REAWAKENING

Morgan had adored silence. In Ylisstol, when it still stood, silence had been her greatest comfort. Even amongst others, when she'd sat around campfires with Lucina and Nah during their hunting excursions while there were still animals to be hunted, she enjoyed listening to conversation instead of partaking in it. Enjoyed observing.

The silence in the warehouse was different. Claude ambled about in some distant corner of it, looking through one of the few opened crates amongst the many. Hilda stood beside him, as she had for the past half hour, her back to Morgan. They were whispering about something, though Morgan's position on the opposite side of the building, near the exit, meant she couldn't actually hear what they were saying for once. That said, Morgan was certain Claude was informing her of the sheer amount of information she'd just unloaded onto both him and Cichol.

The Fire Emblem. What it did. What it could, theoretically, do again. If only with the correct preparations and a great deal of luck.

She hated the silence here. Hated the distant, mechanical whirring that echoed into the air from unseen places. Hated that low rumble of muffled conversation that ran throughout the city. Hated the fear hidden in every word.

'…too much of a good thing, isn't, I suppose,' came another of her traitorous thoughts.

Though she'd turned to inspect the strange door of the warehouse's entrance, she still heard the pair of approaching footsteps as they neared. She glanced over her shoulder and, sure enough, Claude had come back to her holding an old, cloudy bottle of rose-hued liquid and two tin goblets. Hilda stood just beside him, hands curled beneath her bulging stomach and a million unasked questions written on her features.

"Adrestian brandy. Aged for… fuck if I know," Claude said, half absentmindedly, as he walked to the right of her. He sat the three items atop one of the larger nearby metal crates, then pulled up three smaller ones in a circle around it. He sat on one, then patted the other on his right. Hilda moved to sit on the one to his left. "Sit. We don't usually crack open the good stuff, but it sort of feels like there's not gonna be a better opportunity."

Morgan snorted flatly and waved a hand, though she still moved to sit next to him. "Then you'll be pleased to know that you may have it all to yourself. The medical researchers in Ylisse found that liquor has negative impacts on those still… maturing…"

Morgan paused, her lips thinning into a line. Eyes shifting downward, they settled on her lap.

Claude remained silent, for a moment. Sighed. Then the sound of liquid being poured filled the space around them.

One of the tin goblets slid into her periphery.

"…How old were you when it… when it happened?"

Morgan was only half surprised to hear that Hilda had asked the question. Her voice soft and surprisingly gentle. Not that it helped the raging war of emotions in her heart. Without much thought, she reached to take hold of the goblet. Brought it to settle into her lap where her eyes could peer down at her startlingly unfamiliar reflection within the ambered liquid.

"…seventeen," she eventually replied, scabbed fingers tightening around the cup. She could smell the acrid aroma, oh-so-similar to the scent she'd dreamed of for millennia. "My… father was strict, though. Not that I minded at the time. Liquor felt as if it was too great a risk for far too small a reward."

The silence returned for a moment. Only a moment. Then Claude quietly reached over and clacked his goblet against hers. The suddenness of it almost made her spill, and a single drop managed to slip away from her. It made up another of the many stains on her white pants.

When she looked up to shoot a glare his way, though, he was smiling in a way that made her heart ache.

He raised his goblet a bit into the air. "For first times, yeah? And, hopefully, more to come."

Morgan stared, snorted quietly, then raised her goblet alongside his. Then, with a soft frown, she brought the cup to her lips to take a tiny sip. It burned on the way down, only the slightest hint of sweetness to accompany it. It wasn't enough to knock the air out of her, but it was far stronger than she'd been expecting.

Still…

"…not bad," she murmured.

Claude laughed, then leaned to bump his shoulder against hers. Hilda, meanwhile, leveled a glare at him that could've wilted a field of flowers. "Not bad, she says! Twenty years ago, any Adrestian noble worth his salt would've had you hung for saying that. This brandy's probably worth more than some castles were back then, at this point," Said Claude.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, darling," Hilda spoke the word like a threat. Morgan didn't fail to notice the way Claude stiffened in response, his smile going taut. "Don't think I don't remember asking you to open this back before you knocked me up. But no, I wasn't important enough."

That familiar sense of unease, discomfort, returned to Morgan as the pair beside her descended into a mostly joking marital spat. She hid it behind another sip of her brandy. Then another. It burned less and less with each sip.

