Blood, Oil, and Steel

by Acardia

You never know what might happen on a Monday. Sometimes every single minor inconvenience occurs within a couple of minutes of you waking up. Other times...well, I certainly wasn't to be sent here of all places. With the Ylissean sun above my head, what will happen to me? Currently rated at T, it might change in the future.

18. Chapter 14: Home is where the Bath is

Chapter 14

Home is Where the Bath is

(Terence || Terentius Aquilius Aurelius)

You know, I should have known that this shit would happen again. I'm not sure how long it's been since I fell asleep, but…well, I can't have been asleep for all that long, yeah?

I'm staring at the same blank black void that I did the last time I was subjected to this mental torture. I shiver as memories of previous encounters with…with…them…here…flood into my mind. I had hoped that I wouldn't see this sight again today. It's…they've…been haunting ever since…yeah. You guys know when.

I had gotten my hopes up when the usual dread didn't manifest itself when I curled into my bedroll today.

Unfortunately, that was not to be.

I sigh deeply, letting all of the air leave my lungs before I inhale again.

I sit down, accepting my fate. My heart isn't even beating hard anymore; I've endured this torture too many times. Of course, if my mind works like I expect it to, it's the perfect time to switch things up. I don't…maybe have another one of my late friends come and torture me? If I recall correctly, Antonii was dismembered…maybe some 6-armed freak will show up and start chopping me up into pieces?

Ugh. Let's not give my mind any ideas. It's already imaginative enough without my consciousness helping it out.

I sit there for a while, doing nothing. I feel like sleeping. Even trapped within my own consciousness, I'm tired. Why? I have no idea. Of course, the moment I even think about dozing off, the reality of my situation hits me like a truck, waking me back up…again.

Gods damn it. Gods damn it all.

I lay down on the cool, smooth surface of…whatever this is. I rap my knuckles against the floor for a moment, trying to figure that question out. I get…inconclusive answers. Feels like glass…but is also…slightly soft? Concerningly soft, actually. What the hell is this material, anyway.

"I haven't got a clue either," A very familiar chuckle—mine—makes me look up at the person from which those words came from.

"Terentius," I note without much emotion in my voice. "Wonderful. You're joining in?"

"On what?"

"On the whole torturing me thing," I frown when I realise that Terentius's face hasn't changed at all. We might have good insight, but our deception is just about crap. He's not lying. "Huh. Colour me surprised."

"About what?"

"No, nevermind. I suppose having you here is better than the alternative."

"I…this…" He sighs. "Alright then. Sounds like something serious, but you're not going to say anything about it, so I won't pry. You should probably fix that habit of yours."

"Would you like to be—ugh—the pot or kettle in this situation?" I grunt as I sit up.

"Pot. I dislike the noise that kettles make," Terentius shrugs, playing along with my joke. We stare at each other for a moment before we devolve into snickering. What, we both have incredibly terrible senses of humour.

"Ah…what brings you here?" I regain my composure a moment later. "It's not like you to be so…direct."

"That is…true. I…wanted to sate my curiosity. About this world in particular."

"Hmmm…shoot away," I shrug. "I've got nothing better to do."

"Not scared I'll use this knowledge in some terrible way?"

"You wouldn't do that. You are a principled person," I scoff. "Unless, of course, I have completely misjudged your character."

He doesn't respond to my prodding.

"What's the Regina like?"

"You mean the Exalt."

"What's the difference? She has not been chosen by the people nor a senate. She's even worse than the Optimates…Illa tyrannis est."

"She is beloved by the people."

"But not selected by the people."

"Have we ever done the same thing? Most of the votes were cast by the patricians anyway."

"I…" Terentius sighs. "Still, such a position does not sit well with me."

"I understand. As for your original question," I scratch my chin. "The current Exalt…hmmm…she is an optimistic pacifist. Not a naive one…but…still a pacifist nonetheless."

I let Terentius gather his thoughts a little before I continue.

"Please. Continue."

"As you could probably tell from the lack of soldiers…well, anywhere, along with the fact that we've had to travel to a neighbouring nation in order to secure an alliance to…well, get soldiers…she's completely dismantled Ylisse's armed forces. Only a handful of knights and pegasus knights remain; they number less than one thousand combined."

"That sounds incredibly dumb."

"To us, perhaps, but you have to remember that there are not the legions of the damned and unclean that we had to deal with back home."

"These 'Risen' sound awfully like the walking dead."

"Yes, but they are just now dealing with them. There are no demons, no dragons any longer, no hydras, no chimerae, no other beast that could threaten their way of life. If they're able to keep international conflict at a minimum…then there truly is no need for armed forces at our scale."

"But they can't," I wince as Terentius finds the massive hole in my logic. "You know they can't. That…Plegia, was it? Plegia is knocking at the door, and yet they are impassive. Why?"

"Because they are afraid. Afraid of making the same mistakes. They learned from their last war, where they devastated an entire nation for no concrete rationale. They wish to not make the same mistake again."

"Pfft. A lion scared of its own roar. How pathetic. An army serves more purposes than just the invasion of other countries."

"We both know that. They…don't."

"Then it is a failure on their part. The more I learn about this nation, the less I like it. No martial prowess, no sense of duty, no sense of public good. And Gods above, the amount of aristocratic trash that seems to contaminate every single institution. Despicable."

"As if Rome wasn't the same."

"Through the army, a pauper man earns his purpose. Is that not what we strived for? Nobilitas is earned, not inherited. Confirm your greatness in the present or lose it forever."

"Those are ideals, not truths."

"Is it not better to have perfect ideals and not reach them than to have corrupted ideals that are reached? Is it not the essence of a Roman to constantly improve, take what works and leave what doesn't?"

"I can't…say anything otherwise. But there are…more difficult matters about Ylisse than just that. It is…hard to explain. I shall do my best when they appear, but not all is as well as it appears."

"I understand. Some things are better experienced rather than explained. However…I still do not see this…Exalt…doing her duty as the head of the nation," Terentius spits out the word 'Exalt' with such vigour, I wonder if he's won any spitting competitions before. "Her failings are quite evident; should things devolve, it is her head that must be held responsible."

I cringe inwardly. He's…not wrong, exactly. It is Emmeryn's fault that Ylisse got invaded; if she had put her foot down against Gangrel long ago, he wouldn't be in a position to make demands. However, it's never good to look like a warmongerer, and that's exactly what Ylisse looked like after the reign of Emmeryn's father…nevermind the insane economic damaged caused by conscripting 20 per cent of your population to try and genocide an entire third of a continent. He…probably sees these things as acceptable losses, though… Gods, it's hard to explain the good parts of pacifism to a militarist.

Well, he's not a militarist. He's just….Roman. Which makes him a militarist by proxy.

"I would advise you to wait. Understand, comprehend. Don't do anything rash."

"I can't do anything, remember? Being stuck here and all."

"…I still have short-term memory, Terentius. I know what you can do if I manage to knock myself out."

"I…fine, that's a fair point. Still…you need to do something about this situation. If I remember correctly, you said something about a war coming up. I doubt this Plegia is going to bring less than a thousand men, especially if they're invading."

"I know. I will," I nod with a sigh. "This whole situation does make me rather uncomfortable. Knowing that a storm is coming, and yet neglecting your levees…idiotic."

"Levee? What's a levee?" I roll my eyes as Terentius mutters under his breath. It appears I've caught his curiosity elsewhere…and now probably have to explain to him how flood management works for the next hour and a half.

Honestly? Beats having a cockroach climb up my ass for the ninth time. Brrr…

---

I hate mornings. This fact should be self-evident.

Thankfully, due to a lack of insect-based torture last night, I hate this morning slightly less. You might expect me to like mornings more because of what happens in my dreams, but it always makes mornings worse. I would much rather be awake, of course…

But when my head hurts like nobody's business…it takes some wind out of the enthusiasm.

It's morning, which means—

Squawk. [Good morning, Master]

"…stop calling me that."

Squawk. [You know why I cannot do that. Now, today is the day we shall return to the city.]

"…how the hell did you fit so many words into a fucking squawk. Also, we've been over this. Talk to me telepathically."

Squawk.

"What's that…? I don't speak hawk."

Squawk!

"What?"

A silence follows and I finally open my eyes to see the golden eagle on his perch, looking very mad at me.

[I must say, Master, that you are quite the bird-driver.] A deep masculine voice not too dissimilar to the voice of a stereotypical butler suddenly rings around my mind.

I remind him that I've told him on multiple occasions to speak telepathically. He only mutters something about him being an eagle and not a hawk, and how much it hurt him that I called him the wrong kind of bird.

I…forgot that he was an eagle. Oops. They look all the same to me anyway. Save your breath, Ornithologists. I'm not a bird person. I just think they look cool.

"Whatever. Say what you will," I sigh, sitting up. "Today is…"

[I believe the first functional prototype of the mobile light cannon is ready for testing today.]

Right. That. See, I've decided that having just a flamethrower on Randy is not useful enough, so I'm putting a small autoloading cannon on him as well. I know you can't actually have more than one weapon on a single Eldritch Cannon platform, but fuck those rules, this is reality. If I can fit more than one gun on a platform, I can have more than one gun on a single platform.

So, I'm trying to do just that. The autoloading part was quite easy—a bag of holding filled with 45mm shells is enough to keep that thing topped off for nearly 50 minutes of constant firing. Way, way more than enough. Getting it to actually fit on Randy…was a more difficult task. I ended up giving up and just expanded Randy's base to be able to fit everything…which meant completely remaking…basically all of him, sans the optical and weapon systems.

"Yeah, you're right about that," I yawn. "Fetch Randy for me, will you?"

[Master. You can summon him here with a snap of your fingers.]

"So?"

[There is…forgive me. I shall fetch him at once.]

And with a glare, Vespi flies off.

Of course, that doesn't mean his mental link with me is affected in any way; that kind of thing usually goes through solid matter as if it was not there, and this link is not an exception.

[Master, I did want to ask…why did you name your most powerful weapons platform after a Rimworld storyteller? I believe it to be better if you had named him after something…more powerful. Another Emperor, perhaps?]

I grit my teeth in annoyance. How the hell does Vespi even know about Rimworld? Seriously!?

"Fuck off. I'm naming any other weapons platform I make Cassandra Classic and Phoebe Chillax just to fuck with you. Plus, what other Emperors could I even use?"

[You make…a good point, Master. Marcus Aurelius and Aurelian are out for obvious reasons. Trajan and Hadrian, perhaps? Or maybe Titus and Domitian.]

"Titus sounds too much like tits, I would never use Trajan's name, he's too important, and Domitian sounds dumb. Hadrian is nice though. I do have a soft spot for Claudius and Tiberius, though. Hmmm…I'll probably name that prototype tracked mobility device I'm planning on testing after Tiberius."

[A curious decision, Master. Any particular reason?]

"Hello, Command and Conquer?"

[I…do not understand.]

"Tiberius—Tiberium. What else do you not understand?"

[How that…nevermind, Master.]

"You…hey, Vespi…?"

[Yes? How may I be of service?]

"How do you even know what Rimworld and Command and Conquer are? I've never told you about these games. Hells, how do you even know about the fact that these are games!? You specifically said 'Rimworld Storyteller' instead of 'Rimworld Character' or something similar."

[...]

"Vespi!"

[Master, I have found Randy. He is currently approaching your location.]

"Answer the damn question, Vespasian! You can't just—and the connection just dropped," I groan as I feel the mental connection between me and my bird-like artificial construct abruptly end. He's probably flown out of the 150 metre range that our mental connection allows for. Asshole.

Sighing and still having many questions swirling around in my mind, I decide to put that mind to work. I get dressed…which is a rather simple affair. We're out of Ferox, and with that, the strange cold snap in the middle of summer disappeared with it, allowing me to transition into a convenient state of dress. That is, toga, tunic, and short pants. Not those long-ass togas that senators liked to wear, normal worker's togas. I still haven't gotten used to just wearing a toga and not having underwear, despite Terentius's pestering about me not being a true Roman, which explains the pants.

Changing into all of this takes around five minutes, which is a far cry from the half-hour plus that it takes to change into clothing able to shield you from the worst parts of the cold.

Stretching out my arms, I climb out of the magical hole that contains all of my furnishings and carefully refold the magical device back into a square piece of cloth. I brew myself a cup of tea as I brush my teeth. It's quite a fast little magical kettle, so by the time my morning hygiene routine is over, the tea is poured and ready. Thank myself for making myself this little automatic tea kettle. Best result of a sleepless week I've ever had.

I slowly sip the tea, letting the flowery aroma permanent my nose and mind. Such aromas usually didn't have much of an effect on me, but I still like the smell enough to value it. Why I do use essential oils, they mask the putrid smell of burnt rubber and machining oil quite well.

By the time I'm done with the pot of tea, Randy's finally arrived…from wherever he is when he's not burning people to death. Well, he's probably been here a while, considering his exasperated and annoyed expression, but I don't have the energy to really care about that.

"Why hello there, Randy. Ready to get that cannon mounted?"

He gives a slow affirmative.

I give him a small smile.

"Well, that's great. The sun's not quite up yet, so we have some time before people start waking up. Want to do everything outside?"

I chuckle as Randy gives an affirmation laced with relief. He really hates the wall of tools, huh?

---

(Robin)

I find myself in a blank space. Well, blank enough, anyway. It's…a void, with nothing in it. It's quite similar to that…one nightmare I had before. The one where I saw Terence getting stabbed with a lance.

That memory sends a jolt of unease down my spin. Something about this place just…isn't right. Something about this place…feels evil. Unnatural. Miasmic.

I don't know why or how I got here. It's…probably another nightmare, but—

Nightmare…? Silly little human. This is no nightmare…

A deep voice permeates through my mind. I can't tell where it's coming from; it's almost as if it's emanating from within my mind.

"W—Who are you!?"

Do you…truly not remember? Gahahahaha! Good! Good! Even better! You are alone, little human. All…alone!

"You haven't answered my question! W—Who are you!"

Now now…little human. That is for you to see.

Suddenly, cracks start to appear under my footsteps. Light shines through those bright white cracks, filling the dark void with some semblance of light. Above me, a pair of bright purple eyes light up.

