the two of you from?"

"Sorry, stranger danger and what not," Morgan's male counterpart replied, conjuring a ball of fire. He hurled it at the other mage then raked his hands downwards as the taller man swatted the spell away, unimpressed.

"Was that supposed to do something?"

"More than you'd think," he grinned, the sound of something sizzling filling the air. The taller mage looked to his side, where the ball of fire had been batted away, and found that the ball was still there, smoldering. Bubbling. It was also growing much much brighter, the only signal Morgan had to close her eyes and cover Donnel's before the ball erupted. The taller mage hissed as Morgan's counterpart scrambled to his feet, tugging her and Donnel up.

"We gotta go." There was little protest from either of them, the trio bolting from the scene as the older mage cursed behind them. That would hopefully buy them a few minutes, enough to catch their breath and find good places to hide. Or, as a wall was ripped asunder by great claws of dark magic, it would buy them a few seconds.

The sorcerer looked irritated and not remotely singed by whatever the other Morgan had done. His red eyes narrowed to deadly slits.

"You would strike at me with such paltry magic," he intoned, almost chidingly. A dark smile crossed his face. "A valiant effort perhaps, but far too weak to harm a mage tenured in their craft. Allow me to give you an example."

Morgan threw herself in front of her counterpart faster than he could react, barely intercepting the oily sphere of dark magic that would have torn through his chest had it hit. With a grunt, she forced the sphere back as her palms burned. The sorcerer simply avoided the sphere, raising an eyebrow as he watched her. Right, she needed her dagger to do that properly else she risked maiming herself. That had been what her mentor had taught her.

What her mentor had taught her?

She pushed away the thought as another sphere flew towards her, just as fast as the other. This time she was ready, palming her dagger as the spell grew close. Once it was in her reach, she struck, sending the sphere back towards the mage with practiced ease. This time he caught the sphere, not with his hand, but with his mind. The sphere halted just in front of his face and began to bubble and boil over.

"Interesting," he mused. "It appears someone is versed in the basics of Mage Killing." The dark smile grew cruel. "Try returning this, then. Mire."

She would have, had she not known what the Mire spell was. Whatever it hit was going to be enveloped in boiling tar that would eat away at and sink into the earth or whatever ground was nearby. Severa used it fairly often when they sparred along the road, using it it as a deterrent when Morgan became too reliant on returning spells to their casters or when Odin had a clear shot at reaching her. It wasn't something she could return yet, but that didn't mean she hadn't figured out a way to deal with it.

Hazy black flames spread across the wickedly curved blade she carried as strands of her hair bleached white. With a practiced motion Morgan threw the dagger, piercing the spell through as the black flames spread across its surface. The spell would corrode before it could reach her and the others. Allowing her to reclaim her dagger and rush the–

"Ruin."

Her instincts scream, telling her to pull back, but nowhere near quick enough. Blades of magic cut across her shoulders as golden glyphs burned into the air. What would have been deep, thin cuts burst with blackened blood as the area around both began to decay, turning a putrid green. Had she been any slower the blades would have crossed her heart and instantly putrefied it, killing her in the same moment. Instead burning, itching and oozing pain wracked her as she took a knee. Of course a sorcerer wouldn't be limited to casting a single spell in such a short span of time, not one that needed no incantation or even to open either book they carried in order to cast.

"Morgan," her other called. She could here him trying to move towards her.

"You two get out of here," she barked instead, feeling herself grow dizzy as a fever took her. "I'll hold him off."

She didn't hear their response as she met the tall man's eyes, but heard two sets of footsteps moving away from her. That would be enough, best to not have the three of them die when aid could be acquired. Hopefully.

She continued to watch the older mage's eyes as her chest heaved. Rather than hateful he seemed curious, clinical even. Perhaps it was because she couldn't force herself to glare, even as she forced herself to stand tall.

"You would still stand and try to face me, knowing you'll perish," he asked. "How disgusting. The spirit of defiance made to serve the lapdogs of that absent, worthless god is sickening."

"If it would keep my friends safe, I'd stand regardless of who they serve," She replied, taking a deep breath. "Besides, now that they're gone. I can stop holding back."

"Really now? Then show me what you can do, girl. Perhaps you'll hold my interest for a little while longer." He spread his arms as a marron aura spread over him. Several sets of glyphs appeared around him, each a spell that could kill her in an instant. Rather than balk, a reckless smile crossed her face.

"Bring it on, old man." As she rasped the words a violet aura bubbled up around her. She lifted an arm, the one that she could still properly move, and summoned her dagger back to her open hand. With an uneven gait, she rushed the willowy man.

---

Validar had to respect the tenacity of the girl before him. She was a Plegian through and through, that much was clear from her eyes and the power he could feel bubbling from her core. Very few could say they held anything resembling his goddess' power, but the girl felt as if she had a small portion of that power. So had the boy who looked near identical to her, but his was far more buried and he'd fled rather than fight at her side. The sorcerer would have called that cowardly, but the look in the boy's eyes said he would have fought had he not weighed the odds of success. He allowed him and the boy with him to flee, more interested in dealing with the running girl. He could always find them later.

Instead, he unleashed the start of his fusillade of spellfire. Three casts of Flux, four of Mire and two delayed releases of Waste flew towards the girl as she rushed him, her steps more uneven than they were swift. Still, she managed to step between the first orbs of magic and cut through the spheres of Mire as her blade burned with his goddess' power. Truly, she was a Mage Killer of some skill if she could deal with so many spells in quick succession. The two casts of Waste forced her to actively dodge, flinging herself onto the palace's inner wall to avoid the skeletal hands and tar that overtook the floor. Impressive, but nothing he hadn't seen.

"Ruin," the sorcerer breathed, dark blades materializing mid slash as the girl leapt towards him. Her dagger met the magical blades and a dark flash overtook his vision for a moment, hiding the girl from him. It was a pleasant surprise to see a badger pounce at him from the flash, fangs bared. The beast never reached him, its claws scrabbling against a ward he cast in an instant. His interest grew further when the badger's claws found purchase in the ward, digging into the transparent barrier as it sprang towards him a second time. Another ward formed in the badger's path, catching it as it went for his throat. This time its fangs found purchase, but not for long—he'd already surrounded them with several more Flux spheres. With a thought, he repelled the beast, sending it into the waiting array of spells. It spun of its own volition and managed to repel a number of the spells as it scampered out of the path of the others. Then a violet flash filled the area, replacing the beast with the girl, the deep slashes across her body mostly healed, bar the decayed flesh. Even that looked better, the putrid and pustulant flesh had shrunk back and looked somewhat healed. How peculiar, that implied that her transformation ability—no, some sort of self aimed hex— accelerated her natural healing process in a positive way, the opposite of what Ruin did. The hex wasn't as powerful as the oft fatal spell—the girl would have been entirely restored had it been—Validar observed, noting the slight hunch as she readied herself for another vain attempt to reach him.

He could humor her a little more.

"Swarm," the sorcerer intoned, filling the room with shadowy bats. With a slight flex of his index finger the bats ignited, burning with pitch black flames as they washed over the girl. "Fenrir."

Another flex of his finger and pillars of violet flame erupted around the girl in a ring. He gave a slantwise look, causing the pillars to bend and warp. Soon a cage of fire surrounded the burning bats and with a slight incline of his head, the sorcerer had the cage shrink upon the swarm rapidly. The resulting conflagration of dark magic would have killed any lesser person, but the girl still stood as the flames cleared, changed but still quite alive.