She tuned the rest of the conversation out.

Eventually, silence returned to the trio once again. By the time it had, her goblet had been drained halfway and a pleasant buzz had begun to thrum in the back of her mind. Not enough to impair her thoughts. It was… nice. It drowned out the constant rushing of blood in her ears.

"…y'know," Claude eventually began, calling her back to reality as he turned towards her, "I… really want to put faith in what you said, Morgan. I do. Goddess knows I've lived through stranger things than hearing about an artefact that can turn back time. But you said that it'd already served its purpose, didn't you?" She could feel his eyes on her, though her gaze remained locked with her reflection in her drink. "Now, I could be wrong, but… Two things. First: you're still here. I've read plenty of books. Time travel isn't exactly a new idea in cheap fiction. If it… worked, then shouldn't you be different? Not here? If your friends fixed everything, then there shouldn't have been a reason for you to protect them. Shouldn't have been a reason for you to even know about this at all."

Morgan winced, her eyes shifting further rightward until she couldn't see Claude at all. They focused on a sliver of light that shone through the crack between the warehouse's main exit. Try as she might, it took her a while to think of a way to answer. In the moments that it did, she could still feel Claude's intent, questioning stare continue to linger upon her shoulders.

"I… do not wish to give you false hope, Claude," She murmured after those moments had passed, "Naga was not forthcoming in her explanation of the rite. She was… vague, in those ways. Even amongst the manaketes that could converse with her… even with her daughter, she only ever gave enough information to put others upon the path they needed to be on. Never more than that. The most she ever truly told us was that the rite would 'return us to a time when Archanea could still be saved.'" She finally forced her gaze to twist back towards Claude. To match his conflicted stare. "Best as I can surmise? The most… explanatory answer is that they were not sent back to the past. Not ours, at least. They were sent either to the past of another timeline, or to the same time in a timeline wherein it'd taken longer to reach the same point." She shrugged helplessly, then drowned her worry in another sip of brandy. Ignored the wriggling whisper in the back of her mind that suggested they might have simply failed the rite. Or that they might have ceased to be, fodder for a trap meant to lure in and erase Grima. "…she is silent now. My connection to her has been severed. I did not even dream of her, not that I can recall. There will be no way to ask her, but that does not mean we should ignore the chance that it may still work."

"Then… what about us? What about everyone here?" Hilda's voice was quiet, pleading. Hopeful in a way that hurt Morgan's heart. Made it continue to ache. "If we do this… We're gonna have to go all in." She glanced at Claude, then focused on Morgan in a similar way. Reluctant hope. A familiar expression to see upon the faces of others. "You said that the, uh… Emblem, or whatever, didn't have enough magic left to-"

"That was my second poi-"

"Didn't have enough magic left to do it again. I don't really… do magic, but wouldn't it need, like… a lot? There are a few people that studied Reason here, one or two priests, but most of the more learned people fought in the war until it ended." Hilda's lips pursed, "…There are about a hundred and fifty people in Cathay. Less than twenty are any good with magic. Lysithea's the best at it, but…"

Hilda didn't finish, and she certainly didn't voice anything Morgan hadn't already thought about. Even still, it brought back that rush of thought that accompanied her initial revelation. She shut her eyes, focusing. The growing buzz in the back of her mind made it difficult, but if she could center her mind enough, then maybe...

She paused. Something in the air hit her nose, far fainter than the acrid hue that the scent of brandy carried. Stronger than the too-distant, barely there smell of cherry blossoms that the Emblem carried.

Ozone. Close. She opened her eyes as she turned to face it, only to find that her they met the sight of those grand, steel doors that she'd first entered through. As with everything else in the city, a faint teal light ran through them in angular lines.

She raised a finger to point at it.

"Hilda," She began, brow furrowed, "When you opened those doors, did you do it by hand?"

The woman in question laughed almost immediately. "What?! Are you insane?! Goddess, I don't even think Dimitri could've done that!"

Claude tapped Morgan's shoulder, then pointed off towards a small, square light that flickered on the wall beside the doors. "That button opens them. Any particular reason that you're interested?"

Morgan hummed lightly, then glanced back over at Claude. "Do you know how it does?"