How useless…do you truly understand how utterly worthless you are?

"W—What!?"

So blind, so slow. What did that Prince ever see in you? Disappointing.

"What are you talking about?"

See for yourself.

The cracks widen and widen, splintering the dark void around me.

It doesn't take long before the flow below me gives way, and I—

Light. Bright light. My eyes take a moment to adjust, but…isn't this…wait, didn't we—

"Robin? Are you alright? We can't have our tactician blanking out right now," Kellam's voice snaps me to the situation at hand.

We're…we're back at the Feroxi arena. W—Why? How!? It…It must be that voice's doing! There is no other rationale for—

An arrow wizzes past my head. The sound of it slamming against Kellam's armour snaps me out of my stupor. Almost by instinct, I raise my hand and feel the power of a thunder spell coalesce around my hand as power rushes from the tome in my other hand. The offending archer quickly gets a thunder spell to the stomach.

"Phew! Nice hit, Robin," Kellam grins. Or at least I think he grins. Can't tell for obvious reasons.

Right. I should focus on staying alive and fighting. Illusion or not, getting hit by a sword will probably still hurt a lot.

Noticing a knight get uncomfortably close, I pull out my sword. The familiar sound of my bronze blade against its scabbard further calms my nerves.

The man's lance shoots forwards, attempting to skewer me. I take a slight step to the right and grab the man's lance before he can pull it back. I see a flash of surprise appear on his face before I bring the pommel of my sword down onto his head.

A sickening crack and a trail of blood accompanies my strike. An instant later, a flash of silver smashes into the man's side, and he goes down.

I take a step back and take a deep breath.

Considering where we are in terms of arena placement, this should be around when…

"Frederick! Peel off! We need you on this side! Chrom, where the hell are you! Kellam, go to the right side; Terence won't be able to help Frederick on that side."

"U—Um, Robin?" Kellam coughs politely. "Chrom's fighting Marth right now. I doubt he can help you."

"Huh!? Shouldn't he be here with me?"

"What? Didn't you say that Chrom should fight Marth? Considering that he's the best duelist out of all of us?"

I blink in surprise, almost getting an arrow in the face. Well, that's…actually true. I had come up with that, before Terence demanded that he faced Marth with some vigour. That's…strange. So, that means that Chrom is facing Marth, Kellam and I are here with—yup, there's Vaike. Frederick and Terence are handling the other side.

"Nevermind then. Take out these knights, and then we go help Chrom. Vaike, on your right!" I respond to Kellam after I've forced the archer to tap out after being hit with a triplet of thunder spells to the chest. I notice that Vaike is getting a bit too tunnel-visioned against one single opponent, forgetting that he's fighting a battle, not a duel. I warn him in time for him to deal with the knight coming at him from his right, dispatching the overeager man with a quick hit to the back of his helmet.

The tide of battle slowly turns in our favour. With two of their frontline gone, I'm able to slip into a more supportive role, covering Kellam and Vaike as they put more pressure on what's left of their frontline. Well, I think I'm covering Kellam. I still can't see anything trace of the man, except for the occasional unexplainable flashes of silver.

I calm my breathing. With the immediate danger to my life dealt with, I am much more comfortable with thinking and planning more. Terence tells me to think on my feet, but that still feels a bit unnatural for me right. Though, it doesn't think Terence himself can do that. He's currently getting berated by Frederick for…something. Not sure what.

I spare a glance at Chrom's duel…and it's really not going so well. Chrom seems to be really struggling against Marth's sheer speed. I swear, it seems like that man is just teleporting. That's how good his footwork is. I mean, just look at that move! That's basically—

Oh no.

Chrom, he's—

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

A piercing scream stops all movement in the arena.

I stare in shock as…as I realise that Marth's sword has thrust through Chrom's body, its tip glinting with a crimson sheen as it catches the light in a wicked way. I numbly realise that it was Marth that screamed, not…not Lissa or…me, like I expected.

"Chrom!" I hear Terence cry out, half in disbelief, and half in…is that exasperation I hear? He starts to run towards the slumped figure of our leader. Marth is putting his hands over face and mask, and doesn't seem to have moved since he stabbed Chrom in the back.

I realise, too late, that Terence's cry had motivated both sides into action. An arrow narrowly misses my face. However, Terence himself hasn't noticed yet, and he's not looking—

A javelin slams into the back of his neck, and his body goes slack. It's…it's scary how quickly a man can die.

The world goes still.

Do you see, little human?

The voice chuckles in my mind.

Do you see what happens if they had listened to you?

What…what is this…how…?

How pitiably adorable. How do you think that farseer knew to keep you away from the planning table?

That's…that's not true! He couldn't…he didn't…he couldn't have…

Oh, but he did. He saw many…he experienced many. How many times did he have to die to your incompetence before he lost trust in you?

What? W—What do you mean?

I hear the voice chuckle. The frozen world seems to turn into mist as his laughter grows.

Do you wish to see, then? Has your curiosity finally extended to this point? I shall show you. I shall show you your failure every time.

The visage before me peels away to reveal another scene. It's…still in the same arena, but this time…one of the pillars had collapsed. The reason for that is unclear, but the aftermath of the event is quite obvious. Whoever had been caught under it when it fell must have been killed, instantly.

My heart catches in my throat when I realise that I can find neither Terence nor Chrom.

Do you see? Your friend is as incompetent as you, and thought it to be a personal failing. He unleashed his full arsenal, and this is the aftermath. What utter foolishness…why blame yourself when the culprit is right in front of you?

"N—No…this can't…how do you…?"

Every death, he experienced it fully. Every death, he felt the pain. Every vision was a reality for him. How many times do you think he failed?

"He can't have…not many! He's not such—"

Ah, silly human. Remember, he was not at fault. You were. How long did—

The scene shifts again. This time, I see more clearly how Terence was killed, an axe to the face. His expression is still one of surprise and grim determination mixed together in equal amounts. No going from the latter to the former, but a tempered superposition of the two.

—you think he took to find out? Let me show you—

The scene morphs into another frozen moment in time displaying Terence's death. This time, he seems to have died by a lance to the gut.

—How long it took.

A kaleidoscope of different memories and scenes flash before my eyes. I can't remember all of them; there are far too many. But…the one connecting theme is death. Gruesome death. Axe splitting the skull. Arrows protruding out of the back. Decapitation. Immolation.

I…I can no longer remember any details. It's as if my mind has shut off. It no longer wants to see or remember those gruesome scenes.

"Robin?" I turn around, started, to the sound of Terence's voice. I wished I hadn't. Standing in the murk is Terence, yes, but a mutilated, corrupted, and deathly version of him. His skin is more akin to a Risen's skin than that of a living being. One of his silver eyes is gone, replaced by an orb of gold. His hands have been replaced by mechanical substitutes; his right hand is a rusted bronze while his left is a tarnished silver. So many cuts and lacerations are on his body, it sickens me. His face is curled up into a haunting expression.

"T—Terence…I…hello…" I inhale hard.

"Greetings to you," He chuckles and smiles sickeningly. "I just…wanted to ask you some questions about your inabilities."

"W—What?"

"Don't you see your own failings? Can you not tell that there is no future for you? There is always going to be death on your hands. We can not change the future. Why did you do this to me, Robin?"

Purple miasma spews from his mouth as his eyes turn crimson. His already Risen-like skin cracks and peels, his arms are outstretched as he stumbles towards me. However…his eyes are…

"You are a failure. You are worthless. I wished I never met you." He grabs my throat. The cold metal is firm and unforgiving as I desperately claw at it, hoping to free myself.

"You deserve to be cast off. There is no—" I feel the pressure on my throat increase. I knew Terence is strong, but I never expected to realise that while he's choking me! Please, let go! I—I understand!

With one last pulse of strength, my vision goes black.

When I come too again, I find myself in my bedroll, drenched in sweat, panting hard.

---

(n/a)

Terentius shudders as he feels Robin's soul leave this damned place. With a hiss, he mentally constricts the mana that he was still in control of. Blackish-purple mist oozes out of his body and slowly form into a hooded figure behind him.

"Grima," He states in a low, dangerous voice. "Never use me like that again."

The provokes a fit of high-pitched laughter from the fell dragon.

"Farseer…you are much too defiant for your own good," Grima closes her hand, and a vine of purple lashes out at Terentius's body, creating a new streak of crimson across his skin.

The artificer hisses in pain, though still stands proud.

Grima, seemingly impressed, however how minutely, walks up to him with a grin on her face.

"Though…that shows your soul is not as broken as I'd feared. Good. I still have a use for you yet."

"I could kill you, right here, right now, Grima," Terentius snaps his fingers, a tiny ball of bright orange appearing in between his thumb and pointer finger.

"You could…but I won't let you," The Fell One chuckles, snapping her own fingers in return. A sudden shackle of pitch black clamps itself on the Farseer's neck. A chain of crimson brings his neck towards the ground, forcing the formerly-dead man to take a knee.

He tries his best to resist, but the power of the Fell Dragon's magic is too strong for him, and the [Fireball] in his hands is dissipated with a wave of Grima's hand.

"What…do you want from me?" He grits his teeth.

"Oh, that is simple, my dear Equus. You understand your current situation, no?"

"Y—You've made me into a Deadlord. Number seven."

"Indeed. It has taken me…far, far too long to bind your soul back into your body. You are…quite the defiant bug, aren't you?"

"Seriously? You're asking me this as if you don't already know? I have been fucking with your—" The Farseer grunts in pain as a tendril of black slashes his across his face, cutting another bloody groove into his skin.

"Ha…how I will enjoy breaking you. But that is something for another time. Now, we must dispose of some pesky problems. I am weak. You know this. I am far weaker than I ought to be."

"And why exactly are you telling me this? Shouldn't I be the last person you should share this information with?"

Grima grins manically. Terentius winces as Grima's face lights up in a perverted version of Robin's smile.

"Because you can do nothing about it! Gahahaha…truely, inaction must be the worst kind of torture for your kind."

Terentius doesn't dignify Grima with a response.

"You will help me."

"Piss off—guh!"

"That was not a request. That was an order. Replenish my power. Find a way to create more of your kind."

"I would—gah! There is no—ngh! I…will…never…sub…submit…to…" Wave after wave of power rushes through Terentius, ripping flesh from his bones and boiling whatever blood remained in his dead body. A dim crimson light slowly appears in his eyes, before his heavy panting has stopped.

"Hmmm…it appears that his soul has simply stopped interfacing with his body. A neat trick…but it makes your compliance easier. Come, my thrall. Do my bidding."

"Y—Yes…Lord…Grima…"

---

(Robin)

It turned out that trying to go back to sleep after a terrifying nightmare is rather hard, so I just decided that I would wake up early today. It was a little unfortunate that I had to wake up when it was still dark outside, but it wasn't all too bad.

Sumia had introduced me to her rather expansive collection of books while we waited for the tournament in Khantuurbaliq, and I'm…I'm rather embarrassed to admit that I've been hooked on some of them. Some. Not all of them. I definitely haven't been secretly buying every volume of the 'Mad Tales of a Bloodthirsty Falcon Knight' that I see. And only succeeding in getting eleven volumes. Out of thirty-seven. They're not even in order…

Anyhow, I pick up volume three and start reading from the leaf that I've been using as a bookmark. Look, I just picked up what I can find around me when I'm done reading to use as a bookmark, alright? Don't judge me.

I get quite…uh…invested in the book.

I don't realise that the candle I've been using as my only source of light has burned well past its half-way point. Plus, I faintly recall Terence telling me that using only candlelight for long periods of time was really bad for your eyes. And…I'm kinda hungry. I should probably go get something to eat. Having lost the leaf that I used as a bookmark before, I rip a piece of paper from my desk into a rectangular strip and use that as a bookmark.

Stepping outside…I realise it's still dark. Great. Nobody is awake yet, and I'm starting to feel like something is gnawing at my stomach from the inside. That's just great. Should I risk making my own food? The last time I tried that I somehow burned pudding and Terence sat me down in a small room and just stared at me for half an hour. It was…rather confusing.

Before I can make a decision, however, I hear the sound of someone talking in the distance. Considering the fact that they don't seem to be hiding the fact that they're talking I can assume that they're a fellow shepherd; if they weren't supposed to be here, they wouldn't be so loud.

Frowning, I start to walk over to where the voice is coming from. I'm too far away to hear distinct words, but it does seem masculine in tone and rather relaxed—if a bit even-tempered. The voice takes me some ways away from camp. Not so far as to be out of sight of our small tent village, but far enough away that one can't reasonably tell who it is or what they're doing. Plus, it's rather dark, which makes visual identification that much harder.

As I get closer, I hear—

"Huh. That went a lot better than I expected. Try the APCBC, Randy."

Ah. That'll be Terence, then. That would explain how I was able to hear him from all the way in camp; he has a loud and easily recognisable voice.

I hear a rather loud bang afterwards, though, and shudder in response. Not too long after a plume of dirt followed by a bright flash of yellow-red shoot up from the ground.

"Phew! That was…uh…rather unexpected. How much explosive filler are in the APCBC shells? 31 grams!? That's…a little overkill, I think. If it gets through a person's armour, no matter how much explosive we put inside of it, I think they're dead. Also, that's not the explosive power of 31 grams of TNT—oh, it's enriched Nitro…? Wait, why the hell are we using Enriched Nitro? I told you to get rid of it!" I hear Terence growl in anger. ¨Why? Are you really asking me why I should get rid of Enriched Nitroglycerin? It has more than twice the explosive power than TNT while being basically as stable as standard Nitroglycerin. What's more, you can't even stabilise the damn thing like you can with Cordite. It's literally too good of an explosive to be used, you dumb bird!"

I'm not sure who or what Terence is talking to, or if this is just another case of Terence talking to himself. Getting closer, however, I realise that it's…a mix of the two. Terence is standing in the field with Randy by his side and that golden bird pet that he keeps for some reason on one of his shoulders. Randy seems to have gotten a little bigger, and the spout that sprayed fire either removed or moved somewhere else. In its place sits a large metal tube with a contraption at one end that I can't make heads or tails of, and two sheets of metal angled backwards protecting that mechanism while still allowing that tube to move up and down, which I see Randy do.