Burns covered her arms and waist, her tunic in tatters and the lower half of her coat burned away. A mark identical to the one his goddess bored flared brightly on her stomach, her once crimson eyes burning maroon. The cloak she wore flared around her, fading to billowing black flames at its ends as her once black and muddy brown hair faded to pure white. Perhaps most interestingly, her shadow possessed long horns and a pair of wings that her physical form did not.

A few things crossed the old sorcerer's mind, all leading to the same conclusion: the girl would need to be brought to his goddess and rather soon. He wasn't certain when he would die on this night, but it would likely be soon.

"Is that your best," the girl huffed, eyes burning brighter despite her visible exhaustion. The dagger she held was a charred scrap of metal, eroded by the blade of flame that still wreathed its edge.

"Not remotely," Validar remarked. "Would you like a demonstration?"

He did not wait for a response as he drew the first tome he carried. There was a minute chance the spell would be too much for the girl to handle, but with the Fell God's blessing so prominently on display he doubted that. More than likely, the spell would incapacitate her, especially if he bled off some of its actual power and used that to restrain her instead.

With that thought, he took a half step back, avoiding a strike meant to pierce his throat. He blocked the next with two wards, the blade pierced through the first, but was caught in the second when it formed around it. A fist—rather a shadowed claw—went for his eyes, but he turned the blow with his free hand before hopping just slightly. A sickle passed under his feet, unseen until a heartbeat before it struck. Then came the thin needle of shadow, the one strike he didn't see coming. It pierced his chest, but not enough to make it past his ribs. One of the rewards for his faith, a small sliver of his goddess' resilience had been granted to him.

He hardly felt the attack, casting his spell in the same breath it struck. "Goetia."

Rings of magic formed in the air, twisting around the girl's limbs as violet spikes formed in the air. The spikes thinned at his behest, their excess strength fueling the bindings on the girl before they impaled her from all sides. The anguished scream was nearly drowned out by the din of magic. Almost, but not entirely. The spikes fades a moment later, revealing the bloodied, but still breathing girl. Good, his assessment had been correct on her durability. His goddess would be pleased to see one so like her, even more with the resemblance they appeared to share. He expected no reward for his service, that was the swiftest way to earn her ire, but felt he had done right by her. That was enough for him for the time being.

"MORGAN!" A hoarse shriek drew Validar's attention. The source was... the spitting image of his goddess' vessel. Behind her were the boys he'd allowed to escape, two Ylissean rats and the last of soon to be extinct species. Further back was another figure he recognized.

A sharp smile graced his features as the woman paled. At the very least, she would die before he did.

---

"Ah, rather late to be pretending to be a hero, traitor," he called, flippantly gesturing towards Aversa. "The goddess does not forgive those who would abandon her grace so eagerly, but I shall discipline you in her stead. Clearly, you deserve as such for abandoning your dearest father for the waif clinging to a stolen crown."

The response he received was a blood colored spear of lightning accompanied by a blood curdling scream.

Morgan hadn't seen his mother so livid before. Sure, she'd been angry after Maribelle had been kidnapped and she'd given him the tongue lashing of a lifetime in regard to pacing himself in longer fights, but that had been good natured. Warm even. The anger he saw at the moment wasn't nearly as kind or focused. His mother was like a tempest, red lightning crackling around her as winds whipped and howled. She roared and hurled a crimson spear at the sorcerer, rushing him with her silver sword. The tall woman with rabbit ears followed and Morgan couldn't help but follow. His... sister was dead or dying, he couldn't tell from how far away she was, and he wasn't going to let that pass.

"Elfire Inferno," he shouted, conjuring a sphere of bright blue flames. With a grunt he lobbed it at the sorcerer, knowing it wouldn't hit. It didn't need to. The sorcerer dodged the lightning bolt and caught the sphere with some form of ward. He lazily returned the sphere, hurling it far faster than Morgan had with a slight narrowing of his eyes. The tactician in training glared and focused on the spell, regaining control of it in a heartbeat. He managed to catch the orb—really he halted it with a bubble of magic before it reached him, but that was neither here nor there he supposed—and poured more power into it, making it burn with scintillating light. He briefly thought back to his mother's lecture on maintaining one's strength in long battles, firing the sphere of brilliant flames towards the sorcerer.

It was true, preserving one's strength was one of the best ways to see battles to the end. That being said, there were also times when one needed to hold nothing back: sometimes that was the deciding factor in a battle. Morgan was of the mind that this was one of those times. It didn't really matter how quickly he burned through his reserves if his opponent could kill him with no effort and shrug off anything that wasn't his best. It mattered less when he had half a dozen people to protect aside from himself.

The boy was under no illusion when he came to that conclusion. His mother was in a berserk state and the rabbit eared woman was charging along with her which put both of them in the greatest danger. Then there was the orange haired man lining up a shot with some odd contraption mounted to his arm and the woman who looked like Anna's younger sister doing something with her sleeves. The white haired women that had been with his mother had regained her composure after seeing the sorcerer and appeared to be readying a spell of some kind, but he wasn't sure what it was—the magic felt off and foreign compared to any other thing he'd experienced and he'd been exposed to all forms of magic in very short order less than a month ago. Then there was Donnel who rightfully couldn't participate in the battle, especially considering that his spine appeared to be ailing him for all that he pretended it was not. Then there was his other, his twin. She was in a terrible state and needed immediate medical attention or she would die.

Those thoughts all flashed through his mind in an instant, just before the orb reached the enemy mage. This time the mage avoided the spell, narrowly dodging the prismatic tongues of flame that melted through the ward he'd conjured. With a growl, he conjured a wall of spikes and clasped his hands together. The spikes would have impaled his mother had the odd woman at her side not pulled her back in abruptly. At the same time, Morgan heard a soft twang as a small shape whipped past his head, followed by an acidic green orb and a slithering mass of odd magic.

The sorcerer, in a display of speed belying his appearance, caught the bolt and threw it back. Dark power swirled around the projectile as it accelerated towards the orange haired man. He ducked, pulling the Anna look alike down with him as the white haired woman redirected the bolt with a ward of her own. The head sized detonation of stone signaled that was the correct move as the orb reached the mage. Another ward blocked the orb, splattering the walls and floor with corrosive liquid that ate through the stone in seconds. Morgan didn't want to contemplate what that could do to flesh as the slithering mass of magic reared up, revealing itself to be a great serpent of magic as it sprung at the sorcerer with fangs bared. It crashed against the new ward, black scales sizzling as the still lingering caustic liquid made contact with the magicked beast, pushing the mage back as he struggled against its weight. Eventually the ward gave way and the serpent reared up for a second strike, darting forward only to stop abruptly as a silvery white blade pierced its open maw. The serpent of sorcery dissolved soon afterwards, revealing the sorcerer down on a knee.

"You've gotten be–" He began before the silver and black blur that was Robin smashed into him, fists crackling with lightning. She roared angrily as the rain outside grew audible, only to be silenced by a deafening peal of thunder. The palace walls shook as she wailed on the mage, raining crackling blow after crackling blow on his prone form. Morgan looked away for a moment, choosing that moment to race to the other Morgan's side while the threat of the sorcerer was effectively contained.

His twin looked far worse than he'd expected, deep holes across her prone form leaking slowly pooling blood beneath her. By all means she should have been dead, if not from the amount of blood she lost the fact that her heart and lungs should have been pierced many times over. Yet she still breathed. The sound was faint and weak, like whatever stubborn aspect keeping her among the living was struggling to do even that. Even her hair had turned white, no doubt from intense shock. Her heartbeat was irregular, starting and stopping at random intervals as Morgan drew a potion from his coat pocket. It had cost him his entire allowance for a month and several favors to even convince Anna to let him buy this from her. It was a potion that could supposedly cure any and all ills and injuries, but the ingredients were rare and she only had two in her possession. The tactician could only hope the merchant hadn't been overexaggerating, the potion had been meant for Donnel in the event his injuries or pain grew too severe but saving a life took precedence. He quickly unstopped the liquid and prepared to pour it onto his injured twin's injuries, but a voice stopped him.