Claude shrugged as Hilda continued to laugh. "We… have ideas, I guess? Agarthan technology is weird. We've gotten to the point where we know how to use it, had to, but that doesn't mean we understand it. There's this, uh… thing that all the lights go to, though?"

Morgan nodded, downed the small amount of brandy that remained in her goblet, then stood. "Show me."

Ten minutes of walking past more quiet throngs of people and numerous other strange buildings, and Claude had led both her and Hilda to a large alcove that'd been directly opposite the side of the city the medical tents had been.

Morgan stared up at the utterly disgusting machine within it. At the huge, cylindrical container made entirely of metal. It was four times the size of even her dragon form, and it stood almost tall enough to touch the cavern's ceiling. The awful stench of burned hair and charred ozone suffused the air around her, and she had to forcefully steady her breathing, lest she begin to retch.

"…you, uh… you okay there, Morgan?" Called Hilda's unusually gentle voice.

"Can- Can you not… not smell that? Sense it?" She choked out, averting her eyes entirely from the monstrosity. It didn't help.

"…Uh, not really?" Said Claude, voice laced with confusion.

Morgan shuddered, then wrapped her arms around her stomach. The blood roaring in her ears grew with each passing second. "It's magic. Mana. All of it. This… this thing is pulling all of the mana out of the stone and the air in the holes in the ceiling. Consuming it. Storing it. But… it's- it's wrong. The Emblem was never like this, and it had ten times the amount this thing does. I-" Her breath hitched, and she rushed to hold a hand to her mouth. Her other hand wrapped further around her stomach, and she turned to run back towards the exit of the alcove.

As soon as she turned the corner, the stench in the air and the stinging behind her eyes began to fade. Even still, she couldn't stop herself from retching. Not that she had any food to expel.

Absentmindedly, she realized that someone was running their hand along her back. It took another three minutes of dry heaving to realize that it was Hilda.

"That bad?" Claude's voice barely registered above the rushing of her blood, but she managed to nod nonetheless. "Huh. You said you smelled it? You can smell magic?"

Morgan fought back another violent twitch of her stomach, then moved to wipe the spit away from her mouth as she nodded. "I- Well, most-" She bit her cheek, then took a deep breath through her nose. "… most of the people who studied it in Ylisse could see it to some degree. In different ways. Father taught me the rudimentary fundamentals of magic, and I can… can sense it when it's gathered in large amounts." She shook her head, then stood to her full height. "And that was a large amount. Magic that did not want to be forced together. Naga, one wrong spell and that thing might explode and bury the whole city."

Claude blinked slowly, then glanced back in the container's direction. "…shit."

"Oh Claude," Hilda muttered, voice warbling in a clear attempt to beat back the fear it held, "You always know what I want to say."

Morgan didn't dare to turn back around to face the container's direction again. She still had to focus to keep her breath in check. "…that aside," She muttered, "There is some good news."

"Could've fooled me," Claude muttered.

Morgan continued to gnaw on the scarred portion of skin inside her cheek. Had to force herself to keep her fingers from moving to the stone that adorned her necklace. She was too afraid that the magic within would be enough to set off the container's contents. "There is… without a shadow of a doubt, a chance that a larger one of these could fill the Emblem up entirely. …assuming that someone could channel it without destroying everything within ten thousand paces. Though they'd have to be… frankly? A savant with magic. This is beyond me, and the smartest man I've ever known taught me."

Out of the corner of her eye, Morgan caught Claude glance at Hilda.

"…how much larger?" asked Claude.

Morgan shrugged, then brought her scabbed fingers to scratch at her itching scalp. "Ten times larger? Less might work, but… magic is a science of non-sequiturs. Not like arithmetic. There's no way to predict what might change if we don't match everything perfectly. Something will change, of course. The rite might not reach as far back in time, or it might go too far, or it might not accept as many people, or…" She grimaced, "…in the absolute worst of cases, it may not work at all. Well... actually, in the worst case, it might send the entire world back."

Claude nodded, ignoring her last comment, then turned back towards Hilda. "Do you… think she could do it?" His voice was hushed, barely above a whisper. And still, Morgan heard. She always did.

"…you visit her every day, Claude. You'd know better than I would."

"You know I only go when she's asleep."

Hilda sighed, "…well, you're gonna have to ask her then. No way around it."