Terence is angrily yelling at the bird with an immensely angry expression on his face. The bird, like all birds, just looks smug.

"Oh, you're doing this with me now. Mehercule, shut the fuck up! I don't need any of your sass right now! You're going to blow us up! Vespi, I swear to Jupiter, if you don't shut up right now, I'm going to tear out your auditory modulator. Do you understand me? Yes? Yes? Good," The bird, presumably named Vespi, flies off.

Terence sighs deeply. He takes a moment before raising his head. He takes a double take when he realises I've been here the whole time.

"Robin…I…didn't see you there."

"Um…you seemed to be occupied with…" I make a gesture with my hands as I lack the words to describe…whatever this is.

"Right. Sorry about that…ha…that bird can be a pain in the ass sometimes. Makes me wonder what the reason I made him was," He shakes his head. "Still…do you need anything, Robin? It's not like you to be up so early in the morning."

"Ah…um…I didn't sleep very well last night."

"I…can see that. You haven't even bothered to put your hair up today. Nightmares too?"

"Y—Yeah. Wasn't the most pleasant night," I sigh, a little embarrassed. I then frown. "Wait, nightmares too? What do you mean too?"

"I think this is the first time I've seen you with your hair down," Terence chuckles. He snaps his fingers and Randy disappears into a shower of golden sparks. He walks up to me.

"Hey, you haven't answered my question yet—" I cut my demand for an answer short as Terence shakes his head and makes a motion with his hand. It's obvious that he's not going to tell me, and I doubt I can get any information out of him. "—plus, you've literally seen me sleeping before. I sure wasn't wearing any clothes when you barged into my tent, much less tying my hair up."

At least he has the good manners to look embarrassed.

"Might I remind you that I could not see a single thing?" His voice is quiet.

"That doesn't make it much better, does it?"

"No…" He sighs. "No it doesn't. Moving on swiftly, I've finished with what tests I'm able to right now. Are you out here taking a walk…or…?"

"No, I uh…wanted to find you. To ask a question."

"Well, you've found me. Shoot."

"What?"

"Ask me the question."

"Oh. Um," A sudden surge of embarrassment shoots through my body as I realise just what exactly I'm asking Terence to do. It's…well, a little shameful. Oh well. I'm too hungry for shame at this point. "I was wondering if you could make me something to eat? Um…I'm not too confident in my skill to go into the kitchen by myself, and I'm…really hungry."

Terence blinks.

"Well, I won't say no, but…" He frowns, thinking about something. "How about this. I'm…slightly worried about you starving tto death because you can't cook something, so I'm going to teach you how to make some really simple dishes."

"Really? Starving to death?"

"Robin, you burned pudding. Pudding. Literally just sugar and flour. I still don't understand how you managed to start that kitchen fire. Look into my eyes and tell me that you won't destroy a kitchen by yourself."

"I…I won't…destroy…" I bite my lip. Terence is giving me a look that just makes me want to shrink away and hide in a hole. "Ok…fine…"

"Alright, good. There's some stale bread in the supply cart that Vaike didn't want to waste and I have some eggs, so we're going to be making some Poor Knights."

"What?"

"Fried Bread with Eggs. Come on."

We made our way to the supply wagon that Flavia graciously granted us when we departed from Khantuurbaliq to make sure we wouldn't starve on the way back. Terence started to dig around the bread section of the wagon, looking for that stale bread he was talking about earlier. I joined in, finding a loaf of rather stiff bread which I present to Terence. He laughs and pulls out a brick. Rather, I thought it was a brick, but it turns out it was just an incredibly stale loaf of bread.

He says that the loaf I found was still edible…which is certainly a statement, but that Poor Knights needed a piece of bread that was practically inedible for the 'full experience'. I'm…not sure how that even makes any sense.

We make our way to the cooking tent. Terence somehow managed to summon a whole bag full of eggs and placed it onto the countertop. He frowns at the small mobile stove that Frederick had set up yesterday morning.

"That…is not nearly big enough," He sighs. "I'll need to use my own…Robin, put on your apron before we start. Don't want butter or eggs to stain our clothes."

I dutifully comply. The female shepherds have this system in which every person has their own customised apron that is personalised. For example, Miriel has a grey apron with the words 'Caramelization Expert' printed onto it while Sumia has a pink-and-green apron with floral patterns and the words 'Mother of All Pies' on it. For me, it's a purple apron that matches my coat with a scale and the words 'It's Time to Flip the Scales!' on it. A joke after I yelled 'It's Time to Tip the Scales!' during a fight against some bandits.

Turning back to Terence, I find him suddenly wearing a grey apron…Miriel's grey apron.

"What?" He raises his eyebrows in confusion.

"Um…you know that's Miriel's, right?" I ask.

He sighs.

"Yes I know. I asked her about this the last time Lissa dragged me in here on mess duty. We came to the agreement that she would allow me to borrow her apron for the length of time that it took for Maribelle to convince the people who make these to make me one, if I could answer half of the questions she had me," Terence closes his eyes and shudders. "Six hours of my life…I will never get them back…uegh."

"Oh…I see…that sounds…like a really weird situation."

"Tell me about it," He snorts. "I have half a mind to just make my own apron that says 'Veni, Vidi, Coxi' on it. But no…Lissa said I have to conform to the 'standard' that everyone else had. This isn't even fireproof, it's literally worse than my handkerchief!"

Terence mutters something at himself before placing the piece of bread on the counter and handing me a knife.

"Cut that into 27 pieces, please. Removing the ends, of course. Don't make them too thin, else the eggs won't have anywhere to go," He says as he grunts, removing a small metal box from his infinitely storing bag. "I'm going to set up the stove here…"

I shrug and get to cutting. The knife is much, much sharper than I remember it being. Did…someone sharpen this thing? About halfway through the cutting, a sudden blast of heat sucks all of the moisture out of the room. I hear Terence say not to worry about it, so I continue to cut the bread.

By the time I'm done, that small little metal box had turned into a metal cylinder with a disc of metal suspended over the top. At the top end of the cylinder there were a bunch of little small holes formed up in concentric holes that spat a bright orange flame, heating the metal disc.

"What…is that?"

"My portable stove. It's a tad bit bigger; I reckon we can fit around nine pieces of bread there to cook at a time." He chuckles. "Though, we'd still have to do three batches."

"Huh? Three?"

"Yeah, we have thirteen people, and at two pieces a person we need 26 pieces. Simple math."

"Terence, we have 12 people."

"Robin, have you forgotten about Lon'qu already? Weren't you and Lissa slobbering over his abs at the party?" He shoots me an inquisitive stare.

I feel a heat rushing to my cheeks.

"T—That was a mistake. A big, drunken mistake. And we're making this for everyone?"

"Yeah? Frederick's already awake and there's no way he hasn't already woken Chrom up. Also, I somehow recall a certain person saying that they wouldn't make any mistakes while drunk."

"T—That wasn't me!"

"Hmmm…whatever you say," He shrugs with a devious smile as he cracks a half dozen eggs and separates the whites from the yolk before he starts whisking them. "We start by making the egg bath for the bread. Different people prefer their Poor Knights at a different saturation with eggs, and though I prefer them a bit more moist, I know that Chrom likes them a bit dryer, so I'm going with six eggs. Once again, there are savoury and sweet versions…everyone likes the sweet version even though I'm partial to the savoury one, so we're making the sweet one."

He sprinkles a good helping of sugar into the bowl.

He takes a while to finish whisking the eggs, milk, and sugar together for the egg bath. During that time, I asked about what the stove was, and he dove into a minutes-long explanation of how the stove worked. I caught a couple of words like 'methane' and 'modified rocket engine', though most of the specifics still elude me. He looked very passionate talking about it, though, and he made himself laugh many times during it.

"What you want to do now is let the bread soak. I usually soak for around five minutes, but we have a lot of bread and we're not trying to make them moist, so we're sticking to two minutes for now," He smiles as he places the bowl on the table, looking rather proud of himself. Whether it was for explaining the stove or for making this egg bath, I'm not certain.

I nod and start placing the bread into the egg bath, following Terence's example.

After a while, we take the bread out. I wanted to immediately place them onto the hot metal plate, but Terence shot me an exasperated look.

"We have to melt butter there first. We don't want the bread to stick."

I placed a stick of butter onto the hotplate and Terence's eyes nearly shot out of his head.

"If you just put butter by itself it'll burn! Oil, Oil, where is my damn—here it is!" Terence quickly adds a large helping of olive oil onto the hotplate.

"S—Sorry…"

"No, it's alright. I…didn't mean to snap like that," He sighs. "I've just…Jugen's burned down three tents already; I forget that you're not doing this on purpose."

Terence starts to transfer the soaked pieces of bread over to the hot plate. They make a satisfying sizzling sound when they hit the metal, though flinging bits of hot oil and butter everywhere. One lands on my wrist and I hiss with pain, but I see Terence touch the hotplate without so much as a flinch. How.

"Now, we don't want one side to burn while the other side is still raw, so we have to flip the pieces after one side is done cooking. You'll know when they're done when—there!" He takes a spatula and flips one of the pieces over. "They'll stop bubbling when the side is cooked. You want minimal blackening but good browning. Looks like I was a bit late; there's way too much black on there."

I see only a couple specks of burnt egg-liquid on the top of the flipped piece as Terence methodically starts to flip the pieces of toast over. I'm certain I can't achieve the same result as he can. I stew on this a little.

"Hey Robin? You can make the side dish, right?"

"We're making a side dish!?"

"Of course! You think two pieces of bread can feed Stahl?"

"That's…yeah, that's fair. What's the side dish?"

"Yoghurt. Uh, two parts yoghurt—it's in that cabinet over there—and one part honey—it's in the [Bag of Holding]. Toss some dried cranberries on there too. They're also in the bag; you'll know them when you see them."

"Um…are you sure I can make that?"

"It's literally just mixing three ingredients together in a bowl."

"A—Alright."

I gulp and find the ingredients I'm looking for…though trying to find the honey and dried cranberries in that infernal bag of his was a pain. I swear, I took out nearly an entire warehouse full of spices before I found the honey.

"Alright…I think this is done…" I sigh as Terence nods approvingly, plating the rest of the Poor Knights.

"Robin!?" I hear a voice from outside the tent that makes me jump a little. Terence holds my shoulder and looks at me with an amused expression, stopping the bowl of yoghurt from spilling. "Are you…in the kitchen?"

"Yeah? Lissa?"

"Um…are you sure you're alright in there alone? Do you…need any help?"

"No, I'm fine. Uh, Terence is with me. We're making…what are they called again…?"

"Poor Knights," Terence answers for me as he finishes plating. He ushers me over to plate the yoghurt.

"Ah! Terence, um…alright, I'll leave you all to it."

"Lissa, mind if you gathered everyone for breakfast? I'm certain that everyone is awake now due to Frederick, and I'd hate for us to start with half of us on an empty stomach."

"Yes! Alright! I'll go get everyone!" Lisssa runs off.

"Is there something happening today?" I ask, confused as to why anyone other than Terence and Frederick would be up this early, only to shrink back as Terence smiles wickedly. "Um…Terence…?"

"No, it's nothing. Get ready, though. There is no way that Frederick isn't forcing you to join in on Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Hour."

What.

"What."

I stop moving and stand there, staring at Terence.

"Oh shit, you really don't know. Gahahaha! Have fun!"

"What—No, get back here you—!"

---

(Terence)

Surprisingly, I'm still able to beat Frederick in the 5 kilometre run again, despite being out of shape for a soldier after two months of little training. Well, I think it's 5 kilometres, I'm not certain. They don't use metric here for obvious reasons.

It honestly wasn't all too terrible, despite what others have stated about this nearly-universally hated hour, and I enjoyed it. For once. I'm not a gym bro, and certainly had issues with staying fit, but I wasn't someone like Jonathan who refused to even consider exercise. Well, Jonathan also had a chronic undereating problem, so he's excused.

I had not expected Robin to be awake this early, though it did mean I had extra help with breakfast. I'm…going to elect not to inform her that today was actually Lissa's day on mess duty, and that she's just inadvertently bought me a favour from Lissa. The Ylissean princess is really bad at waking up early enough to make any sort of meal, which translates to having the rest of us on mess duty having to make up for her.

Hehe. I know exactly what I'm doing to cash this favour in.

The 'hour' of Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Hour is a bit disingenuous. It should take the average person an hour to complete everything without being pushed too hard…if the average person is Frederick. Terentius finished far ahead of that time, of course, but I doubt I would be able to even make the 1 hour mark, nevermind be able to complete it in 38 minutes, realise that only Frederick and I have finished, play a round of card, get bored with playing cards after I demolished him five times in a row, decided to wrestle—in which I got absolutely stomped—and then run another five kilometres. And we still managed to beat Chrom.

Frederick jogs up to the tree we've been using as the start-slash finish line. His tone has…mellowed a little bit since we first met. We're on speaking terms, even if those speaking terms are still professional, not friendly.

Then again, there are only probably three people in the Shepherds as a whole who I think I have 'friendly' relations with and-slash-or can call my friends—Robin, Kellam, and Lissa—and that's not an insubstantial amount by design.

"Beat you again," I chuckle as Frederick touches the tree with a snort. "Water?"

"Thank you," Frederick raises an eyebrow as I pour a glass of water from a [Decanter of Endless Water] and hand it to him. "What…exactly is that?"

"Decanter of Endless Water. Does what it says on the tin," I shrug.

"On the tin? There is no tin label on the glass."

"I mean—right, no canning yet. It does what it says in the name."

"It has endless water?"

"Yeah. Well, not entirely limitless, but close enough that it doesn't matter," I shrug. "Great item for when you're stuck in the desert or somewhere without freshwater."

"I can see that," Frederick nods, taking a sip.

A beat of silence extends between us for a moment before Frederick coughs into his fist.

"I…had not expected you to be such a good runner," He notes.

"It hasn't been that long since I've left hell," I chuckle. "This is nothing compared to the near-daily trips we used to make. Plus, I've been trained how to move fast across a long distance of time. The Proconsul was a bit of a slave-driver, after all."