"Not like that, kid," the orange haired man said, eyes hard. "If that's what I think it is, you need to get her to drink some of it for injuries this bad. It'd be different if it was just a single injury."

"And why would I take your word on this?" The words came out much more hotly than expected. Still he was skeptical of the man. He looked every bit like a thief or crook, save for the wrapped tart he drew from a pouch at his side. He casually unwrapped it and took a bite before continuing.

"Because I've dealt with injuries similar to this before," he replied between chews. "Not as severe, but close enough. If that is an elixir, those work best when drunk. Something about their ingredients working better when inside the body than when used on the outside."

Morgan did vaguely recall Anna saying something like that offhandedly, between her trying to get him to buy something, anything, else.

"Fine, but if this doesn't work..." He trailed off as the orange haired man finished the tart.

"I'll see her to a healer if she's still kicking," he said. "But you'll wanna hurry. Elixirs can't bring back the dead and she looks like she's getting closer and closer to that."

Right. With some difficulty he was able to pry open the other Morgan's mouth and slowly trickle the potion down her throat with some instruction from the older man. Apparently she'd start to choke if he poured too quickly, so the process needed to be slow, measured and carefully facilitated to make sure that didn't happen. Nothing happened for a moment which was worrisome. Not as worrisome as his mother being flung across the hall by a burst of dark magic however.

The sorcerer was less handled than he thought, Morgan realized as his mother skipped across the floor like a well thrown rock. She managed to catch herself, a lightning clad hand digging into the ground as she slowed to a stop. The rabbit eared woman was at her side in an instant, leaving both Morgans and the orange haired man as the closest to the sorcerer, who looked like he'd seen better days.

The older man's golden headdress had been broken, allowing tar colored hair to spill forward while his goatee looked frayed and singed. His nose was bent to an uncomfortable angle and cracked audibly as he adjusted it one hand. Burns and blood dotted the rest of his face and his robes were smoking, but he didn't seem to be truly phased.

"Temper, temper," he chided. "If you keep losing yourself like that I'll have to put you down like a rabid beast."

As he spoke, spells flew towards and away from him. Orbs of tar and crossing blades of magic met bolts of lightning, gouts of flame and assorted animals of magic, filling the air with multicolored blasts as the spells canceled each other out. Then came walls of blades and pillars of maroon fire as bats and vermin fell towards the majority of the group in a wave. Burning spheres of magic followed behind the wave then careened past it as orbs of tar and fast moving black and maroon fog formed in the air as the sorcerer clenched his fist. That wasn't something they could defend against normally they'd need to dodge or be overwhelmed by the magic. Morgan nearly shouted that when the white haired woman towards the back of the group called out a phrase.

"...le Ereshkigal." She nearly collapsed where she stood, but the spells she wrought was more than enough.

Morgan saw his breath hang in the air as unfathomable cold filled the area. Icy blue flames spread along the damaged and destroyed walls as the area grew darker—no, it was better to say all light was drawn to a single point. A small orb of black magic, so dark the tactician in training couldn't see it and instead had to sense it, had formed in the air and began drawing everything towards it. Broken stone, ashes, shards of glass and even tendrils of rain were pulled into the sphere. Magic magic fared no better, thinning and swirling into orb in dark, multicolored strands. All flowed towards the orb and vanished into it as the walls warped and the floor distorted.

Morgan felt his stomach flip as the world turned upside down and the walls imploded around him, drawn into the sphere along with the ceiling and sections of the ground. Then he felt himself being tugged along, lightly at first then heavily as more and more things were drawn into the orb. It soon took all of his strength to keep himself in place and nearly lost his grip on the other Morgan as she began to slide—fall?—towards the sphere. If not for the orange haired man, wrapping an arm around her waist, she would have been pulled in as the sphere grew, now visible as a hole in his vision twice the size of a person's head. He saw his mother and the white haired women struggling against the sphere's pull while the rabbit-eared woman appeared to be largely unaffected, even as she held both Donnel and the Anna looking woman.

The sorcerer didn't fare much better, desperately pulling himself away from the sphere as it slowly grew larger and larger still. With a grunt he tossed the bright dagger he used towards the woman who had summoned the orb, magic bleeding off the weapon as it passed by the orb. The weapon was tugged towards it, but whatever enchantment the sorcerer used allowed it to pull away and twist through the air, curving unnaturally as it flew towards the white haired woman. Something about that technique sparked recognition in Morgan, but he couldn't pinpoint the exact reason and there wasn't time to ponder it.

"El–" He started to shout the spell's name, but was forced to stop as the words and air were pulled from him. He couldn't breathe. He began to choke as the cold hit him like a boulder and his lungs burned cold. He couldn't cast like this and he'd fail as a protector if he couldn't. Then an armored hand reached past his head, armed with an odd bow shaped contraption. A twang rang through the silence as a black bolt flew towards the white haired woman. Dismay and betrayal flashed across Morgan's face as he looked at the orange haired man. He was greeted by grim determination from the man, his eyes focused and calculating. As the bolt sped past the knife, he nodded to himself and smirked. He didn't think his betrayal would go unnoticed, did he? His mother, some semblance of calm having returned to her, bristled as lightning crackled around her once more. A snarl crossed her face—

Then an invisible force tugged at the bolt, tilting it away from its target and towards the dagger. Realization crossed the tactician's face and she made the snap decision to send some of her power to the projectile. The bolt sped up as it turned, striking the dagger head on as it flew towards the orb and vanished. That was enough to alter the blade's trajectory and send it bouncing into the floor near the white haired woman, the magic surrounding it dispelled as it ricocheted back towards the sphere. It too was drawn into the hole in the world before it unceremoniously vanished, leaving no sign of anything that had been pulled into it.

"Bullseye," the orange haired man whispered, adjusting some mechanism on the arm mounted bow before firing another bolt at the sorcerer without missing a beat. The mage was nearly too slow to block the projectile, fumbling to conjure a barrier as cold rain poured into what was once a hallway. The night sky loomed overhead, covered in dark clouds as rain fell and thunder boomed in the distance. Lightning flashed and the wind howled as sound returned to the world.

"You've improved," the sorcerer scoffed, eyes narrowing at the white haired woman. She still appeared to be exhausted from the spell and for good reason: for as briefly as it had been in effect, the spell had changed the flow of the battle. "If I'd known you were mastering that spell I'd have cut your throat at the first sign of your insubordination, stupid girl."

"You could have tried," she returned, coughing into her sleeve. "Your devotion to a god that cares nothing for you blinded you to everything but what you wanted to see, Validar."

"Yet you served me and my goddess without question for years, girl," the sorcerer, Validar, breathed. "You act as if your little change of heart absolves you of each atrocity you wrought with your own hands. Do you believe that the false king will keep you at his side or that the Ylisseans will forgive you? Nay, they'll keep you around until you fail them and discard you the moment you do. If only you remained loyal, my daughter, I would have never betrayed you."

"That may be the case, but I'll cross that bridge when I reach it," the white haired woman replied, tone acerbic. "You never had my loyalty Validar, not when you had to wrench control of my thoughts from me and raze my home to control me. Did you think I was unaware, that I didn't realize what had happened by the time I came of age? The only reason I didn't try to slit your throat in your sleep was because I was too weak and a small part of me was thankful to you."