"C'mon, Hilda. Can't-"

"While I appreciate you taking care to not overwhelm me," Morgan cut through, only risking the most furtive of glances in their direction, "I'd very much appreciate it if we could have this conversation elsewhere. Or if you could. I'd like to move as far away from that... thing as possible, thank you."

Claude paused, then nodded as Morgan turned back away. "Uh… Right. Sure. It's been a long day for you, hasn't it?"

"What he means to say," Hilda butted in, "Is that we'll get you situated as far away from that thing as possible. A few of the medical tents are empty. You seem like you're used to sleeping in those. Want one?"

Morgan could only nod.

Morgan wept. Sobbed. Screamed. Not once in her life had she shed so large an amount of tears, and never would she again. She could feel herself breaking apart at the seams. Feel the first of those unfamiliar, honey-sweet words as they wriggled in the base of her neck.

Lucina held her, and she did nothing else. Could do nothing else. Morgan knew it, but she could not stop the foreign thoughts from invading her mind. From compelling her to hate the exalt's niece for it.

Morgan did not know how long she cried. Long enough for the sun to fall beneath the horizon. Long enough for the stars to shine in the sky. Long enough for her tears to run dry, for her lips and tongue to swell with dehydration, for her voice to dip two shades lower from how raw she'd run it.

"I'm going to kill him," She whispered. She didn't know why she'd said it aloud. Didn't know who she'd wanted to hear it. But it echoed still across the small space of her sparse room in Castle Ylisstol. Buried itself in the books on the shelf across from her.

Lucina sighed, finally breaking her stone-still embrace. She brought a hand to tangle in the mess that was Morgan's hair, gently twisting her fingers into the curls of it. "…there is nothing I can say that will make this any easier, Morgan," she whispered against the manakete's forehead. "Nothing to- to…" Lucina's breath hitched. Went silent. She angled her face so that Morgan couldn't see.

Morgan hated how old the twelve-year-old that held her looked. Hated how she could sit silently, immutable, while Morgan could not hold herself together. Hated how much stronger Lucina was. Hated how much easier she'd handled the same tragedy. The tragedy of losing a parent to the same man, in the same hour, in the same place. Hated it, hated it with every fiber of her being. She bit down on her cheek.

"Get. Out," Morgan hissed as her blood continued to roar in her ears, wrapping her fingers around Lucina's wrists as she did. As skilled as the young woman was, as much as she was more emotionally sound, Morgan was physically stronger. Strong enough to extricate herself entirely from Lucina's embrace.

Lucina stumbled back, eyes wide and consumed by shock. "What? Morgan, I-"

Morgan lurched upward from her position on her bed, then stomped towards her door. Fingers curled around its metal handle, then tugged it open. In the process, the handle detached in her hand. "OUT!" She could feel her pupils constricting into slits, could feel her features sharpening. Her necklace thrummed against her chest.

"Morg-"

Morgan ran a finger along the spine of the book bound at her waist, felt the magic within it flow with her call. In moments, the wind within the room began to churn. Began to writhe around her. Lucina stared on at her in shock, unable to stop the tears from prickling and welling at the corners of her eyes.

'Not crying, though," Something deep and traitorous within her hissed, "Never crying. She's too good for that. Too perfect.'

Lucina stared for a moment longer, the winds continuing to swirl within the room. Then, all at once, anything akin to emotion vanished from her face. She nodded once, sharply, then gracefully strode out of the room. She offered no words to Morgan as she went.

Morgan slammed the door shut as she left, the handle of it still dangling between her fingers.

She stared, pupils contracting further. Scales continued to form. Blood continued to roar.

Then, all at once, Morgan fell to her knees. The anger, the fury, that burned in her stomach went silent all at once.

"Why did-" Her breath hitched as an unfamiliar, sharp pain throbbed behind her eyes, "Why did I…?"

She didn't sob. Didn't cry. Couldn't, not anymore.

All she could do was direct her eyes down towards the floor. Shiver. Her fingernails clawed at her shoulders, only barely failing to tear through her clothes and draw blood.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. She didn't care.

A knock echoed against the door to her room. Her eyes snapped back towards it, a spark of hope flaring in her heart. "…Lulu?"

The door edged open, and any semblance of that hope died as the newly crowned Exalt Lissa walked in. Beautiful, radiant Lissa. She stared down at Morgan with the same kind smile she always had, the barest startings of wrinkles creasing at the edges of her mouth.