"Still, I had expected you to be far more impassive when it came to exercise; something more like your friend, Robin, would have been expected."

I wince in sympathy at the mention of Robin's name. The poor girl was not ready at all for the intense physical strain that Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Hour entailed. She had basically tapped out during the 300 push-up section and barely was able to finish the curl-up section before Frederick herded us to the running portion.

I lost her around the five-minute mark of the run as Robin's silhouette disappeared behind a large rise in the ground. I passed her…around the two-thirds mark? I'm not sure; I was too busy trying to stay ahead of a spriting Vaike who somehow found a reserve of energy when he realised I was going to lap him.

I perk my head as I realise that Chrom's approaching. His breathing is heavy and a sheen of sweat is lathered over nearly every part of his skin that is exposed. His dark blue tunic is…not supposed to be that blue.

"Haa…ha…Hey…Frederick…Terence…gaah…" Chrom trudges up the small hill up to the tree. "Naga…damn it…"

"Water?" I raise an eyebrow as Chrom nearly collapses onto the group, only saving himself from flattening against the dirt by converting that collapse into a flop to a sitting position. "You look…bad."

"Y—Yeah…" Chrom takes the water and gulps down half of the entire glass in one mouthful before promptly pouring the rest over his head. "Ha…that feels…much better. How are you two…not even a little bit…winded…"

"Practice."

"Pain."

Frederick and my responses don't differ all too much from each other. It gives a bit more insight as to the circumstances that got us to where we are, individually, though pain and practice aren't much different. I would have liked practising running for my life while not being actively chased by a bunch of angry harpies while trying to do CPR on a thoroughly unalive Jugen.

"You…two…are…just…the worst," Chrom sighs. "Ha…Terence, thanks…for the water. Got any more?"

I refill his glass, though he looks as confused as Frederick was when the amount of water in the decanter doesn't seem to go down by much. Chrom doesn't question it, however, unlike Frederick; perhaps he's more used to my magical items, especially after I showed him my Magical Tinkering back at Southtown.

"That decanter is very useful," Frederick notes again with a raised eyebrow. "Though you did mention that it had functionally infinite water. What exactly does that mean?"

"Oh, it's because this decanter has two rather big limitations that prevent it from being truly infinite water," I start to explain with a hum. It feels rather natural for me to do this, for some reason. "See, the way that this decanter makes water is by turning ambient mana in the air into water through a rather complicated process that I'd rather not get into. Anyway, it's similar in theory to ice magic—even if not a lot of people here practise it."

I take a moment to breathe before continuing.

"Due to this method, there are two ways to stop this magic from working. The first is if the ambient mana runs so low that it's impossible for the Locke process to work. You would have to find a place that either has an Anti-magic Zone placed upon it or some other process has sucked all of the mana out of the ground. Quite difficult to encounter otherwise," I wince as I realised that out of the five times I've tried to use this specific decanter, three of those times had one of the two reasons why it would work due to insufficient mana supplies.

"As for the second way, it's to overwhelm the O4 circuit in the mana absorption module. The amount of water needed to be produced would be immense, but it's possible. I've done it before, though the auto-repair system that I put into all of my magic items quickly fixed it up the day after. It did generate enough water to make an entire geyser that flowed for a good two hours," I chuckle. "So yes, it's completely possible, but it's rather difficult. In day-to-day use, it won't run out of water."

The explanation seems to have flown over the heads of both Frederick and Chrom. I realise this with a sigh before adding that Miriel would probably be able to explain the basics of magic better. Chrom mutters something about being embarrassingly bad at magic, but I elect not to notice.

We make some small talk as we wait for the rest of the shepherds to finish their run. Vaike and Sully come next, being neck to neck. The two hotheads look just about ready to fall over, with sheer stubbornness keeping them upright. They barrel straight past Chrom who was trying to welcome and slam into the tree, almost at the same time. I say almost because they immediately got into a fight about who got there first and forced me to referee it. Why they didn't ask Chrom or Frederick I have no idea.

After a few moments of measurements, I was able to conclude—with a massive margin of error, mind you—that Sully won.

I promptly ducked as Vaike swung a branch he found…somewhere at me.

The next to arrive is Kellam. Not surprising. That hefty armour that he usually wears doesn't slow that man down at all, and this run is done without armour on. Well, Frederick challenged me to a run with armour on, which I took and won. Take that, Fredrickson! That's my prize, by the way—being able to call him Fredrickson for an entire day.

Stahl had, unsurprisingly, the geometric average of everyone's time. I'm not…surprised, but I am enthused about the possibilities of this. He shrunk away from me after this whole ordeal when Frederick and I were looking through everyone's times and suggesting how we could improve this workout.

Sumia took a bit longer to get back, but she did so with good time. Under an hour! It took practically everything she had, but still, better than the other more…lax people. Ahem, Lissa. And Robin.

Surprisingly, Lon'qu took a while to complete the 5 kilometres. You'd expect someone like him to be fast. Apperatenly, he's only fast for the first 500 or so metres, and then his speed falls off a cliff. Poor dude looked like he was going to die from heat stroke. Well, he did have early onset heatstroke, so I had to dump a good dozen litres of cold water on him before I was comfortable with him walking away. He looked…rather uncomfortable when the water was being dumped on him, though he looked a lot less like an overcooked lobster when all was said and told.

Miriel, having paced herself rather well, wasn't all too tired, though her times suffered a bit.

"And now we just have to wait for Lissa and Robin," I note to Kellam with a chuckle as Miriel starts to pick Chrom and Frederick's brain for the things I've said about the Decanter, which she's stolen off my hands for 'study'. It's…fine, I have like four of those things. You find those things everywhere, and it takes like half a day for any decent artificer to make anyway.

"I'm surprised that Robin's doing this poorly," Kellam shrugs. "Though I'm just as surprised that you did so well."

"What can I say…death is usually a good motivator to keep fit," I laugh cynically. "Just imagining a horde of harpies on my ass was enough to keep the pain away."

"I have no idea what a harpy is, but that sounds terrifying."

"Oh, you don't know the half of it. There was this time that—and that's Robin and Lissa," I note, nodding towards the silhouette of the two ladies finally rising above the small depression immediately in front of the hill that the tree is on.

Lissa and Robin pant and struggle up the hill. For some reason, Robin's decided that wearing that coat would have no bearing on her ability to run and is currently wearing it…hood and all. A small tingle of danger shoots up my spine; Grima looks exactly like that. I quickly and quietly kill that feeling with extreme prejudice. Robin is not Grima, no matter what my body may tell me.

"Gah…ha…ha…C—Chrom! Help me!" Lissa whines while Robin mutters something incomprehensible.

"Sorry Sis, but you'll have to climb up here by yourself," Chrom smiles and gives two thumbs up.

The two girls take their time climbing past the final hurdle. Lissa collapses into a pile at Chrom's feet, refusing to get up, much to Chrom's chagrin. Karma. Meanwhile, Robin stumbles towards me and my glass of water like a zombie.

"Hey Robin. Doing alright."

"Mhurmmm…" She takes the water from my hands and starts to drink in small little sips. "Yuuuhrah."

"What are you even saying…" I sigh. "You should really take the coat off, you know?"

"Dthongt. I…Eiyeee…loink ith…"

"Don't, because you like it?" I raise an eyebrow, repeating what I think I hear back to her. Thankfully, she nods in approval at my translation.

She suddenly starts swaying worryingly on her feet, the water in the glass starting to leap over the sides and slosh over onto the ground.

"R—Robin? Are you sure you're—Robin!" I yelp as she crumples forwards with a groan, slamming against my chest and spilling the water everywhere. I try to peel her off of me and help her stand on her feet, but the moment I touch her skin—

"Gods damn! She's got heatstroke!"

I lie her down as fast as possible and start taking off as many clothes as I possibly can—coat, long pants, jackets under the coat, for some bizarre reason, and a rather thick cloth overshirt. Why she has so many layers I have no idea.

"Lissa, fill a tub with cold water as fast as possible!" I snap at the young princess. "Kellam, help me move her over to that tub. Sumia, keep pouring water from my decanter onto her."

My words seem to move the shepherds who had been shocked into inaction. Frederick goes to help Lissa with the tub and Miriel helps with keeping her cool in the meantime.

It takes just under three minutes for everything to get set and for us to move her over and place her in the tub. I suggested taking everything off—she still had an undershirt and a pair of shorts on—for optimal heat loss, but that was quickly shot down by a rather red-faced Smia and Lissa.

The immediate panic over, the shepherds just kinda stood around before Frederick decided that enough was enough and got everyone to leave, having just Lissa and I watching over Robin. Thankfully, her body temperature has dipped back to an acceptable level, though I'm still a bit cautious letting her out of the danger zone; possible dehydration hasn't been ruled out yet.

Even more concerning is the fact that Robin hasn't woken back up yet.

After a while, Lissa, deciding that me alone is enough to care for her, leaves to…do something. Not sure what.

I turn away from Robin for a moment when I hear her cry out in pain.

Turning around, concern etched into my face, I race back to the basin. Robin's eyes are glassy, with a milky texture. She's shivering—which is slightly concerning—but also spasming, which is more concerning by a fair margin.

I reach out and touch her forehead and recoil slightly. How has her temperature increased!? If this keeps going, I might have to enact some drastic measures.

For now, I scoop cool water from the side of the basin and pour it on her head. This…actually works, which is rather surprising. Her quiet cries of pain have been reduced to slight moans every time I apply more water, which is heartening to see.

After around five or so minutes, her eyes have returned to a more normal state.

She suddenly grabs onto my arm and stares me in the face with wide eyes. I, in fact, did not almost jump out of my seat and instead calmly responded to this new situation.

"Mehercule, Robin, what are you—uh, what are you doing?" I raise my eyebrows as she grips on to my arm with increasing force. "Robin…? Are you conscious yet? Or are you—"

I cut myself as I realise that Robin's muttering something quietly.

"You're…here…you're…here…I've…"

She's barely able to form a coherent sentence, but I can hear the pained desperation slowly turning to relief in her voice.

It…reminds me of…someone being possessed, actually. That faraway look in their eyes that seem to be unable to comprehend reality as we see it, that unnatural swagger that gives away their inability to equate their sense to the world around them.

And that constant murmuring. The near catatonic whispers of someone who can't see the world as it is.

It sends a shiver down my spine. A quick dispel curse should do the trick, but that would risk alerting the possessor of my intervention.

Ah, what the hell. It is what it is.

I pull out my [All-Purpose Tool]. A small ray-like apparatus extends out of the end. I put this combined device to Robin's head and murmur a quick word of assurance, as Robin looks up at this amalgamation of metal tubing and bent plates.

"W…What is…"

I cast [Dispel Curse]. The spell causes a flash of green light to radiate from the point where the tool contacts Robin's skin and ripples out from there, as if Robin's body was a pond and I just threw a stone in.

The effect is immediate and sudden. Robin nearly smashes her head against the edge of the tub as her muscles all relax, the entity who had forced them to move having been forcibly evicted from her body. I have to quickly slide my arm under her head to prevent her banging her head against the metal tub.

I spot a purple mist being ejected from the back of Robin's head and click my tongue in annoyance. Yup, it was Grima. Why am I not surprised? I doubt I can permanently remove Grima from Robin's body, and I doubt I want to, and a quick check of Robin's hand confirms my suspicions. The mark is still present.

Robin's body temperature slowly returns back down to normal human temperatures over the course of maybe ten minutes, maybe half an hour. I'm really not sure.

"Hello, Terence. How's she looking?" Chrom's voice interrupts the quiet that I've had for a while. "Oh. Hope I'm not intruding on anything right now."

I sigh and shake my head.

"No, well, not anything important. Just normal post-treatment monitoring."

Chrom raises an eyebrow. He asks me if he can sit down, and I give him a shrug. He interprets this as a yes, which I don't necessarily mind.

"How's she doing?"

"Not bad. Her core temperature is dropping back down to normal, healthy levels. The immediate danger has been avoided, thankfully. I'm just waiting for her to wake up at this point."

"Mmmm…that's good. You two are close, aren't you?"

"I would do this for anyone who needed it, Chrom. I'm not picking favourites here."

"I know, I know. It's…well, she did come straight for you, didn't she?"

"And I wonder who was holding a pitcher of water and who wasn't."

"Right. Yeah, that makes sense. It's just…well, considering how close the two of you are, I would have thought the two of you would have been something…more. You are the only person she is close to…with maybe the exception of Lissa."

"Really, Chrom? Of all people she could possibly pick, me? An old soldier who's got more mental problems than a dragon has gold? A man without any status, any power, and standing? A foreigner, just like her, who is more likely to lead her astray?" I scoff, before frowning. "Hold on…what do you mean I'm the only person she's close to?"

"Well, you're the only person she's close to."

"No, I know what it means, I mean, you kn—what does it mea—Give me more context!"

"Well…uh…Robin's been cooped up in her tent ever since we've gotten back from Ferox, and the only times she's come out are when you've dragged her out for food. Whenever you're out of camp on either hunting or well duty, she basically doesn't leave her tent for anything. Only Lissa seems to also have this power, and even then it's sporadic."

"What…? This is the first time I've heard of this…"

"Well, it's not like you're particularly active either. Honestly, if Kellam wasn't so observant, I think you would have starved to death already!"

"No, not possible. I've survived for two weeks without food before."

Chrom makes a dumbfounded face.

"How did you get into such a situation—no, dumb question. Anyway, don't drag yourself into the mud about this. You're a fine lad, you know?"

"This feels patronising coming from a person barely half my age."

"Hey! I'm only like…five years younger than you!"

"If we're counting chronological age. I've had a much longer time alive than you have, Chrom. Ten years in hell does wonders to mature a person."

"R—Right. Um…moving swiftly away from that topic and into the one I actually wanted to talk to you about—"

"So you weren't just here to make fun of me and Robin?"

"It was a joke! It was supposed to be a joke, alright? I couldn't—"

"It was a bad joke, Chrom."

"Yes, yes, I know…can we please move away from that topic?"

"Sure. What did you want to ask?"