"Then why act out now? Why not amass your strength and strike me down at my lowest point?" The fact that the talk of betrayal and murder seemed natural to the sorcerer disgusted Morgan.

"Because someone else I cared for would have suffered then, but not now. More than that, I've learned a great deal since we last spoke and I'm not afraid to use any of it against you."

"I can only hope you can back up those claims, girl," Validar huffed as a burning black aura surrounded him. He glared and the open space erupted white as black lightning struck. Stone splintered and the force of the impact nearly threw Morgan from the former hallway as the sorcerer rose into the air. "Come, Aversa. Let me see what you and that rabble around you can truly do. Try to make it interesting if you can, I'd hate to slaughter the lot of you without putting in a modicum of effort."

"You'll find yourself rather hard pressed," Aversa returned as foreign magic whipped around her. Numerous crimson and azure blades formed in the air around her as emerald flames engulfed her for a moment. Then a familiar feeling black and violet aura surrounded her, much closer to inverted light than writhing shadows or darkened fire. Morgan wasn't sure what any of that meant, but it appeared that both she and the sorcerer had caught their second winds and the battle would continue.

---

Emmeryn didn't like having to pick up a sword, not when she hadn't used one since becoming the Exalt. Swords did not fit the carefully cultivated image or ideals she had, if anything they were the diametric opposite to most all things she strived swords. Peace, goodwill and pacifism were the tenets she followed. Today she would be made to break them, if only for a moment. That was what the foe before her said.

In one moment, she and the others following her had nearly reached a safer location for their numbers. Nicola had long vanished and not much later did a rather injured looking Olivia and Lon'qu join their number, bearing information on where the spearman and her sister had gone. Then in the next moment a blonde woman clad in a pure white garb appeared in their midst. She smiled and heads rolled at her feet, the soldiers around her wordlessly decapitated by blades of light magic.

"Greetings, Exalt Ememryn, King Gangrel and Khan Basilio," the woman said, bowing gracefully. "It appears the celebration planned for your talk hasn't quite gone as planned. Why a number of the celebrants appear to have perished or been scattered, while your number seems remarkably composed."

"I must presume that you are behind this," Ememryn asked, ignoring the remark. Anyone could tell that the blonde woman was being overly courteous in a mocking manner. She must have felt that the lives lost were nothing then.

"Indeed, though I must confess that I expected our meeting would be much different. I–" A spear of red and blue lightning lodged itself in her chest, where her heart should have been. She paused, glanced down at the spear then to its source, Gangrel. "How rude. I was attempting to speak."

Emmeryn had never needed to counter spells faster than she did in that moment. Seven spells had gone off simultaneously, each a different method of perforating, incinerating or utterly excising the mad king from the world. She barely managed to catch the last of them, motes of divine light falling towards the heavens for the briefest of moments before she snuffed them out. The brief look of surprise that was schooled into a cocky smile told the Exalt that the red haired man had noticed.

"You would speak of a party then try and take the life of one of its supposed participants," Emmeryn said sternly.

"Ah, but I was simply returning the favor. Is it not customary to return harm done to you sevenfold?" The blonde woman did not wait for a response. "Regardless, I must ask: why do you all appear to be so calm? None of you were taken aback in the slightest when the celebration began, implying the surprise was spoiled or otherwise undermined long before it began. Even now you do not seem to be frightened, though that could simply mean that you are far more lionhearted than others."

Unsurprised indeed. If not for Virion's visit and all of the subsequent planning to counter the assassination attempt, things would have gone far more poorly. The number and tenacity of the assassins hadn't been accounted for, leading to the scattering of the Shepherds and palace guards, but until just a few moments ago things were going fine and within expectations. Robin had proposed informing the leaders of the assassination attempt and postponing the meeting while the Shepherds and guards laid an ambush for the would be killers, but Gangrel insisted and Basilio was already within days of the capital when she gave them the news. One could have called her naïve, but she wasn't fond of letting an assassin near the leaders of neighboring countries—not without warnings and attempts to keep them safe at the bare minimum.

Once the meeting began, each leader accompanied by one in their number, they had discussed the timing of the then predicted attack and how it matched too well with when the meeting would happen. It was then agreed upon that they would all fight against the assassins when they came and return to the meat of the meeting afterwards: peace and cooperation between the three nations against a common foe. The three leaders then had their aides go to spread the information among their number, two messengers having been called to assist in the endeavor shortly before the first wave of assassins reached the audience chamber and other parts of the palace.

The most surprising factor had been how few used tunnels and secret passages or side entrances into the palace. Instead, the brunt of the killers came through multicolored rifts that Emmeryn had very little trouble dispelling, but a much harder time reaching. Each was guarded by a number of better trained assassins or what had to be Risen or Terrors, but where she faltered against such foes, Basilio and Gangrel thrived. Things became easier when Frederick and Phila joined their number with a small platoon of soldiers, though the group also became a much larger target due to their numbers. If not for Frederick and Phila, then the arrival of a second group of Soldiers and two of Gangrel's entourage, a number of them would have died far sooner than when the blonde woman appeared.

They were unsurprised, but not unaffected—Emmeryn wasn't at least. It was harder to tell with Gangrel and his contrarian personality and Basilio was mostly impassive. Something flashed across his face when he saw his daughter and the swordsman limping alongside her, but otherwise he was taciturn and calm. Phila and Frederick were mostly the same, though the latter looked more restless especially considering his charge was nowhere to be seen.

"One of your own was sloppy," the Exalt finally said.

"One of.. Ah, I see. Of course she would do something like that," the blonde woman sighed. "Then I must apologize. A certain trickster works in mysterious and oft unhelpful ways."

Emmeryn frowned. The odd woman before her was hard to read. It was rather clear she wasn't on their side, but she was apologizing. It clearly wasn't from remorse, such a thing would have reflected in her eyes. Instead her citrine eyes were clear, like nothing happening truly bothered her. Even the spear of lightning did not appear to affect her much considering she ignored it as it jutted from her chest. How odd. She was dangerous.

There the voice was once more, but this time it said something she agreed with. The woman before her appeared to be a master of Light Magic, capable of casting spells faster than the eye could see, and she appeared to still be among the living with a pierced heart. The Exalt's eyes flashed violet for a moment and the blonde woman appeared to have a soul—some sort of striped angelic being with alabaster and jet skin and hair the color of molten golden—which undead did not. That knowledge had come to her in the dead of night years ago, when she saw the spirits of her would-be assassins leave their bodies, and was further cemented when the soldiers died. The souls of the dead passed on, vanishing from the world to travel to what resided beyond life. Thus, the woman before her was still among the living, her soul fastened to her body.

"What are you," Emmeryn asked, feeling a faint buzzing in the back of her head.

"I could ask the same of you," the other blonde asked. "You appear to be human, but some part of you is different. It would be a shame to have you die before I can figure that out. Why not surrender yourself and follow me? You would live for far longer that way."

"I must decline. I do not negotiate or follow those presently after my life, amicable temperament or not."

"Very well then..." The blonde woman sighed. Then Ememryn was at work, drawing signs in the air as dozens of spells tried to form in the blink of an eye. Frederick and Phila took that as their cue to strike at the woman, spears at the ready. The Argent Vanguard lunged into a powerful thrust, using a spare spear rather than the damaged one he took from Nicola. The Wing Commander raised her spear and struck out thrice, polearm lashing out like a snake.