But Morgan did not miss the tear streaks on her cheeks. Did not miss the briefest hint of scorn that flashed within the woman's eyes. So distant, so detached, that it could be nothing more than subconscious thought. But still, Morgan noticed. As she always did.

Lissa knelt next to Morgan, wrapped her up in her arms. With strength that belied her thin, unassuming form, she swept her upwards and laid her gently on the bed. The Exalts fingers quietly swept through Morgan's hair, so familiar an action.

"…you need to be with Lulu," She whispered, her eyes turned towards the wall. "She's family. I'm- I'm not. She hides it, but-"

"I know, leaflet," Lissa murmured. The nickname made her skin crawl, her stomach churn. She wanted to vomit. "…but you know her, don't you? Probably better than anyone other than Cynthia. She won't be able to calm down until she knows everyone else is okay." Lissa tapped the tip of her finger to Morgan's nose. "That means you too, silly."

Morgan shook her head despite herself. Screwed her eyes shut until even the light from the distant lamp faded. "…you too…" She mumbled.

"Mnh?"

"…you're not okay, Auntie Issa," Morgan whispered, hoping that the woman couldn't hear. "Everybody knows it. Lulu heard you crying last night." She grit her teeth. "…that's why you need to be with her. As a family. Not me."

There was silence, for a moment. Then pearly laughter spilled from Lissa's lips, just as beautiful as she was. The Exalt took Morgan's nose between forefinger and thumb, then gently squeezed it. "Listen to yourself, leaflet," She gently coo'd. "Calling me auntie in one breath, then saying we're not family in the next. Morgan, I want you to look at me."

Morgan did not. She kept her eyes screwed shut.

"Please?"

The resistance within Morgan's heart began to weaken.

"I'll let you, Cynthia, and Lucina sleep in my room tonight," She offered, voice warbling halfway in song.

That did it. Fighting back the barest hints of a smile from her lips, failing to due to her immense exhaustion, Morgan slowly turned her head back towards Lissa and gently opened her eyes.

Lissa was aflame.

Fire licked at the edges of the woman's skin. Ash flaked from the woman's cheeks. But Lissa was not in pain, was not sad. With that same kind smile, she reached out and took Morgan's cheek in her hand.

"We love you, Morgan. We always will. No matter what, you're family."

And then Lissa was gone. Embers and ash against a sudden wind within the room. What remained of her trailed through the air, drifted through the open window of Morgan's room, then descended into a city bathed in flame. The sulfurous stench of smoke lingered thickly in the air.

Something in Morgan's stomach shattered. Became a yawning cavern that consumed all emotion. Her heart forced her sour, thick, vile blood through her veins.

Morgan stood.

Morgan walked out of her room.

Morgan ventured through the walls of the Castle Ylisstol.

Morgan watched Donnel burn.

Morgan watched Frederick burn.

Morgan watched Maribelle burn.

Morgan watched…

Morgan watched.

With each new fresh bed of ash upon the castle's gilded carpentry, Morgan felt that she'd lost something. Felt as if a piece of her departed into the ether alongside them. Felt as if the blood rushed louder in her ears with each new pile. With each new departure.

Morgan entered the throne room.

Inigo, Owain, Yarne, Brady, Kjelle, Noire, Severa, Gerome.

Cynthie. Nah. Lulu.

They were waiting for her. Stood before a swirling, pearlescent gate. Stood before a gaping maw. Stood before the flame.

"…It'll be okay, Morgan," Nah said gently, smiling in the way she'd long since forgotten how to. "We'll win. We'll remember you."

"Wait," Morgan murmured emptily. She stepped forward but found that she could draw no closer. With each step, she only moved further away. "Don't go."

Cynthia giggled in the same girlish way she always had. "I'm gonna name one of my kids after you, Momo! So… please. Try to come and meet them? They'll- They'll love you, I just know it!" Tears spilled thickly down the girl's cheeks.

"I'm sorry! Don't- Don't leave me here!" The desperation in her voice warbled like a funeral opera. "Don't leave me alone, Cynthie! Wait for me! I don't- I don't want to leave you yet!"