"Well…we're going to be back in Ylisstol in a bit. No doubt, Si—er—Exalt Emmeryn will call a meeting of the council. We're completed our goal, yes, but I would like to have…um…a plan. A plan to deal with the Risen. And I know from a couple games of chess with Virion and Robin that I have no talent for tactics, and I would really need her expertise in these things."

"And what does this have to do with me?"

"Well, you're the expert in Rise—"

"And I'm going to stop you right there." I put my hand out with a frown. "I've faced the undead before, and while I'm fairly certain that Risen are undead, just because they're the same kind of being doesn't mean that my experiences are transferable. I can advise you, but I cannot and should not make any decisions. I'm too tired and not nearly egotistical enough to think I can beat Robin in that regard."

"Robin would disagree with you."

"If our tactician orders me to give my opinion, I shall, but otherwise, I will refrain from such comments."

"You really are a stickler for the rules, aren't you?"

"I would certainly hope so. I spent ten years in the legions; I got insubordination drilled out of me."

"Hmph. Sounds like something Frederick would say."

"It does, and that's not without reason," I say with a chuckle. "The two of us aren't as different as we look. It's the reason why we can't stand each other; I would act the same way if our situations were reversed, and I was the one guarding my ward's life. Hells, I would have cut off the head of anyone who claimed they saw the future; such beings don't usually bring good fortune. Well, I would have conferred with Gaius first, considering their family ties to the priesthood, but if he gave me the go-ahead, instant death for the would-be prophet."

I pause, then recoil as the words leave my mouth. Wait a moment, how do I know all of this—?

"Do you want me to cut off your head right now, Terence?"

"Do as you wish, though I don't think your morals would allow you to," I chuckle.

"You know me too well. Another vision?"

"No, just an accurate guess of character."

"Well, I suppose that's as much as I'm going to get you to budge on this issue. I'll…see if I can get a meeting with you, me, and Robin together before we get to Ylisstol to hash out a plan."

"Bring Virion and Frederick with you as well. Both have a good grasp on strategy and should be a good balance against Robin and I's radical and foreign ideas, respectively."

"That's…probably a good idea. If I can actually find a time for all of us to get together."

"You're our leader; this should be a piece of cake."

"Says the one who's more elusive than a ghost."

"Just go into my tent if you can't find me anywhere. I'm probably working on something."

"Fine, fine…Hey Terence, you should go get some food. I'll call Lissa over to watch over Robin for now."

"Huh?"

"It's already lunchtime. And I know you didn't eat breakfast today, so get something before you keel over from hunger."

I smile and shake my head. No matter how many times I point out how durable I am, nobody seems to listen.

---

(Septimus Terentius Aquilius Aurelius)

Despite the incredible ambient temperature, the hall itself was quite cold and lonely. As it should be, for it was a part of the dungeon system of the Archdemon of Greed, Mammon. The halls were narrow and cramped, the lights were spaced so far apart as to make the hall seem much more dark than it should have. Shadows lept out from the spaces between the flickering light that the torches produced, and the very hall itself seemed to suck the air out from one's lungs.

Considering the types of traps that the sovereigns of the underworlds liked to employ, the walls could have done just that.

The clattering of footsteps could suddenly be heard from some ways down the hall. Slowly, a quintet of figures emerge from the murk. Their faces are lit up by the flitting flame, casting long shadows across their figures.

They are all tired and dirty, their faces covered in a tint of black ash and scarlet blood, dried by the heat boiling off of the walls. Yet, their eyes hold a grim determination and a spark of life and defiance that have got them this far. They walk with heavy steps, yes, but they walk with confident strides and careful deliberation.

Before long, they make it to a cavernous gate made from blackened steel. An ash-coated shackle sits upon its frame, and it stares down the quintet of time-orphaned misfits.

"Behind this damn thing, huh?" One of them, the tallest one, says with a look at the man with a set of laminar armour. "Looks like Mammon didn't want us gettin' in, one way or another."

"Six inches of solid adamantine," The winged one whistles as he taps the surface of the door. "Wonder where he got this thing."

"What's an inch…?" The man with a false life frowns before shaking his head. "Nevermind. Can you get this door open, Terence?"

"I can get the lock open, no problem, but the door still might not open," The man in laminar armour—Terence—shrugs with a pained expression on his face. "I take that back. I might be able to pick the lock, but anything after that I can't guarantee."

"Better to try the non-destructive way before we let Antonii tear it to pieces, right?" The man with false life chuckles. The half-elf shakes his head in disappointment while the tallest man—Antonii—snorts in amusement.

"We're in a demon's lair. We should be trying to break everything we can…" The half-elf crusader tuts. "Not trying to be courteous guests."

"To be fair, we have already killed said demon, so maybe keeping his stuff intact makes more sense?" The winged one shrugs.

"How ironic," Terence snorts. "Iason, a literal angel, playing devil's advocate. What kind of world did I get taken to?"

"I would like to point out that all demons are angels, just ones that—"

"Shut up, Iason," The crusader snaps. "You've got to be close to falling yourself. And you, finish opening the damned door."

"Cool off, Jugen," The false man shakes his head and pats the crusader's shoulder. "What's wrong with a little banter? How's the door coming along, Terence?"

"Well, like I said, I managed to get the lock open, but the door is refusing to cooperate. Damn thing still weighs more than a bathhouse," Terence clicks his tongue. "Any ideas, Rufus? Other than just having Antonii knock everything down? Not that it's a bad idea, but it would make a massive noise and might spook the people on the other side."

"Have you tried knock? Not knocking, the spell [Knock]," Rufus, the mechanical man, rubs his chin.

"The sound that the spell makes would make it a moot point," Jugen, the half-elf crusader, mutters. "We're trying to do this stealthily, right?"

"The point is not to scare whatever prisoners that Mammon has. If we go in after busting down the door, they might mistake us for demons," Terence sighs. "Not stealth. Stealth was out of the question when we entered via a hole we made through a satchel charge."

"Which, might I remind you, was your idea, Terence. For the record, I liked Rufus's idea better."

"Hey, Consuetudinis magna vis est, ita?"

"Please do not make those hard c's in my presence."

"It's my damn language, I'll pronounce it how I—"

"I'm going to break the door if you two don't shut up," Antonii grunts, moving forwards, grip tightening on his warhammer.

"Right, right. Any more ideas, Terence?" Rufus looks at his friend.

"No, not really. My other options are just as loud."

"Alright then. Antonii—?"

"Way ahead of you," With a grunt, the giant man smashes the lock of the gate. A harsh metallic thunk rings out throughout the hallways, and the force of the blow reverberates through the hall, and the light flickers more aggressively as the flames of the torches dislike the sudden change in air pressure.

With its bolt shattered by a blow that could break dragons' bones, the door reluctantly creaks open, the inertia from its sheer weight slowing its movement down. Inside, the quintet find a plethora of cells, some with living inhabitants, most without. The stench of the dead and the dying fill the air and hangs like a blanket in every dank corner. All five are use to the smell now, though none particularly like it.

The loud noise seems to alert all those who still yett draw breath in this literal infernal prison. Most have barely enough energy to lift their head up from the hot stones that make up the ground; starvation, dehydration, and exposure have taken their grim toll. Others, already insane from the time they have spent here, howl at the sight of someone new, and rattle against the bars that keep them trapped. Yet others, perhaps a bit more lucid, clamour at their doors or point down the halls, shouting in a thousand different languages, some of men, some of dwarves, and some of elves.

A singular lone imp flies down the hall, surprised at the sudden intrusion, before a bolt of frozen ice smashes into its flank and freezes it, killing the prison guard instantly. Its lame body falls onto the ground with a sickening crack.

"Odd that there's no more security than a damned imp. Nice shot, Terence," Jugen sighs, putting his sword back into its scabbard. "Everyone here looks like absolute shit."

He's not wrong. The eyes of those who had spent a lengthy time here are glassy, their gazes unfocused, their muscles atrophied by the lack of proper nutrition and intense dehydration.

"How many do you think are here?"

"Those who are alive or those who have longer than 48 hours to live?"

"Both numbers would be useful."

Terence frowns for a moment, deep in thought.

"I'd say…there's maybe five dozen people in here who are still alive, and a generous estimate of the number of people who could survive the next two days…thirty per cent? That's the upper estimate, I wouldn't be surprised if that number is as low as five per cent."

"That's…not good. Rufus?"

"Hmmm? What about me?"

"What do you think?"

"Why are you even asking me, Jugen? I'm not a doctor."

"Right right…"

"We should get to healing, then!" Iason grins. "After all, those who we can save here will go into the hands of the lord when they leave."

"Yes, we should do that? Terence?"

"Med station?"

"Yeah. You know the drill."

The five quickly get to work. As they say, many hands make light work, and within the median of the hour, the grim task is completed. The dead are pulled aside, Rufus giving those recently departed their final rites. Those who could be saved are centralised in the front of the room and given treatment. Those who have no possibility to live are given two choices: euthanasiation or limited treatment. Most chose the latter, though many are no longer of sound mind and must be given the gift of a final respite.

Nobody is in favour of this decision, but material and spells must be conserved. And as such, the loud roar of an arcane firearm can be heard methodically as the organs of those who cannot go one fail one by one, and their lives are mercifully closed with as much dignity as can be spared in this situation.

In the end, Terence's estimates are closer than anyone would have liked. Out of some sixty souls still living, only fifteen make it to the end of the day. As the temperature plunges into the negatives and frost begins to form on the tinted windows, a bonfire is raised in the centre of the dungeon.

The infernal wood crackles and pops like burning phosphorus, but it is the only fuel left to use, left to burn.

Terence looks into that purple-white flame that the ashen trees produce. He begins to slip into contemplation—a dangerous thing to do down in the bowels of the world, for thought gave rise to reason, and the breaking of reason gave way to madness—before suddenly being ripped from his thoughts. A sudden yep from one of the former prisoners and the pained cries of a different prisoner set off alarm bells in his mind.

"What's going on—" Terence stands up with a shout before his question is answered by his own two eyes. "Jugen! What are you doing?!"

Jugen, sword in hand, had just randomly grabbed one of the former prisoners by the hair and was dragging them to the bonfire. A girl, possibly his lover, probably his friend, screams out as the tall Half-Elf drags him up by the hair.

"Scelere furti, morte damnatus es."

"Jugen! Stop—NO!" Terence rushes forward as Jugen slams the blade of his sword into the gut of the struggling man, silencing his cries immediately. "Why! You—!"

Terence immediately goes to heal the mortally wounded man, and with a flash of green light, the wound in his gut is closed.

"Tch. You would save a thief?"

"What in the hells are you talking about?!"

"Do you not recognise him? I remember you being incredibly pissed when he stole our horses."

"Hu…?" Terence raises an eyebrow. "Hoi! I know you're awake. Did you do that?"

"Hwa? What are you talking about?"

"Just answer the question. Did you steal our horses?"

"N—No! I didn't!"

"Oh, that's fucking bullshit. I remember your face, you fucker! Elves don't forget!"

"I swear, I swear! I didn't steal nothing!"

"See, Jugen? He didn't steal anything. Now, are you ready to prepare a judicial case when we get out? If not, I think we'll have to take his word for it."

"Oh come on! You know this is bullshit! You were complaining for months!" Jugen growls. "I know as well as you—no, everyone does! Everyone knows their faces! He and his whore of a—"

"Ey! Leave Mari—"

"Shut! The! Fuck! Up!" Jugen tries to kick the man who's on the floor, but his foot is caught by a scowling Terence.

"Jugen! That was too far."

"He stole from us! He's a thief! You would defend someone like him!?"

"I will defend my patients. He is my patient right now. I am no lawyer, and by Juipiter I would never want to step foot in a courtroom. But I know my duty is to help those in need, and those who require or request medical attention I shall strive to save with all my might. Maybe if you understood such an important duty, you could have been a better leader."

"You were a soldier! You have killed more than all of us combined."

"Ok, that's just not true. First, I'm fairly certain that Antonii has killed more than all of us combined, for starters…and also, soldiers know what they are getting into when they—"

"And he wasn't!? When he stole he didn't know the consequences of theft?"

"What else was he to do!? Did you think he just wanted to steal because he was evil? That he just woke up that day and decided to steal? Can you, in that dull elvish brain of yours, think of any other reason he would steal that has nothing to do with his character!?"

"And you're showing mercy why? Don't forget how bloodthirsty you were when we went after Asmodius."

"He's a demon, not a human, you ass!"

"And this mercy of yours doesn't extend to demons!?"

"If you were literate and understood what anything meant, perhaps you would actually know what mercy meant! Oh, and learn how to deal with stress at the same time; that way, Amette wouldn't have—"

"Terence," Jugen's voice drops to a deathly quiet. "Pick your next words very carefully."

"—been fucking crucified! You don't have to tell me again that your—"

Wham

"Ghack—! R—Resorting to violence already? That's just like you. If you hadn't—"

Slam

"Hitting me won't—"

Crack

Thud

"JUGEN!" Rufus roars from across the room as Jugen's blow sends Terence sprawling to the floor. "Cool it! Terence, are you alright!?"

"I'm…fine…I'm fine…" Terence spits a crimson spot onto the stones. "Peachy."

"And you! What the fuck do you think you're doing!?"

"..."

"Answer me, Jugen."

"I don't answer to you, only to the lord."

"I am about to summon the lord if you don't tell me exactly what was going through your mind."

"Fine," Jugen spits. "I shut Terence up in the only way I knew how."

"Funny. I get him to shut up by just giving him a machine to work on. Usually ends with him not on the floor bleeding from his mouth. Usually."

"Quit your holier-than-thou speech, Rufus. It's not going to make me feel any worse about what I did."

"I believe there's an expression about pots and kettles in English. Would you happen to know it, O' Faer Fae?"

"Are you trying to antagonise me? That's not like you, Rufus."

"You bashed Terence's head in with your shield. I'm allowed to be a bit aggressive now, you think?"

"More like passive aggressive."

"So what. I need you to lay off of it. You still need to learn how to work in a team properly."

"Hmph. That team is half dead already; we're the dredges of what's left."