The blonde woman simply flowed out of the path of both attacks, gliding back with a dancer's grace as she raised a hand and hummed. Emmeryn felt herself being yanked back abruptly as the air in front of her grew hot then tore, a crimson maw opening then snapping shut where her head had been less than a second prior. The same appeared to have happened with Gangrel, the red haired king snarling in protest as he readied another two toned bolt. Emmeryn didn't have time to think about that, the other blonde was still casting other spells even as that had happened. If she faltered for a single moment, she'd miss enough spells to kill everyone in the room.

Henry and Tharja entered the fray as well, the former summoning a swarm of ravens from his shadow while the latter took the Exalt's side. When more spells were canceled before they could fully form, Emmeryn realized the quieter mage was assisting her. Gangrel hurled his spear through the swarm, the summoned beasts parting like a curtain before descending on the blonde mage, while Basilio held back and watched the chaos unfold. Something snapped in the air as the swarm of birds was eaten, another invisible maw clamping down on them a moment before the lightning spear would have struck. That bought Frederick and Phila enough time to close back in on the other woman, the knight swinging his spear high while the rider ducked into a low sweeping strike. The blonde woman smirked as she flipped over the higher strike, only to be struck head on by Basilio—the large man having hurled the ornamental axe the moment his target was clear of the two spear wielders. As she tumbled through the air, Gangrel gathered lightning into his free hand and fired a twin colored ray at her. Henry conjured violet blades of black magic above the woman, striking her across her back in time for her to take the lightning ray head on and be sent flying through a long shattered wall.

"Right, I was told you lot value teamwork and camaraderie in a battle," the blonde said, dusting herself off as she rose from the assault, vicious and dire wounds covering her body for naught but a moment. Then they were gone as if they had never occurred and her ruined white garb was once more pristine and intact. She hummed. "Your effort was... adequate."

"Adequate," Gangrel coughed. "We've more than enough power to defeat one such as you."

"Perhaps, though only if I play by your rules. Laplace, if you would."

Emmeryn felt a dull pain in the back of her head as the air crackled with power. Small prismatic crackles spread through the air, spider webbing until they made contact with the ground and walls. On contact the cracks became uniform lines, spreading like angular stained glass patterns as an unknown power gathered. Then the air burst, a wave of suffocating black magic crashing into the group as the blonde woman smirked. Emmeryn felt her forehead and eyes burn, feeling her brand flare as her eyes became lavender beacons. Pain erupted as her head began to throb, two forces clashing within her as she glared at the magical pattern.

'Let me in, child.' The cold, inflectionless voice intoned as her eyes strained.

'Resist such temptation, my child.' A warm, motherly voice cut in as her brand felt molten.

'Allow me to end this farce.' The cold voice said more firmly as Emmeryn's vision sharpened and shifted. Rather than sense the growing magic in the air, she could see each individual strand of magic forming the array in the air before her and beyond the flesh of the blonde woman before her. Rather than a human, Manakete or Taguel, she saw a slimy being with mud colored flesh and thin red veins connecting to matching eyes. Then she saw the marble and black angel, with molten gold hair and amber eyes with oddly shaped pupils. The visions shifted and played over one another before stripping away to reveal a human shaped void full of squirming and writhing monsters crushed against one another as they were drawn into a stark white tree with bright blue and gold veins that stretched far beyond the Exalt's field of vision. Then there was a blonde woman clad in the garb of one mourning, impaled by rusted weapons and four spears of blooming divine power atop a ruined tower jutting into a rust red sky.

'Power like that comes at a cost. Do not use it'. The motherly voice stated as her Brand pulsed. The world slowed to a stop and Emmeryn could see the threads of magic unraveling until none were present. Everything resumed a beat later, but differently.

"Laplace, if you would." The words repeated uncannily, but Emmeryn could see the foreign power as it bloomed into being. She reached out quietly and touched it, watching it wither and fade before the prismatic cracks could form in the air. Confusion spread across the blond woman's face as she locked eyes with Emmeryn.

"What did you do," She asked before a calculating look replaced her surprise. "It matters not. Thorn of Destruction."

Emmeryn felt like her skull would split as the chamber filled with pure white spikes, piercing through all but the blonde woman in the chamber. Her body cried out and she barely held onto consciousness as the world reverted a second time, her eyes and brand burning to the point that she felt both would ignite. The spikes retracted back into the ground sluggishly, peeling back layer by layer as they unmade themselves and retracted into the ground. The world continued to move backwards, until it returned to a familiar point.

"Laplace, if you would."

Why was this happening?

'You must choose. Let me in and be done with this, child.'

'Do not. I can guide you, my child. Quickly, before what strength I hold wanes.'

'Follow her and she will return you to this point until your mind shatters and your death is written before your time. I offer you a decisive victory in this moment.'

'She offers death and cold, my child. Victory at a cost you will regret. Do not listen to her. Please.'

'Only I can stop this.' The voices spoke over one another and Emmeryn thought she would die then and there. The two powers raging with her at that moment were too much for her to bear, too much for her to control. Too much too contain, to the point she thought she would burst.

"What did you d—"

Emmeryn heard herself scream and the world faded to white soon after.

---

Chrom wasn't expecting to find Sieg, Aria and several of his companions locked in combat with the cloaked man from the border. He expected less to see them being pushed back. Aria cast shimmering spells the prince could not see, but the white clad figure nimbly avoided them as he deflected heavy blows from Sieg. Virion thought to shoot at the man's blind spots, riding with Stahl as he fired, but even his well placed arrows shattered against the man's cloak before he raked a hand in the duo's direction. Stahl had to throw himself from his horse, pulling Virion with him, as great claw marks ripped through his steed's armor and bones with no resistance.

A small part of the price lamented the loss, it was rather difficult to train war horses to Frederick's standard. The greater part of him was relieved Stahl and Virion managed to escape immediate harm as the white clad warrior glanced Chrom's way.

"Ah, it is you," the man intoned. "I imagined you would be more preoccupied getting yourself killed or maimed than gathering your allies. It appears I was incorrect."

"You've made a grave mistake attacking my home and my allies," the prince bristled, drawing the Falchion as his shoulder burned. Something was wrong here and he needed to get to the bottom of that rather quickly. The white clad warrior was clearly related, but he wasn't the source of that foul presence he felt deeper within the palace.

"Have I? So far, the only ones worth my time have been the impetuous archer and the two foreign warriors fighting by your side," the warrior replied, parrying another blow from Sieg before forcing the black clad swordsman away with a burning swing of his blade. "Do not believe numbers alone can defeat me, prince. You will need skill and last we clashed I found you and your number wanting. Would you care to repeat that?"

The warrior acted as if the near year between their last encounter hadn't given the Shepherds ample time to grow. It was arrogance through and through, but the way the man carried himself had Chrom wary: His rather relaxed and calm stance held no openings or weaknesses the prince could identify. Even the way he parried and avoided sword and sorcery alike gave the prince no insights in regard to openings the man possessed. Instead, he appeared to waste no movement, striking with just enough force and moving just far enough to turn a telling blow into a glancing blow or just out of the path of Aria's spells.

"He's a strong one," Aerie commented, a sharp grin spreading across her face as she pulled back her hair. "And he's right about numbers: it'll be better for most of us to move on while a small group takes him on. Any more than five and we'll get in each other's way."

Chrom had come to the same conclusion. The ruined garden could only hold so many people and several in his group were injured or ailing. Sully couldn't fight while her arm was in its current state and Marth looked like she would double over and lose her stomach at any moment as hail and rain fell. Ricken and Miriel were right out as well, the white clad swordsman would be upon them in moments and Chrom wasn't certain he could keep either of them safe if that happened. The only reason Aria appeared to remain out of harm's way was the fact that she was currently floating on a large orb of green magic, something Chrom wasn't sure either of his magic wielding allies could do. No, as much as he would be in danger it would be better for him to fight with Sieg, Aria and one to two others while the Shepherds and Marth moved to regroup with the remaining Shepherds and his sisters—whichever came first.