Lucina looked upon her with nothing but love in her eyes. The Exaltry's heir tried to hide the warbling of her lips, the tears in her eyes, but Morgan had learned to spot those things a long, long time ago. "…We can take it from here, Morgan," She whispered, only just loud enough for Morgan to hear. "We believe in you. I believe in you. We will-" She choked back the crack in her voice, then smiled more radiantly than Morgan remembered she was capable of. "We will see you again. When the war is over. When Ylisse knows peace. Until then…" She turned around to face the portal that led to nowhere. "…farewell."

"DON'T LEAVE ME BEHIND!" Morgan's tortured, agony-laden, begging wail tore through the flickering of flames as they threatened to consume Castle Ylisstol. Echoed against the furthest corners of the world. Tore apart reality at the seams.

And still, the children, her family, turned at once. As one, they stepped into the swirling, pearlescent gate.

And, all at once, the gate collapsed. In its place, all that remained were eleven piles of ash and a ruined world that could not be saved.

And her.

She remained.

The sugarcane flowed into her spine. The honeyed voice whispered into the furthest reaches of her mind. The claw trailed her cheek.

"Daughter dearest," The honey-voice sung, "They already have."

Six eyes seared their mark upon her soul.

She screamed.

Morgan awoke. The stench of smoke upon her nostrils. The chill of tears upon her cheeks. The sound of screams upon her ears.

She stared blankly up at the cloth roof of her tent. Regained her bearings.

…

Screams?

All at once, Morgan threw herself off of her cot and scrambled for her discarded clothes. She was halfway through putting her shirt back on when she caught the quick sound of footsteps just outside, harsh and rapid against the stone floor.

She pulled the tent's flap open just in time to see Claude rushing towards her. As soon as he locked eyes with her, Morgan's stomach dropped. For the first time since she'd met him, which honestly wasn't saying much, Claude was afraid.

Without pause, Claude took hold of Morgan's wrist and began to drag her back down towards the city. In the midst of it, he thrust an unfamiliar sword into Morgan's arms. She only just barely managed to catch it before it clattered towards the ground.

"This is the part," He hissed through gritted teeth as he ran, "Where I really hope that you know how to handle yourself in a fight."

The sound of screams grew louder as they passed the ruined wall that marked the city's entrance. They thundered in her head, made her blood churn. She forced her growing smile to die in its crib, strangling it with a hatred that surprised even her. "I would like more information!" She shouted past it all.

"Yeah, wouldn't we all?!" Claude tugged her down a path she'd yet to take in the city, the most ruined one she'd seen. Only then did she notice, for the first time, the titanic metal doors against one of the cavern's walls. They nearly blended in entirely with them, save for one fact. They were shaking. Trembling. The stone around them was cracking. "Ignatz just got back from one of his supply runs, goddess knows we need them, and lo and behold? He led a pack of demonic FUCKING beasts here!"

Morgan somehow managed to hold back the questions on her tongue as they sped through the rubble of the city's apparent entrance. As they neared the gate, Morgan took note of just how few people were gathering near it. Fifteen unremarkable individuals garbed in varying states of armor, and a bloodied, green haired man doing his best to hold a bow and arrow. "…this is all you have…?"

She couldn't hold back the disbelief from showing in her voice.

Claude took her by the shoulders and turned her towards him, his eyes wild and wary. Sweat formed heavily on his brow. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Morgan. This is bad. Really bad. As in, this might be the end bad. Hilda's in labor right now," Morgan paled, only somewhat surprised to find that tears were budding in Claude's eyes. Angry, frustrated tears by the look of things, but tears nonetheless. "Goddess knows I told Ignatz not to do anything stupid. He knows how much relies on us living. But- But fuck me, I guess!" He reared his head back, then laughed. "Damn it. Damn it all. Been a while since I thought I'd die over food. Guess that's on me. Plans to survive everything except this. I mean, how do you plan a defense against this?"

Morgan pursed her lips as Claude stepped away. Watched as he paced forwards and backwards. Watched as those few that had gathered in front of the metal doors followed him with their eyes.

The green haired man was crying. Openly crying. Morgan had almost never seen such unhidden guilt written on someone's face before, not since she'd looked in the mirror.

Morgan sighed.

Her hand reached out to catch Claude's shoulder as he passed her. He stopped, wild eyes almost instantly locking with hers.