"Doesn't make it any less of a team. Get your act together, Jugen. We work together, or we die together, and I'd rather not die right now."

"Right. I'm going to sleep. Enjoy your time with the horse-thief."

---

(Terence || Terentius Aquilius Aurelius)

"Terence…?"

"..."

"Terence? You alright?"

I snap my eyes open and reorient myself as the tendrils of nostalgia are slowly washed from my system. The oppressive heat from Mammon's dungeon disappears and is replaced by the quiet warmth of Central Ylisse.

I realise with a start that I've somehow fallen into a nostalgic reminiscence while in the middle of a chess match with Virion. I shake off the lingering tendrils of the past that still hook into my brain. Scanning the board in front of me, memories of a few moments ago suddenly come rushing back like a tidal wave.

I'm down on material, Virion is up both of my knights and my bishop for me taking one of his rooks. Well, rather, Virion's lost both his rooks while I've lost both my knights, my bishop, and my rook. This might seem like a bad position to be in, but I do have a much greater board control; Virion hasn't been able to develop his queen after a successful bait with one of my knights stole enough time away from him as to make development now not as enticing. Meanwhile, my queen is currently in a triple attack fork, pressuring his queen, his knight, and one of his pawns, and the middle of the board is basically all mine.

"I understand the need to think during a chess match, but I've never seen anyone slip into a trace in the middle of a match," Virion chuckles goodheartedly. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Peachy," I sigh with a shrug. Seeing the current situation on the board, and the traps I've set for him, I'm content to just push up a pawn. "Your move."

The game continues for a couple more turns. A couple trades see me trading my last bishop and rook for his queen, but opening up a gap for my queen to—

"And I believe that is checkmate, Virion," I slide the large white piece up. "Unless you can find a way out?"

Virion takes a deep breath, before sighing with a chuckle.

"No, it appears I am well and truly beaten. That was a good game," He shakes his head. "You play quite well, no?"

"Not much to do on cold winter nights in an officer's camp for someone as uptight as I am, unfortunately," I laugh.

"Truly?" Virion raises an eyebrow. "Not a single visit to the brothel in all your time as a soldier?"

" I've only been once, but that was because Quintus had managed to get his dick bitten by a prostitute he abused a little too much. I was there as medical assistance."

"That's far better than anything I've seen…" Virion looks down on the board and winces. "Though…were you a commander of any kind? You did mention an officer's camp earlier."

"Started as a Tribune, became a Propraetor," I shrug. "Wasn't the top dog, but by the end, I was close enough to the Proconsul that I could affect his decision making. Take that as you will."

"Well, I feel considerable empathy towards your soldiers, then."

"And why…is that?"

"Look at how you play," Virion gestures at the table.

I follow his gaze to the stack of pieces that he took from me.

"Half your army is gone, dead, for your victory."

"That's because chess is a game, Virion," I sigh. "A game where your own pieces are as dangerous to yourself as the enemy's pieces, a game about tight positioning and mathematical possibilities. It's not a game of war, it's a game of numbers."

"Yes…even still—"

"Ah! There you two are!" Chrom suddenly enters the tent and cuts Virion off. "I was looking for the two of you. Uh…what are you two doing?"

"Playing chess," I reply with a shrug. "Well, we've finished playing chess. Just talking about the match."

"Huh…well, congrats on winning, Virion…Why are you two looking at me like that…?

"Pardon him, Terence. I doubt he understands the nature of this game."

"Wait, Terence, you won?" Chrom blinks in surprise. "You have almost no pieces left!"

"The goal isn't to have the most number of pieces left at the end, my dear prince," Virion explains. "It's to checkmate the king—that is—to make it so it is impossible for the king to not be taken in the next turn. And Terence's queen does that wonderfully, here."

"Huh. Well, how exactly did he win if he had almost no pieces left?"

"I traded material for position," I shrug as I explain. "Even though Virion had more pieces, mine were on average better and in a more advantageous position. That allowed me to move my pieces into position and checkmate Virion. And for the record, I'm with you, Chrom, the rules of this game are not representative of the battlefield; my head would be on the pike by turn four if that was the case. The only way to win is to tear yourself away from the idea that these are people, and embrace the game as what it is, just a game."

"That…is a very deep explanation for a game, Terence."

"He has some strong and justified opinions about the game, Chrom," Virion shrugs. "Considering his previous monologues, I think his distaste for this particular board game sits somewhere between his dislike of poorly tempered swords and his negative opinions on hard water."

"Come on, that wasn't even that long of a rant!"

"Exactly why I'm placing it so low on the things you dislike."

"Virion, how do you know what Terence likes?" Chrom frowns. "I didn't even know he doesn't like hard water."

"Observation, my dear prince."

"And by that he means that he's been watching me for the past two wee—no, ever since Longfort. I know for a fact that I've never told anybody about my 'negative opinions' on hard water," I fold my arms across my chest.

"And what of it? It's not hard to overhear you talking to yourself."

"He does that?"

"Chrom, how unobservant are you?"

"H—Hey, I don't look at this kind of stuff, alright?"

"In our dear prince's defence, it is not as if you are the most social of butterflies, Terence," Virion points out. "Sure, my good observational skills allow me to notice many things about everyone, but that is because of my own skills, and certainly not helped by your actions."

I file away Virion's good perception away into my mind. I knew he was the sneaky and cowardly type, but this is a verbal confirmation.

Makes sense, honestly.

"Speaking of, Chrom," I change the topic. "Is there anything you need right now?"

"How does that have anything to do with what we were talking about before?"

"Just answer the question."

"Well, I was going to ask Virion about—"

The flaps to the tent suddenly open up again, interrupting Chrom's words, this time with Robin entering the tent with her arms carrying a massive crate.

"Virion! I managed to get wyvern riders from a merchant a couple of days ago! Now I can finally beat you—" Robin pauses as she notices the number of people in the tent. "—why are all of you in the command tent?"

"I wanted to play a chess game with Virion. It's the only tent with a table where we can play chess. Well, sans my own tent, but I don't want Virion in that tent; he'd probably blow himself up within two minutes," I shrug. "Chrom decided to check up on us for some reason, and Virion is here because I wanted to play a match against him to pass the time."

"Oh…" Robin looks down at the half-reset chessboard. "So who won?"

"Unfortunately, my graceful defence was no match for his brutal offence," Virion gestures gracefully at me. "Making our dear soldier the winner."

"Whoa, really?" Robin's eyes light up as she places the massive box gingerly on the map table. "You beat him, Terence? Seriously?"

"Yeah? Wasn't…particularly difficult," I shrug. "I still feel like you were pulling punches, Virion."

"I can assure you, I may be a gentleman, but shall still endeavour to enact a crushing defeat, when possible."

"You keep saying that, but I keep doubting it," I grunt.

"Hmph. I can believe it. You certainly have more experience with commanding than Virion," Robin snorts. "I can't imagine Virion would be very popular with his soldiers."

"Don't be so sure. He could be keeping up a masquerade," I mutter under my breath, though Virion appears to have heard me and recoils ever-so-slightly at my words. Huh. Strange. "And I'm not much better."

"At least you don't hit on everyone you see," Robin sighs. "Virion's tried to woo me again yesterday."

"I did not!"

"You did so!"

You know, I knew Virion was a bit of a womaniser, but I didn't expect him to be this much of a womaniser. He's tried hitting on just about every single woman in the camp. Yes, even Lissa, which almost ended with Chrom gutting him with Falchion. Almost; when Vaike becomes the voice of reason, you know things have flown straight off of a cliff.

Though, if Virion's like this, I shudder to think what Inigo is like. Virion's character has other parts to it, after all, considering his exile from Roxanne and everything, but Inigo…his character is basically just womaniser and nothing else. Well, maybe a bit of parental angst, but every one of the second generation has that.

Hmmm…would it be better if Chrom was the father or would it actually be worse? I mean, having a prince with a reputation like that wouldn't be the…best PR. Then again, Inigo is a little bit pathetic, even more so than Virion, and honestly, the emotion that I would feel would be pity rather than disgust.

Still, that begs the question, why do Olivia and Chrom—

"Um…Terence?" Chrom's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. "Are you spacing out again? You're staring at my face quite intensely."

I blink.

"Y—Yeah, I guess I have. I'm sorry, what were you guys talking about earlier?"

"Robin wants to have a rematch with Virion, and I'm fairly sure she's not going to take no for an answer," Chrom nods his head at Robin unpacking the chest that she brought into the tent. She brings out and places a multitude of model figures representing soldiers and warriors onto the table.

"Alright, alright! I'll do it!" Virion finally gives in. "You are a stubborn lady…"

"Hehe! That I am. And oh,, Chrom, you can leave now."

"Wha—What do you mean—"

"Let him stay, Robin," I shake my head with a chuckle. "Maybe he could learn something through observation. Would help him more than reading a book; I'm surprised he's even literate."

"Hey!"

Ignoring Chrom's indignant cries, Virion and Robin begin their match. Immediately, Robin is incredibly careful with her pieces, slowly pushing her infantry line forwards through wooded areas. By contrast, Virion is much more assertive, and the difference in experience can be seen almost immediately. Though I wouldn't necessary agree with sending out the heavy cavalry out now, it does catch Robin off-guard and ensure that her light cavalry are now stuck dealing with Virion's knights instead of screening Robin's backline, which allows Virion's skirmishers to pick off a good number of Robin's archers.

She soon responds with a flight of pegasi, but by this point Virion's decimated a good portion of Robin's backline. I feel an uncomfortable unease with which both commanders use their mounted and ranged troups. It's…almost as if they don't know what they're supposed to do with them. Virion has a bit more experience with archers, it appears, so he's using them well enough. When the two lines of infantry clash—see, that's what I'm talking about! What are you doing!? Can't you see that regiment's right on the edge of collapsing? It's the perfect spot for a cavalry charge! Hells, just shoot them! Robin, stop using archers as mixed infantry! Do neither of these people know how to use cavalry or backline artillery!?

"And what are you doing pulling those light infantry away! They're the only unit keeping your heavy infantry from being flanked!" I roar, then cringe, as I realise I've just said what I was thinking out loud. "A—Ah…sorry…I didn't mean to do that. P—Please, continue on."

"I'm afraid you cannot make such a point and not elaborate, Terence," Virion looks at me. If I didn't know better, there is a lot of confusion combined with a slight tinge of fear on his face.

"Y—Yeah! They're about to all be killed!" Robin adds on.

I take a deep breath before I explain.

"It's because their job in such an army is to screen. They're supposed to die, Robin. They're there so that when the cavalry crashes into your flank it's the skirmishers who die instead of your more important troops," I bite my lip as I remember the distinct lack of skirmishers that the Iberian Expedition had in the beginning, and the havoc that the Edetani horse caused. I had moved out of my Equite role by that point, but after that battle, many of the officers within the artillery company were pushed back into the cavalry due to our extreme lack of horse. "If you pull back now, you've left a massive gap in the line for Virion to exploit."

Robin stares at the board and a difficult expression appears on her face.

"But…they'll die…" She says in a quiet voice. "How am I…"

"Don't listen to him, Robin," Chrom shoots me an annoyed look. "Just play how you want to play."

I pause for a moment before kicking myself mentally. What the hell am I doing!? I'm not supposed to influence Robin's thinking like this! Sure, it might be technically correct, but why am I doing this? She doesn't need to be technically good at strategy if it harms her humanity. What good is making a monster to combat Grima if that monster turns into Grima? It…It doesn't make any sense. Why am I doing this, especially since I told myself that I wouldn't be?

"No…Chrom's right," I shake my head. It appears that Chrom had a response to me ready, though my sudden capitulation seems to have been a curveball that he didn't expect. "I'm not sure you want to take advice from a person like me. Command as you wish."

"Um…" Robin lifts her head and blinks at me. "No…I think that—"

"Would you look at the time?" I cut her off, looking at the watch on my wrist. "I need to do some maintenance on Randy. Go beat his ass, Robin. Tell me who wins."

I walk out of the tent, the gaze of everyone in the room burning holes in the back of my skull as I escape the situation.

---

(Septimus Terentius Aquilius Aurelius)

…the false sky is a raging crimson again. The sound of large, leathery wings shudders and spasms through the air, each haunting beat a drumbeat in the song of panic in the throng of people huddling on the harsh, cold ground.

"It's coming," Rufus whispers with a hitch in his breath. "I can see it. I can hear it. I can feel it."

"Well, the charade is over, then. How many?" Jugen clicks his tongue, half in annoyance, half in anxiousness.

"Six wyverns—or drakes. I can't tell at this range," Rufus sighs. "Six bipedal draconoform aerial cavalry. Wouldn't be surprised if bicorns are on the ground as well; we need to finish this quickly."

He glances back behind him to the large group of refugees hiding behind a rocky outcropping in the ground.

"So, I hope you have a plan, Terence," Jugen clicks his tongue and draws his sword. The bright gold of the paladin's blade shining in the smoky air burns away some of the rocky dust, allowing everyone to see and think a little clearer. "Having some direction right about now would be greatly appreciated."

"Yeah, on it. Antonii, up front. Jugen, you too. You're going to have to be the bait for the drakes. Iason, use your glamorous mantle to keep them in the fight. Rufus, you and I should go around to the sides and envelope them. The two of us have good area-of-effect spells, so we should be making use of that. Oh, yeah, and Iason, ground the drakes. We don't want them flapping off," Terence cricks his neck and sighs. "I don't much care what you use, so long as the effect is the same. I'll try to help out with a web spell, though don't expect too much from it. Your magic is much better than mine. And don't forget to stick to me! I can't shield any of you if you refuse to stay in range!"

A round of annoyed affirmations right out from the four being scolded.

"Good. Let's get started. Iason? Do your thing."

The angel responds with a chuckle, his lyre appearing in a shower of golden sparks, and a soft, aethereal melody starts to play. A crown of light appears upon the heads of the barbarian and the paladin. The soft sound of lyres is slowly but surely drowned out by the sound of leathery wings beating in the sky, as six shapes quickly form in the smoke.

"Here they come," Nobody knows who whispers these words, but it is an immediate trigger.