"Stahl, lead the others to safety and regroup with any Shepherds or leaders you encounter," Chrom called over the wind as it whipped around him. The storm was growing worse and the night was far from over.

"But—"

"That's an order, Stahl. I'll need one or two of you to stay with me, the rest of you need to go, especially if you're injured or ailing."

Marth looked as if she wanted to protest, but Lillisette shook her head in response.

"Go, you'll fight at his side another day. You're needed elsewhere," the cloaked clad girl replied. "I'll make sure he makes it back so you can."

"You'd better not get yourself killed, Lilli," Marth growled, one hand covering her left eye.

"You won't get rid of me so quickly, Marth," she replied. There was a great deal that went unsaid in that exchange, but Chrom had other things to worry about. Namely, whether or not the white clad man would attack while they planned. Surprisingly, he did not. Instead he waited, dull red eyes watching quietly.

"I can stay," Ricken offered.

"You will not," Miriel interjected. "He is a foe beyond either of us. It is more suitable that we go and hone our crafts further still before we attempt such an engagement."

"But..."

"Prince Chrom is not one to throw his life away," the red haired woman scolded. "You would do well to follow in his example, now come along."

"I'll keep him and the others safe," Aerie proclaimed, rolling her shoulders. "You all get out of here before our foe decides the time to be chivalrous is over."

There wasn't much protest beyond that and soon, the five remaining warriors stood before the white clad warrior.

"Then you truly are resolved to face me," he sighed as he addressed Chrom. "I can only hope you've grown a great deal."

"Underestimate me at your own peril," the prince returned. Rather than reply with words, the white clad man appeared before the prince midswing. Chrom blocked the heavy blow and felt his arms ring as the Falchion met the other man's blade head on. Sieg appeared at his side, slashing at the man's as Aria changed something in the air with a gesture. Then Aerie lunged forward, one hand clad in white flames that vaporized the rain as Lillisette appeared to materialize in the white clad man's blind spot.

"Slow," he breathed, shifting the Falchion into Sieg's path as he pivoted past Lillisette's strike and pushed the cloaked girl into Aerie's path. When the plum haired woman slowed to avoid her ally, the white clad man went for a slash across her back. An abrupt sidestep from Sieg had the black clad swordsman intercepting the blow rather than catching the Falchion, giving Chrom the chance to lunge forward, feeling his brand pulse. Blue flames gathered at the tip of the Falchion before he struck, the power of Sol flowing through the blade as it... was caught?

The white clad warrior attempted to wrench the blade from Chrom's hands, but the prince held firm, enough for Aerie to land a heavy kick to the man's side and send him skidding back. Lillisette was upon him in that same moment, her greatsword flashing as she met one of the warrior's blows with one of her own. A loud ringing filled the air as Chrom charged forward, Sieg darting past him with his larger blade. The prince felt the whipping wind stir into a frenzy then push along his back as he leapt into the air and spun, the Falchion once more clad in blue flames.

"Take this," the prince roared, voice booming in the storm as he brought the sacred blade down on the warrior as Sieg ripped his sword upwards, revealing white and gold armor beneath the figure's white cloak. The man hardly grunted as a molten line of metal ran down his armor.

"You have improved somewhat," he remarked. "But if Sol is all you can use, you've much to learn."

Chrom took that as his warning to move away, as did Lillisette and the black clad swordsman. When the white clad warrior's blade took on an eerie blue glow, Chrom knew something dangerous was afoot. Sieg appeared to recognize the technique, cursing under his breath.

"Don't let him hit you directly," he warned, allowing violet light to engulf his own blade. "Sacred sword or not, he'll cleave through you like a knife through butter if he connects."

"Luna," the cloaked girl beside him intoned, her own blade taking on the same glow as Aerie conjured a ring of light spears overhead.

"Come," the swordsman beckoned, raising his blade with one hand. The other hand burned with matching blue flames. "Show me how much you've grown, prince."

Chrom covered the distance in a flash, whirling into a high slash as Lillistte made a low cut, stepping from out from his side as the weapons formed a cross in the air. A crushing slash from the white armored warrior sent them both tumbling back. Chrom regained his footing quickly, but Lillisette was nowhere to be seen. The cloaked woman was more than likely biding her time in the shadows. At the same time Sieg unleashed a crescent of violet light towards the warrior while Aerie fired a number of her spears at him, both attacks meeting a wall of blue flame. The Falchion pulsed in Chrom's hands again, almost as if excited by the flames. That could have meant many things, but Chrom wasn't daft enough to believe they weren't the blade reacting to the fire.

"I've no idea what you mean, but I'll give it a try," he muttered, rushing toward the flames as the Falchion gleamed. The wall of blue flames was drawn into the blade, spiraling into the opening in its guard, in time form Chrom to he a glowing blue blade cutting towards his eyes. He deftly ducked, avoiding a swift demise as the warrior's blade cut through the rain. The palm to the chest was a different story.

Chrom felt his ribs crack as he was blasted away from the warrior, any air in his lungs forced out from the strength of the blow. He grit his teeth, stifling a wince as flames burned around the entire length of his sacred blade. He closed the distance between himself and the white clad warrior a second time, bringing his burning sword down on the warrior's glowing blade in a rough clash. His footwork was off and he felt strength leave him as he took a shuddering breath, but then Lillisette appeared, reinforcing the Falchion with her own blade. That brought both sides to a near stalemate as the warrior slowly pushed the duo back. Sieg arrived at that moment, adding his own blade to the duo's. The combined strength of the trio was enough to halt the other warrior's blade, but not enough to push him back. That power came from a wind clad Aerie, who surrounded the trio in gold and blue feathers. At once Chrom felt his power surge, his brand flaring with power as the flames on the Falchion grew too bright to look at. The light around Sieg's blade became so bright it nearly looked white while feathers danced along Lillisette's. With a unified shout, the group was able to push the warrior back, enough for blue flames to gather on his sword, wreathing it in burning blue light.

"Stay back, I'll handle this," Aerie barked, a white aura overtaking her as she entered an odd stance eerily familiar to the one Nicola used. With a second glance, Chrom recognized it as the exact stance Nicola used, hands flowing through the air like water as they made gentle circles.

"Fell," the white clad warrior graveled, thundering forth as a shockwave detonated behind him. "Aether!" He brought the sword down on Aerie, the flaming light around it solidifying to a blade of inky dark light just before it reached her.

"Warding Breath," the plum haired woman roared in return, her voice taking on a booming echoing quality as she used one hand to turn the blade and nudge it away from her. With the other hand she struck the knight in the chest, forcing him away as gold and green tinted light spiraled from her open palm.

"This ends here! Edge of Fate!" Sieg called out, jetting forward surrounded by a shell of wind. His malevolent blade burned white behind him as he threw himself skyward. The light surrounding the blade burned brighter still, extending into swirling mass in the sky before the black clad man swept it downward, cleaving through the other warrior's location.

"Prince Chrom, with me," Lillisette called as she offered her hand. When he took it he felt something click within him. Something between him and the cloaked girl resonated for the briefest of moments as the Falchion gleamed in the night sky. Particles of light fell from the moon and onto the blade as a faint blue aura surrounded the blade. The aura grew more and more intense as Lillisette raised her own blade, its light being pulled into the Falchion until the sacred blade was as bright as the moon shining in full.