"Breathe," She said blankly. He didn't, but she'd never been particularly good at comforting others. "Listen to me. I know this is a lot to ask. I know how much trust I'm asking you to have in me." She frowned, "…I know you have little choice, at the end of things."

Claude continued to stare at her, barely even there.

"Have your men defend the walls of the city proper. Tell them not to move unless one these… demonic beasts, whatever they are, manages to almost make it inside." She squeezed his shoulder as hard as she could, hoping the pain would draw him back to reality. "Then, go and be with her. It-" She turned her eyes away. "…It hardly matters if we live or die, does it not? One man will not make the difference, even if it is you. You should see your child with your own eyes. No matter how things may end."

Claude stared at her for a moment, then forced out a hollow laugh. He nodded in the same manner, then turned on his heel. "… Wonder what it says about me, that I'd curse someone's name for doing what I'm about to. Fuck it. Who cares?" He sighed. "…I hope you know what you're doing, Morgan. Really."

Then, before Morgan could find it in her to reply, he stepped away and off towards those sixteen gathered few. Morgan tuned them out, though, as they began to talk amongst themselves. Ignored them as they gathered and eagerly ran for the walls she and Claude had passed on the way to the gate.

Her fingers reached up for the necklace that dangled over her chest. Her fingers gently traced along the curve of the ochre gem set within it. Warmth blossomed in her heart, and she did her best to ignore the dread that bubbled beneath it.

"Let me know when you're ready!" The ragged voice of the green haired man called out from behind her. "I'll open the gates from here! And… I'll fight to the end with you. For whatever it's worth."

Morgan nodded.

Inhaled.

Exhaled.

"Do it."

Morgan ignored the thwap of a bowstring. Ignored the padded arrow sailing through the air. Her hand curled gently around the gem between her fingers.

She called.

Cherry blossoms rippled around her, summoned from the ether. A storm of them from parts unknown, even to her. They danced in two-step around her, bathed so gently in the distant, dim teal light from behind. Like motes of dust entranced by the light of a summer's sunray, they glimmered ethereally in the open air. An enflamed dance of emerald and silvered pink petals swirling around her like a storm.

Skin rippled. Puckered. Hardened. From the base of her fingernails and traveling upwards from her arms, mint-green scales sprouted like flower petals from her flesh. Her bones screamed in ecstasy as they grew, as they conformed to what she knew to be who she truly was. Onyx scales curdled atop her navel, hearth-warm and vile.

The metal doors ceased their shaking just as the arrow made contact with the door's distant button. The gate began to creak open.

Her bones settled.

Morgan could see. Truly see. The webwork of mana in the air as it swiveled and swirled towards the easternmost side of Cathay. Spanning a patchwork of pearlescent rainbows across the bleakness of the dying city. She could see the three figures beyond the gate before they could even open. Could see the hideously familiar blood that swirled around them. The tainted blood of a cursed divine dragon. Blood shared with Grima. Blood shared with her.

In the city behind her, distant and dull, something, someone, saw her. She could feel their gaze. Could feel the smile they began to adorn.

Her blood did not rage within her veins. No honeyed voice tapped at her thoughts. No molten sugarcane wept through her spine.

Crystalline tears began to bud like roses at the corners of her slitted, reptilian eyes.

She was free.

The gates opened.

Beyond them, three creatures of the ancient, vile blood stood before her. Each were two thirds of her size, and spikes ran along the lengths of each of their backs. Their crimson eyes bled from the dark of the beyond. But they did not charge. Did not roar.

'Too cramped to fly. Too large to soar.'

They remained in the dark. They watched.

Curiosity colored the scent of the air, as thick as the madness was that lingered just above it. The mindlessness. But, beneath it all, beneath the thoughts of rampage and slaughter, there was a hint of something more. Something different. Something human that seeped from beneath the horrid things before her.

Fear.

Morgan's hackles rose to revel her razored fangs. Rearing back on her hind legs, her claws dug deep into the stone and soil beneath her.

The leaflike membranes of her wings caught hold of a summoned wind in the air. Ancient joints creaked in jubilation as she leapt up from the ground.

The beasts beyond the gate went rigid.

Her wings flapped in one glorious, mighty beat.

In moments, Morgan crashed into the leader of the pack. Her fangs flashed in the light of the night as her gaping maw stretched open. Beneath her, the beast roared in protest. Claws flashed as they screeched against the scales of her underbelly. Unabashed, she slammed the creature's snout into the rock beneath it. Sank her fangs into the thick of its neck.