A trio of dissonant chords are struck, the sound forming first into notes then into a swarm of playing cards, shooting out into the smoggy sky. They trace lines of red and black as they streak across the smoky air, and as the cards slowly start to crumble into motes of blue light, the sextet of figures suddenly spring into existence, and slam into the swarm of playing cards. The phantasm agents of a gambler's sorrow cut thousandfold wounds into the wyverns and their riders. Two of the dragonkin let out a guttural roar and dive, their eyes cut by the spell, their instincts screaming at them to reduce their altitude.

A moment later, two thunderous crashes shake the very ground as the wyverns return to the ground.

Terence clicks his tongue. He should have specified which spell he wanted Iason to use. While [Spray of Cards] was technically an inhibitory spell, it wasn't the best choice. Something like [Colour Spray] or [Hypnotic Pattern] would have been much better. Oh well, it was just like Iason to use flashy yet impractical spells even when in a deadly situation. Better turn this situation around with something.

He pulls out a torn and tattered book bound by hope and prayers, and rips yet another one of its yellowing pages from it. The page shudders and burns in a golden flame, the golden ashes swirling around Terence in a loose ring. With a snap of his fingers—

A massive rift opens in the dark sky, and a kaleidoscope of colours erupts from its maw.

While his friends are staring the other way and are unaffected by this seeming tear in the fabric of the worlds, the wyverns and their riders are much less lucky and are hit by the brunt of the power of the spell. Though it lasts but a moment, the effect is incredibly notable. Three of the remaining wyverns roar in pain and confusion, flapping their wings wildly. One of their riders slumps over and falls off his clueless mount.

"Jugen! Antonii! Brace! Iason, mantles, now!"

The former two grip their weapons more tightly as the melody changes into a more majestic uproar, and a cloak of gold and silver descends upon their body from their golden crowns.

Though disoriented and with their cohesion totally destroyed, the wyverns are still a present obvious danger.

The remaining coherent wyvern smashes into Antonii, lifting the massive man off his feet and shattering his ethereal mantle of glamour.

Though two wyverns make their way towards Jugen, they are doing so by command from their riders, and are thus moving with a clumsiness and gait unusual for such majestic creatures. Jugen is easily able to sidestep the first wyvern and parry the strike from the second, getting a free slash in on the side of the latter.

Not a moment later, a primal roar is heard from the unfortunate wyvern that had picked Antonii off the ground as the barbarian evokes his inner rage. Thunder bellows from the sky, and a triplet bolt of lightning strikes the wyvern carrying the enraged berserker.

Seeing things start to fall apart, Terence ignites Dawnbringer and falls in line with Jugen on the front.

"Hope Antonii's alright."

"He'll be fine. He's survived worse."

"Certainly hope so. How's your sword arm?"

"Worse than yours, Jugen, but good enough."

"You know you can let Rufus take your spot you know?"

"And lose our best offensive spellcaster? You must be out of your mind."

Jugen just shrugs.

"They're coming back around. That trick with [Hypnotic Patterns] was genius."

"I thought it would put them to sleep, but this is fine too," Terence clicks his tongue.

As the wyverns slowly swing back for another pass, a bolt of golden power races up towards them like a guiding beacon and smashes into the chest of the leading wyvern. A strange feeling overcame the two of them, as if a spotlight was shown upon that singular wyvern as it dove towards them.

The effect of the [Guiding Bolt] may seem small at first, but it is enough to bring forth miracles out of tragedies.

Jugen's eyes narrow as the wyvern swoops down to kill him.

"Think you can hit him?"

"Think I can hit him? I think I can kill him."

Jugen's sword briefly flashes with a dim silver light before exploding in a cacophony of blue-white lightning and black power. The sword comes down upon the wyvern, and the wyvern screams in pain and agony as the blade—

---

(Lucina Lowell)

I huff as the sudden heat from the spell radiates off of Falchion in waves of blue and yellow. My muscles ache with a pain that I have never felt before. I've been swinging my sword in the same motion for…perhaps an hour…perhaps more…I've lost track of time…trying to replicate the power that I had attacked my uncle with in the Arena Ferox. Under his direction, of course. I wouldn't think to try it otherwise. It's…a scary power.

"H—How was that, Uncle? I…I think I did it then…?" I blink as I turn to look at him, wiping sweat from my brow.

He's…I'm not quite sure what exactly he's doing, actually. He seems deep in thought, fingers squeezing his forehead in contemplation.

"Uncle…? Uncle…!?"

"Hmmm? Ah, apologies, Lucina. I've been…falling into my memories more often these days for some reason. I didn't mean to ignore you," He smiles slightly before frowning again. "Nevermind that. That was a beautiful [Divine Smite], even if the specifics still elude me. Not too tired, yeah? You've only managed to cast it once; two is generally the upper limit of those first starting out."

I shake my head, partly to disagree, partly to just express my disbelief. I feel like I've just been stomped on by an entire horde of Risen, and I'm barely able to stand up.

"Mmmm…seems like you're pretty banged up by that. Nevermind then, this should be enough for today," He sighs with a smile. "Come on, sit down. Neither of us have much time in Ylisstol, and it's better if we spend that time without the shadow of the future weighing down upon us."

I nods gratefully. Plopping myself down on the wooden bench, I hang my head low.

Haaa…the future.

I had put off thinking about it…for a while now.

I think Uncle notices that my face has changed and smiles sadly.

"If you…don't want to talk about it, we could always speak of other things. I…understand how difficult it must be to know what comes to pass," He chuckles lightly.

I mentally slap myself. Of course he knows too…and he's probably known for longer than I have. And in more excruciating detail.

"I…I'm sorry…"

"What for?" He looks at me with a confused expression.

"I…I shouldn't be making…making light of your own situation."

Uncle blinks for a moment before shrugging.

"Does my pain lessen your pain?" He whispers.

"W—Well, mine must seem less important—"

"Sorry, I phrased that strangely. Does knowing I hurt more than you make you hurt less?" His calm grey eyes bore holes into my soul.

"N—No…"

"Then why do you think you should even bring up my own situation? Don't hide your pain; keeping it bottled up is only going to lead to more pain later down the road. As for me…you needn't worry about me," He grins and pats my head, sending nostalgic shivers down my spine. "I'm alright. I've had much more time to come to grips with everything."

We sit for a second, before Uncle suggests something.

"If you're still having trouble thinking of something, why don't we discuss some of the more burning questions about this?" He taps my chest above my heart. "I'm sure you have many, many questions for me."

I nod in response. I…do, in fact, have many, many burning questions about this…Aethereal Weave that's somehow gotten wrapped around my heart. First of all—

"How…exactly does any of this work!?" I yell out quietly.

Uncle blinks before laughing.

"Leaping right off into the deep end, huh?" He grins. "I like that curiosity. Let us begin at the beginning, the beginning of what I know, at least. There are many secrets that the gods—of both and all worlds, mind you—love to keep secret."

He stands up from the bench. I move to follow, but he places a hand on my shoulder and shakes his head. I understand why a moment later. He takes out a tattered book with yellowed pages and rips out a page that burns into a golden flame. The sparkling ashes that remain swirl around him in a ring of flickering gold. With a snap of his fingers, those sparks vanish and—

I'm instantly teleported to a pitch-black abyss.

"Wow," I suddenly hear Uncle's impressed voice from behind me. It makes me flinch ever-so-slightly. "Colour me surprised. I was expecting you to be more…apprehensive when being forced to dream. I like his calmness. It's leagues better than Iason's incessant screaming."

I elect not to inform Uncle about my thumping heart.

"Where…where are…we?"

"A dream," Uncle's shrugging visage suddenly appears in front of me. "It's a lot simpler to explain things when I can make models to show you what I'm talking about. Puts a image to the abstract."

I nod my head.

"Ummm…if this is a dream, could we…go somewhere with ground?"

"Hmmm? Oh, yeah, definitely. I forget that not everyone is comfortable with the void," I catch a snippet of Uncle's muttering. It concerns me, slightly. "…and if I can't see anything, I can't…"

"Uncle?"

"Hmmm? What?"

"N—No, nevermind," I shake my head as the void slowly gives away to a field of green grass and a warm summer's sky. "Please…continue."

"Hmmm…I don't think that it's just…nothing, but I won't push on that point too much," He smiles. "Now, let's get to answering your questions, shall we?"

"The main thing to know is that we're all using borrowed power. Well, I think so. Depends on which exact pantheon you've managed to get the attention of, but considering that the mostly likely person who did all of this is me…" He shrugs. "I think its better if we just assume we share at least our pantheons."

"Um…what's…a pantheon?"

"Ah. That's actually a good question. It's a…group? Sect? It's a gathering of divine beings united for one purpose. The definition is weird because pantheons are weird. Some gods are a part of multiple pantheons, while others don't belong to any pantheon. For example, my god, Vulkan, is—well, only a part of the Olympians, which doesn't help my case. Ah, take Helsia, for example. She is a part of the Hai'thi Thal-Yias, the Elvish gathering of gods. But, she also holds a position within the Caelestes Arcanorum, the gods of magic, even if that position is small," Uncle says some words that go over my head. "Some of these gods are quite generous, or are just bored, so they put some of their magic into quote-on-quote 'containers', which we are able to tap into for that power."

He pauses to take a small breath before continuing.

"Now, while it would be great if us mortals could just take the power we wanted from these containers, there are some serious limitations that our bodies have that prevent this from occuring. Firstly, and probably most concerningly for our purposes, is the fact that our bodies aren't made to hold even a minute fraction of a percent of tha power. If someone was careless in gathering that power, they could explode from the inside, turn into radioactive ash, or just blink out of existence, depending on how badly they screwed things up," He sighs and shakes his head. "Moreover, many gods have prerequisites before you can tap into their power. Some, like Tyr, give out their power rather willy-nilly if you swear an oath not to do the things that they find reprehensible. Others, like Balor, have intense initiation rituals that could be the culmination of a better part of a person's life to reach. There are other considerations, of course, but they're high technically and more suited for a conversation with Laurent rather than me; I could not care less about what some of the more…hysterical gods think."

Uncle gives me a bit of time to mentally digest everything,

"To deal with this, us mortal has constructed 'paths' for us to tread to not only comply with the gods' orders, but also to deal with our mortal bodies, allowing power to enter us in controlled ways, acclimitising to that newfound power. The Aethereal Weave Matrix is one way to get someone on a path, and is the way that me and the lineage I belong to did things," He snaps his fingers, and a menagerie of symbols pop up in the dream.

I'm able to recognise some of them, though most are foreign to me.

"There are called many things in different cultures and traditions; classes, archetypes, routes, professions…they're all the same things in the end. A way to harness power, and learn to use that power without breaking yourself," He taps one of the symbols, a 8-sided star, and it lights up with a slight halo of white. "If I am not incredibly mistaken, you have chosen the Path of Devotion, the Class called the Paladin."

"Paladin…isn't that a type of knight?"

"It…is, and this is why I prefer to call them by their path names," Uncle groans at my question. "What's the problem with those names? I wanna call them by their official name, nyeh nyeh…alright, tell me the fucking difference between a wizard, a sorcerer, and a warlock by those names alone! Path of Erudition, Path of Endowment, and Path of Contract sounds much better and give more information!"

It's obvious that Uncle's impersonating someone, but I'm not sure who. He's also obviously talking to someone who's not here, but once again, what nuance that he put into those words goes over my head.

"Ha…sorry about that. Yes, the name of the class is sometimes known as a Paladin. I…don't like referring to them as such, and will use the Path of Devotion instead."

"But…that still doesn't make any sense. I'm…not devoted to anything…"

"Really?" Uncle raises his eyebrow. "You're saying that you're not trying to save this world from Grima?"

"B—But…that's not religious at all!"

"Devotion not towards a god, silly," Uncle shakes his head and smiles. "You can be just as devoted towards a country, a person, or an ideal as you are towards any type of divinity. That kind of devotion is just as valid in the eyes of the gods. It shows your spirit and your determination, and that is what most of the gods who like to give power to this path love to see."

"Oh, and one last thing…" Uncle sighs. "Each path has certain…conditions in order to have their power granted. It's as if…the gods are saying 'if you hold up your end of the bargain, we'll hold up ours'. For the Path of Devotion, that something is an oath. I, of course, have no idea what that oath is. But do know that breaking that oath with result in you losing your power and getting a visit from—"

He frowns and clicks his tongue.

"I'm not actually sure who, all things considered. What I'm saying is, don't break your oath. That's never good."

"Uncle?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't know what my oath is."

He stares at me blankly, jaw slack.

"What…?" He sighs. Snapping his fingers, a chair suddenly appears in the dreamscape and he sits down in it. "Lucina…what do you mean you don't know your oath?"

"I…I was never made aware of the fact I had made an oath. This is the first time I've heard about it."

"Well…" Uncle looks me in the eyes. His deep silver orbs seem to stare right into my soul, and I have to hold myself steady and not flinch. "That's…an unexpected difficulty. Are you sure about that? No promises that you've made with yourself, no promises made with other people?"

"Well…not really, no. I can't remember any that would make sense as an 'oath'."

"They don't necessarily have to be something oath-like. Just a promise that you made that binds you to some higher moral duty."

I think back for a moment, then frown and shake my head.

"No…? Alright. I'll…look into it later. Any questions so far?"

"No…not really…" I shake my head. There are too many things, too much new information, for me to even begin to ask questions.

"Alright. Let's return to the world of the living, then. I can explain the rest there…" Uncle makes a strange motion with his hands that looks like he's grabbing a string and mutters something under his breath. "Lucina?"

"Huh? Is…something wrong?"

"No…nothing. Nevermind. Let's go."

And with a snap of his fingers, the cool air of the Ylissian summer night can be felt on my skin once more.

"I think that's enough rest for you, Lucina. Now that you've learned how to activate your Smites, let's see you use them practically," Uncle takes out a steel sword that glistens in the moonlight and takes a stance.

---

(Lucina Lowell)

Terence slams the door with enough force to shake the entire room. He smashes his back against the wall and pants a few hard breaths before sliding down to the floor. His face is ragged, a jagged wound carving its way down the left side of his face, oozing darkening blood. His hand clutches a bloody crimson sphere sparkling with life energy.