She was giving him her own power, the prince realized belatedly as the cloaked girl sagged. He would need to end this, but he wasn't exactly sure how. The power in the Falchion was one he hadn't used and he could already feel it dissipating.

"Allow me," another voice breathed, Aria floating to his side as Aerie hopped back. "The power of Luna comes from a still heart while the power of Sol comes from one bursting with desire or will. Calm yourself and guide your blade."

"He's not quite there," Aerie panted, hands smoking and cracked. She offered a weak smile when she realized Chrom was looking at them. "Don't worry about me. Keep yourself focused for now. I'll guide your power this time around. It'll be on you in the future though."

He nodded. He needed to be calm and focused. That wasn't something that came easy to him, especially not when lives were at stake. Fire was in his blood and to tell him to focus was like pulling teeth. Thus he thought of something else. A still lake was calm and quiet. When nothing disturbed its surface, once could even use it as a mirror. It was different from the sea, where beauty and danger went hand in hand and stillness was foreign. A still lake was placid and peaceful, enough for him to visualize that and focus.

He felt a soft pair of hands wrap around his own as the world grew silent. When Chrom opened his eyes he saw the world had turned grey save for himself and Aerie who stood at his back. He felt her sigh, a tickling breath along his back as golden and blue feathers formed in the air, each floating upwards as they gathered around the moonbright blade. The power it held was stable and frozen like the rest of the world, grey and unmoving.

"When I give the signal, bring the blade down with all your might," Aerie half whispered. "Just keep focus and I'll handle the rest."

"Right." Chrom nodded, a small part of him all too aware of how close the plum haired woman was pressing to him. He silenced those thoughts, focusing on the blade until color returned to the world.

"Now!"

With a mighty shout, Chrom brought down the Falchion. A thin blade of gold and blue light extended far past the weapon's edge, digging into the earth as it cut cleanly through stone. A trail of golden feathers followed, fading away as rain and hail touched them. It should have cut clean through the white clad warrior, but instead encountered resistance in the form of another technique.

"Eclipse," the figure breathed as the remains of his cloak tore away, revealing porcelain pale skin and faded blue hair with black tips sporting a black iron crown with thin metal spokes. The figure raised his blade as the rain ceased abruptly. The moon vanished, obscured by a deep shadow as the white clad warrior's blade faded black and extended high into the sky. His armor soon followed, fading from pristine white to a dull ebony as ephemeral blue embers burned in the air. The figure swung his blade, meeting the gold and blue blade. The blades of magic rebounded and shattered, thousands of shards of multicolored light entwined with burning motes of darkness as the sky took on a sickly green tinted rain fell as the sky rumbled and lightning struck the ground between Chrom and the white clad figure.

Then the lightning froze, trapped in place as the figure raised his sword.

"You are yet wanting, prince," the figure sighed as if he was disappointed. Anger bubbled in the prince's belly and he surged towards the warrior before he realized how wrong the world truly was. He was moving, but it was as if he was underwater. Slow and sluggish were his steps as the black clad swordsman drew his blade back into a familiar stance, one Chrom hadn't seen since— "Ad astra."

The figure swung his blade and a green line parted the rain. Chrom blocked the line of light just as it found him, then felt two others cut across him. The left side of his chest and his legs burned as the light cut across them, three more racing towards him as his stance finally buckled. Before they could reach him in full three figures intercepted each one. Aerie blocked one, deep cuts forming across her arms and chest as she grunted. Lillisette met the second head on, managing to knock the line away as her sword flashed the same color. Sieg caught the last of the trio, near black blood spilling from his palm as the green line took on a ghastly blue shade. With a deep breath he sent it back to its source.

"Your allies are your strength at this point," the figure chided, cleaving the line in two. "But you cannot always rely on them."

Then he was behind Lillisette, blade cutting across the cloaked girl's back as he faded from view. Less that a heartbeat later he was kicking Sieg away, sending the black clad swordsman into his cloaked companion before he vanished a second time. Another slash raced towards Aerie's throat, but Chrom managed to intercept the strike with the last of his strength. That sent the both of them reeling as Lillisette collapsed in a heap, blood pooling beneath her as the figure reappeared a third time, blade covered in black flames.

"Eclipse."

The deathly blade fell once more and Chrom expected everything to end at that moment. The now black clad warrior had been toying with them the entire time and he finally played his true hand in this moment. Perhaps the harshest thing was that in the face of overwhelming might, he was lacking. He was skilled and he knew how to fight as easily as he breathed, but even with his companions around him the warrior before them was too much.

"Your death is not yet ordained." Sieg stood before the blade, blocking the blade of darkness with his own. He strained beneath the weight of the blade, pushed to a knee as he shouted. "Aria, now!"

"You will not prevail here," the cloaked woman said, metal colored hair whipping in the wind as she appeared at the once white clade man's side. Magic gathered in her hands, eventually shaping into a violet sphere that roared and howled like a tempest. "Ífingr."

The woman released the spell, catching the adversarial swordsman within it as it expanded from a palm sized sphere to one larger than a person as it raced past. The sphere traveled further and further, growing as large as a small building before it ruptured. Violet particles fell as the mage immediately moved to Lillisette's side once no signs of their adversary were present.

"Al– Sieg, Chrom, she'll need immediate treatment if she's going to make it through the night," the silver haired woman said matter-of-factly. "I can give her just enough treatment to move her, but–"

"Save your strength, Aria," the black clad swordsman commanded. "I'll take care of her while you rest. Chrom, Aerie, can you move."

"I'll need some to heal off these injuries and restore my energy, but yeah," Aerie nodded, her blackened palms and deep cuts already knitting themselves closed as the prince watched in grim fascination.

"I'll be a bit slow, but I can force myself," Chrom said instead.

"You will not." "You cannot afford to injure yourself further." "Not on my watch you won't." Three different replies came as Sieg placed a gauntlet clad hand over Lillistte's wound.

"Thankfully, his blade wasn't still under the effects of Luna or I wouldn't be able to salvage this," he remarked, palm glowing with ghostly blue light then pale white light. "I may not be as versed as Kiran in this, but I can do this much." He took a deep breath.

"I call upon the power of light, the power of life, the vital flame that burns within all that live and the faint spark that still dwells here. Answer the prayer of one who would reforge an oath to light and fight to protect rather than destroy, to preserve rather than ruin, of one who is blade and bulwark both. Beyond the confines of this world I call upon, the Light's Blessing."

As Sieg spoke, the light in his palm grew more intense, violet colored petals blooming around Lillisette as the great wound to her back sealed itself. The flowers withered and died as the light faded, only to bloom brilliantly as something flared within the castle. Chrom felt his heart seize for a moment as another thing flared within the castle, something like a portent of something terrible and a form of resonance as Sieg's armor took on a golden coloration for a few moments. His hair grew brighter and the red tips became golden blonde in that moment as Aria placed a hand on his shoulder. For the briefest of moments Chrom thought he saw two younger figures, a white clad Sieg that looked perhaps a year or two older than Ricken and young Aria clad in robes who looked just younger than the prodigal mage.

When the prince blinked the vision was gone, the golden glow around Sieg having faded. Lillisette looked alive to say the least, but he couldn't tell anything past that while her cloak remained. For now, he would need to trust Sieg's work and get her to a healer as soon as possible. If Lissa or Ememryn could be found, that would be even better. His family would be together at that point, but it would also guarantee that two of the most competent healers he knew would be available—if not to heal the injured themselves, then to direct others efficiently on what needed to be done. Until then, his pain could wait. He only hoped his sisters were fine.