She did not got the chance to tear it asunder. From her right, another of the beasts crashed into her with all of its might. The sheer weight of the thing knocked her aside and off of the first, but her fangs were stronger than steel. Half of the beast's neck came with her.

She recoiled as jaws clamped around her right wing. Tore through the membrane. An unthinking, guttural roar pushed past her maw as she reached for the third beast's jaw. Her claws slipped easily between the thing's gapped fangs. Muscle bulged against scales as she heaved, and the creature's jaws began to give. Its claws cut grooves into the weaker scales of her back, but it did not abate the force behind her forelegs. With a final grunt of effort, the hinge of the beast's jaws snapped. It went limp beneath her.

She crumpled atop it, seething through her nostrils, only for that familiar weight to land atop her back. Her head careened into the cavern's wall hard enough to send stars shooting through her eyes. As she fought to recover her senses, again claws began to tear into the tender wounds on her back.

She screamed. A sound halfway in between her truer and lesser forms. Shoving her forelegs beneath her, she fought to push herself upward. Her whiplike tail thrashed behind her, managing only glancing blows across the creature's slime-like hide.

From the corner of her eye, she saw something sail through the air. Moments later, the familiar sound of flesh sloughing inward beneath the force of a blow rang through the air. Followed by an animalistic howl, the pressure in the wounds on her back relented.

Just a bit.

But it was enough.

She used her gained leverage to twist around. Pressed her back to the frigid stone beneath her, black blood freshly weeping from the grooves carved across her spine's scales. Her forelegs shot upward. Buried themselves deep into the vile thing's chest. Only then did she notice the arrow lodged in its left eye.

It did not matter. Not in that moment.

She inhaled deeply as the creature returned its attention to her.

She pulled.

She exhaled.

As the bones of the thing's ribcage began to groan in protest, onyx dragonflame surged alongside her breath. The soft flesh of the beast's chest curdled long before the flame reached it. It could not even roar as it died. Could not even thrash.

And then it was naught but ash. Flittering through the air above her, Morgan watched, exhausted, as it was caught on the draft and carried out towards the cavern's distant exit.

All at once, she was alone again aside the gates. Silence, true silence, returned to her. The blood had begun to rush in her ears again, but it was not that of her cursed father. It was her own. Clean, true, and beautiful.

The cherry blossoms returned to her, blanketing her in their silvery pink hue. Her scales began to slough away, her bones began to groan as they hesitantly returned to her lesser form. In moments, she was herself again. Small, humanoid Morgan.

She laid on the stone floor for a moment. Blood wept cleanly from the still-there wounds upon her back. And still, she forced herself to stand. Forced herself to push beyond the horrid sting in her soul, beyond the pain and disappointment of truth.

She limped back beyond the gate's entrance, vision swimming and dimming at the edges. Her breath came in ragged gasps, visions of her last battle flashing like warning alarms in her mind. She did not remember pressing her hand to the gate's controls, but they began to groan as they closed even still.

She turned to face the distant throng of the sixteen defenders, unbloodied and free from any sign of combat. All save for the green haired man, his bow still lofted in the air.

They stared at her, silent. Some in horror, some in awe. Expressions she was utterly and entirely used to.

'Please,' She did not know who she prayed to. The gods of both her world and this one were long dead. But her thoughts went out to someone, to something, nonetheless. Heralded the darkening of her vision, 'If I am to sleep again… let it be for a shorter time. Too many… promises that I've… failed to… keep…'

It was the last conscious thought that Morgan had.

The last thing that came before the godsdamned dream.

AN:

One day I'll end a chapter like a normal person. One day.

Yarry06: I will not confirm or deny the nature of the new ritual, or what comes after. I will say, though, that this won't be a 'follow along with the main plot for thirty-five chapters' sort of fanfiction. Settings will remain consistent, Garreg Mach will still be a key factor. Shez may or may not make an appearance and/or play a key role in the story. At the end, I just hope that people can enjoy what I write.

Also wanted to mention that I skipped the time travel explanation for a reason. I hate fics that are nothing but exposition dumps without any actual character interaction beyond that. I hope I've managed to avoid that.

Until next time,

Dust.