As a wing of the castle collapsed in on itself and vanished and that odd seizing sensation returned, his hope became worry. He—they—needed to move quickly or something terrible would happen soon.

The burning azure pillar that pierced the sky soon after told him he was, unfortunately, correct.

---

Maribelle couldn't see beyond the confines of the gilded cage. Truthfully, she couldn't see at all, the unnatural dark clouding her prison left her lost in a haze, more than the magic dulling her senses and the delirium she felt. She knew two people were outside the cage... or was it three? Regardless, she could feel them as their words came sounded like an unintelligible babble to her in her addled state. Perhaps her kidnappers were ready to kill her? The leader of the bunch—was her name Luna or Luka or something else entirely—had been rather clear that they would if she was not rescued. Yet no one needed to care about her that much, not when something critical was at stake. She could not remember what in the slightest.

The mesh of sound overlapping grew louder as something was withdrawn and stark white light hit her. Her eyes closed instinctively as something between a hiss and a gurgle left her lips. When her eyes opened, she saw a familiar face. A girl with bright blonde hair and emerald eyes that normally glowed with bright affection. Worry filled them as she tried to recall a name. Lenna? Lisse? Liza?

Lissa. The name came sharp and hot like a heated knife through her breast, the haze in her thoughts brushing away after what felt like a moment. It may as well have been an eternity.

She saw Lissa for a moment, the blonde princess on a knee across the gaudy chamber, while another blonde figure stood outside. No, not standing. Standing implied she was immobile, rather than dancing like lightning as she struck out against a figure wreathed in lilac and cobalt flames. It took her a moment to realize that was Nicola, his normally dark and calming aura ignited in some form of frenzy she'd never seen from him. He hadn't been this angry in Nomos and he'd been rather livid through the ruins of the duchy.

Jagged blades of interlocked shadows erupted from the ground like flames, but the blonde fighter weaved through them as she flew towards the green haired man. Lightning cracked as she struck him, sending the man reeling before he righted himself in the air. Maribelle couldn't hear the sound he made before he vanished, sending the blonde woman hurling through the room like a star with a devastating kick as burning replicas of him formed. Twin spears of flame streaked through the sky, but the blonde—Vajra— conjured two of her own and struck them out of the sky with little effort.

"Is that your best," she mocked, conjuring orb after orb of crimson lightning with a single gesture. With a flick of her wrist they all flew towards Lissa, forcing Nicola to vanish once more. The spearman reappeared, wrapping an arm around Lissa's waist before he tossed her away from the barrage of spells just as they reached him. The aura around him raged then swirled, growing into a brighter and brighter until they became an incandescent inferno. Then all at once they subsided, replaced by black and cobalt lightning streaking around him.

He said something and Maribelle felt her ears ring as something changed and the world grew bright. When the world dimmed again, Lissa had neared her cage as Nicola fought outside the room. From the way he appeared to be slowing, he'd taken some form of injury. She didn't have time to worry about that as her memory cleared further, shaking her head with what strength she had.

"Maribelle, I'll save you," Lissa began, but the older woman frantically cried out.

"It's a trap, stay back!" No sooner had she said that did she hear something click. Surprise became dread as the floor split apart, revealing a sea of blade just as the ceiling changed in a similar fashion. Blades closed in quickly, promising a quick death to everyone in the room.

Then this would be how her tale ended. Not as one who would reform halidom law or as lover of the Ylissean princess, but cut to ribbons. It was fitting perhaps. Even if Lissa had managed to remove her from the cage, she wouldn't have been able to walk. Maribelle hadn't been able to feel her legs for all that she knew they were still attached. In some last thought of cruelty Vajra had her tendons cut at her ankle, preventing the noblewoman from walking even if she was freed. Then the trap would have been sprung and the same result reached.

A million words raced through her mind as the blades closed in, none she had time to say before everything went dark. She didn't expect to come to again, let alone to the sound of someone straining above her. Yet when she opened her eyes, Nicola stood, hunched overhead.

Long blades pierced through his limbs and chest as dark red blood poured from him in streams. His eyes blazed and flickered, burning through an ethereal blue and earthen brown as writhing shadows held the remaining blades back.

"N-not on my watch," he wheezed, hacking dark blood onto the floor of the gilded cage "If-if I'm g-good for any... thing, it'll be s-s-saving you, M-mari."

The pet name sounded odd from him as he struggled to breathe, his dark dark stained with far more blood than he should have had. His scarf was in tatters and his tunic barely held together from the numerous blades jutting out of it.

"Why?" She couldn't help the question, it came faster than asking where Lissa was. Why would he sacrifice his life for her when there were more important people to save? Surely he could have saved Lissa and escaped. That would have been better than seeing the life drain from him as he struggled to remain upright.

"Lissa would be... broken if you died. She would mourn me, but move on if I died."

Foolish, heroic words that had no concept of self preservation in them. Who was he to make that choice, to save her when she'd consigned herself to her own fate? A true fool, an oaf. One who made her heart stir, even if he didn't realize it.

He did not love her, not beyond his odd stance on friendship, but some part of her had grown to love him. He'd always annoyed her, irritated her and fought with her, but he had also helped save her duchy and fought by her side many times. He'd even saved her life, for all that he believed that meant nothing. To him it truly did not, saving others seemed ingrained into him, much to her chagrin. She hadn't even noticed when she began to care for him, only realizing it during the banquet, when her peers insulted him behind his back. It had taken much of her self control to prevent herself from striking them then and there, the indignation she felt ran bright and hot. Then he'd spoken to her and her father, the latter conversation she overheard by virtue of being nearby.

He did not love her, not as a lover would. Yet she loved him and Lissa near equally. It hurt her heart, but she pushed all of that down and buried it deep within herself. Those feelings nearly sprang forth when he'd teased her and made amends in the same moment. If she had spoken up then would things have changed?

"You fool," she finally said, straining to raise herself from the chair she'd all but been bound to. "I wish you had never come. If not for that, I could have died with few regrets."

The noblewoman gave him no time to reply, kissing him at that moment. They would both die here, she thought as the shadows strained and snapped. Soon, what strength the spearman had would fail and they would both be slain. What unfortunate foolishness.

"You should have protected Lissa, I was beyond saving."

"She's still s-safe," He managed.

She wasn't sure when she began to cry, only feeling her eyes burn and blur as her legs shook. Her own strength would soon leave her, but she would not let herself fall. It was pride and stubborn will in one that had her wrap her arms around what she could of the spearman's shoulders, feeling her dressed sleeves fall to ribbons as they brushed past all too sharp blades. She locked eyes with him, seeing the sight leave them as he spoke for what should have been the final time.

"I... contest... this fate."

She didn't see his blood brighten as it pooled beneath them, going from dull red to a bright glowing blue. Her own eyes closed as his eyes burned bright like pyres. She did not see his hair fall past his shoulders and below his chest. Instead, she felt the heat as the collapsing chamber began to glow, burning embers of shadow slowly filling the chamber. Then warmth was all she felt as the world truly faded.

---

In the dark there was once a box kept by twin wardens, only now both wardens were near dead and no one was left to keep it sealed. As everything resembling a seal was snapped and shattered, the world was bathed in azure light.

---

A/N: The next part will be where a great deal of these scenes will reach their end, but the main focus will be the lead up to the final two scenes and what happens next. Beyond that, not much else to say.

If you enjoyed this chapter and want to see things from other writers, consider visiting the Fanfiction Treehouse Discord Server (9XG3U7a). There are plenty of authors more talented than myself and you don't need to be a writer to join or anything like that. The community is also pretty active and comfy. Regardless of that, thank you for reading thus far and have a wonderful day or evening.