"Uncle!" Lucina cries. "Uncle! Are you alright? I managed to get the southern exit plugged, but I didn't want to do it too tightly in case you needed to come from that direction."

One could tell the youth is still noticeable in this Lucina. Her face is fuller than one would expect for an adult, the baby fat still visible in her features. Her voice is much higher than one would think, even for a lady.

Despite these youthful features, though, her voice is firm and has a panic uncharacteristic of a person her age. A teenager barely in the throes of puberty, forced into a situation where most adults would have been broken in.

"Y—Yeah…" Terence grunts as he sits up into a more upright position. "Gods damn it, I really do have the worst luck imaginable…"

Lucina looks down and gasps. A massive crag of bleeding flesh and glistening scabs forms most of the older man's upper right arm and shoulder. Despite this obvious wound, Terence seems to not notice the pain coming from his arm.

"Y—Your arm! Uncle, you got hurt!" Lucina immediately fumbles at her belt and produces a small white bag.

Terence looks at his shoulder and mutters a few Latin curses.

"Me hercule, I didn't even notice," He says with a frown as he notices Lucina going for the gauss bandages. "Even still…I don't think you need to do that, Lucina."

"The more I'm able to patch you up here, the less that Aunt Lissa is going to fuss. You wouldn't want that, do you?"

Terence clicks his tongue in a friendly exasperation.

"Just don't forget that the peroxide is for clothing, not for wounds."

"I know! I'm not a child anymore!" Lucina huffs. "And this is Isoprupal!"

"Isopropyl," Terence chuckles. "And you'll forever be Chrom's little girl in my eyes."

As a rebuttal, Lucina pours a little extra alcohol on Terence's wound than she would normally.

"Ah! Ow…that hurts…" Terence mutters as she dabs the excess away with a small towel. "You could have just used the towel…the alcohol would have evaporated afterwards anyway."

He rolls the shoulder where he was hit and mutters some curses under his breath, quiet enough that Lucina couldn't hear him. He looks to his other hand, where Gules, the former Lifesphere, is being gripped tightly in his hand. Waiting until Lucina is finished patching up his wounds, Terence grabs his ward's hand and gently places the sparkling gem into her hand.

Lucina flinches for a moment when Terence first grabs her wrist, but relaxes when he wraps her hand in his, with Gules inside.

"We have Gules now. That's the second to last one, isn't it?"

"W—What about Vert and Azure?"

"Yen'suei and Tiki should be bringing those over from Chon'sin. Don't worry, I checked in with Tiki yesterday; they've made it to Port Ferox already. We should be expecting in Ylisstol by the end of the month."

Lucina notices that Terence seems to look away from her as he mentions Ylisstol. A slight golden glow emerges from his eyes, and Lucina's heart drops.

"Are you…seeing something."

"Hmmm? What is it, Lucina? Seeing what?"

"You know…seeing the future? I saw that golden sheen in your eyes earlier."

"Shit…" Terence groans. "You noticed, huh? I'm surprised you've put that much together without me telling you much of anything."

"Fabius knows too, you know?"

"...Yeah. I know. I didn't want him to figure it out, but like father, like son, huh?" Terence clicks his tongue and sighs. "Lucina…I never really asked before…and perhaps this is a terrible time to ask in the first place…but how much do you remember of Chrom?"

Lucina blinks in surprise. She was expecting a completely different question, perhaps one more relating to the whole 'puberty' thing that he and Aunt Lissa kept talking about. This came completely out of nowhere for her.

"Um…not much, I suppose. It's been…"

"Nine years, I know. But really, you remember nothing?"

"N—No, I remember some things…he looked like the portrait of Grandpa in the dining hall before it burned down. He looked really funny with that beard of his!" Lucina giggles, reaching back into her memories for her father. Unfortunately, there weren't many left, especially since she was barely six when he had passed.

"Of course you would remember his shaved state," Terence mutters with a laugh. "There was—"

"Uncle…why are you asking me this?" Lucina cuts Terence off, her eyes sparkling with curiosity tinged with a slight worry. Things tended to go wrong when her uncle asked random questions like this; it had happened right before Aunt Cordelia died, and it had happened before most of Ferox fell to the Risen. Most of the children had picked up on this habit of his quite quickly, and this one in particular sent off alarm bells in her head.

"Huh? Well…it's not something I can tell a child…" Terence rubs the back of his head. "Ah…what the hell; it'll make more sense anyway."

Terence inhales heavily before beginning.

"I was thinking of how I am to parent all of you…considering you're the oldest of the children…and the fact that Chrom rests so shallowly in your memory…I'm concerned, really. I mean, does Nah even remember her father? She barely remembers her mother; Nowi gave birth to her after…after he did, and we lost her soon after…" Terence looks down, his face full with past regrets. "Well…you know how attached she is to me."

"And Fabius…he…" Terence continues. "He never knew his mother at all. The other—they knew her well enough. Better than he does. Do you…do you think…Lucina…that…ha…no, that wouldn't be very good, would it?"

"What would that be?"

"I was going to ask you if it would have been better if I had died in Plegia too, to stop Fabius from treating me like some hero and his mother as some sort of pariah—"

"No! You can't say that! We—I—all of us! We couldn't have survived without you!"

"Yes, I know…" Terence chuckles, before his facial expression suddenly shifts to a dark mask. "Ha…Iuno, look at me…talking about something like this with a child…what did we do wrong…? We shouldn't be leaving them…with this…"

"U—Uncle!?"

The depressive expression leaves as quickly as it first appeared.

"It's nothing. Come on, we should get ready. I've used the last page getting out; we need to leave before they realise that I'm resorting to the [Crimson Necklace]," Terence rises to his feet.

Lucina stands up to, and the pair begin to leave the crumbling fortress. For some reason, Terence's broad shoulders don't seem to be—

---

(Terence || Terentius Aquilius Aurelius)

"Looking at someone's memory in the baths, huh? If I didn't know you better, I'd call you a leacher," Terentius's chuckling voice makes jump. The visions of a ruined world seen through the lens of the once and future exalt is ripped away as the marble columns of Ylisstol's bathhouses reappears in my sights once again.

Wheeling around to the source of the voice, I…can't see anything in the steam and fog of the baths.

"I didn't know you could appear when I was conscious," I say in a calm voice as I gather the few strands of memories I managed to gather during Lucina's dream earlier.

"I'm not appearing physically. I can speak to you whenever I'd like, remember?" Is the response I get.

"Yeah yeah…and you know as much as I do why exactly I'm doing this in the bath," I roll my eyes as I sit up and wipe water from my eyes. "Don't want my body acting up because I'm in these."

"Hmmm…right. Are you sure you were able to capture her oath in those couple of strands? They're fickle things, memories."

"Absolutely not. And I didn't for the record," I shake my head. "And that wasn't the point. I'm trying to get a glimpse into Lucina's life to find a probable oath."

"Understandable. What did you manage to see?"

"I learned more about myself than I did about Lucina."

"Truly? And what of it?"

"For starters, I got married and had children in the previous timeline. A…frankly stupid decision, all things considered, but I digress. Apparently I was a bit of a jokester too," I laugh. "And I get why Lucina called me 'Uncle' now. I acted rather…fatherly to her. I blame you, by the way. We didn't need to get that into caring for Amette."

"Do you regret it, then?"

"No…not at all. I would choose to do the same things if you brought me back a thousand times."

"Indeed. It is truly the Roman spirit to become fathers for the fatherless. For who was a better father than our Romulus?"

"Ha…that's enough of that. And no, I'm not letting you meet Emmeryn today. You'd probably try to strangle her."

"The Exalt is stupid, and you know it."

"Her ideals aren't, and you know it! Now, we should get going. It's too late to be arguing with myself in the baths."

"Hmph. As you wish."

---

(Robin)

A firm but gentle hand nudges my shoulder. I'm gently lifted from the depths of sleep, but its tendrils wrap around me still. It takes that hand shaking me to jostle me awake. Wiping away the dredges of black from my eyes, I stretch my arms upwards until I notice just where I had decided to take a nap. The smell of worn pages and old manuscripts drift into my nose. Shelves upon shelves of books fill my sight. I was—

"And she's awake. I understand your love for books, but sleeping in the Library can't be healthy for anyone," Terence chuckling voice jolts me all the way awake.

I nearly jumped out of my seat as I realised just who it was that woke me up. I wheel around to face him.

"Terence! Naga's tits, I didn't see you!" I blurt out.

"Yeah, you were asleep," He raises his eyebrow at me. I hate that face of his. It's just…augh… "I don't think you can see much of anything when your lights are out."

"What…does that mean?" I hate it when he uses metaphors or expressions that I just don't understand.

"What does what mean?" He raises his eyebrow further. Argh, why does that look so… "Oh, the lights are out. It's basically when a person isn't in their mind…uh…like if they're knocked out or if they're asleep."

He pauses for a moment and looks down at the desk. I turn to look at where he's looking and—

Crap! I was making notes in his book before I fell asleep! Ah! Shit!

Oh no, he's going to see that I'm writing in his book. Argh, stupid Robin! Why'd you have to—

Wait no, he said I could have the book, right? Oh, Naga. I don't remember! What if he didn't?

He's going to get so mad at me! I've written so much! Argh—

No, never mind that! He's going to see that I'm stuck here on the basics! Things like troop combinations and—

"Robin?" He looks back at me with a concerned expression on his face. "Are you alright?"

I clam up, not knowing what to say to his sudden question.

"Cat got your tongue?" He chuckles before he follows my repeated glances down at the book currently sitting on the table. Did he not notice what I had read and wrote earlier—shit, I need to cover it and—

"Tactica Romanorum…huh. I thought you wouldn't find that book useful," Terence smiles as I lean forwards to cover the book with my body and arms. "Looks well used, too. Aww, why so secretive?"

"I—It's nothing! Don't worry about it!" I stumble on my words.

"Really?" Terence puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Considering how many words you've written on this thing, I really don't think it's just 'nothing'. Something, maybe, but definitely nothing."

"I'm serious! It's nothing! Just a couple of notes that I made!"

"Hmmm…you know, it's a certain kind of strange to see Archanean script right next to Latin. Can't understand a lick of what you wrote, anyway," Terence chuckles.

I frown in confusion. I…I was fast enough to block his line of sight…I think. How would he know about anything—

I look up at him, and for some reason, he's holding the tactics book in his hands, and gently flipping through the pages!

"H—How—!?"

"If I can tension one of those small watch springs, I can figure out how to swipe a book from under your hands," He smiles and wiggles his fingers at me. "Plus, you were closing your eyes. Didya write anything embarrassing here?"

"W—Well…" I mumble to myself. I don't think even I know what I'm saying.

"You…do realise that I can't read Archanean, right?" Terence raises his eyebrows in that inquisitive glance that tingles my heart in a strange way. "I have my glasses that I use to read foreign script. I'll…probably get to learning it someday, but at the current moment, I have no idea what you wrote."

"Well…I kinda…forgot…"

"Well…this book seems well used. I'm glad you're getting some use out of my obsession with collecting books," Terence chuckles, rubbing the back of his head. "But…I don't think you should be sleeping in the library…"

"Well…I couldn't sleep…I can say the same for you!" I stand up and cross my hands across my chest. I thought it would make the height disparity better…but it didn't. "Why are you out here so late?"

"My body's still on Hell time," He mutters, his scratching turning painful. "I usually took the second night watch, which should mean I should be asleep at this time. Unfortunately, I am somewhat of a deep sleeper, so I would miss my watch time. That developed into a habit of not sleeping until after my watch. Which would have ended in about three hours' time."

"Wow….hasn't it been nearly two months, though?"

"Two months against ten years? Isn't that the definition of a drop in a bucket?"

"What?"

"Sorry, drop on a sizzling pan," Terence sighs. "I think that's the Archanean idiom?"

"I'm not sure I understand that either…"

"Ugh, sure. I mean, two months isn't enough to break nearly ten years of habit," He hands the book back to me. "I took a bath earlier, and the water there is still quite hot. I suggest you at the very least get cleaned up, even if you can't sleep."

"S—Sure…one more thing, though, Terence…"

"Hmmm…? Ask away. It's not like I'm going to be able to sleep anytime soon," Terence stops and turns back to face me, leaning his weight against a nearby pillar as he crosses his arms across his chest.

"Well, I didn't see you at the meeting with the council earlier. Did…something happen?"

He grunts and mutters something under his breath. A flash of pain crosses his face, but it quickly fades away, causing me some confusion.

"I…don't think I should. I'm an outsider, and those meetings talk about the very heart of this nation's problems and mindset. I shouldn't affect the psyche of Ylisse's leaders so willy-nilly," Terence shakes his head. "Plus…you really don't want me in there. I'm much more used to the…more free and confrontational setting of the Roman senate or Scipio's war council than something more…mediaeval like this. I'd insult everyone in the room without even meaning to."

"Hmph," I grunt, not buying his excuse. "At least that would make the meetings a little more exciting than they are. You're hiding something, aren't you?"

I try and be a little more forceful with my words and it causes an immediate reaction in Terence. I wince at the sudden negative reaction and curse myself a little. Chrom…had said a couple of days ago that I need to be a little less pushy, and I…I kinda realise what he meant by that now.

Terence looks down and sighs. He mutters something to himself before a hand quickly jumps to his forehead. This time, I manage to catch a few words that are choked out as he leans forwards.

Alright, this is a bit much. That was a physiological reaction! What the hell!

I go to try and help, but before I can do anything, the sudden debilitation disappears as quickly as it appears, and Terence is back to his usual, if a bit more snarky, self.

"Terence—!? A—Are you alright?"

"What…? Oh, I'm…I'm fine. Just a little headache; nothing you need to worry about," He smiles lamely and scratches the back of his head. "But in all seriousness, unless Emmer—the Exalt specifically calls for me, I won't be joining those meetings."

"I'm…surprised, actually. You were quite…expressive during the strategy meetings that we held before we got back."

"Ugh. Don't remind me. I seriously overstepped then," Terence winces and shakes his head. "I'm sorry about everything then, by the way. I…no, it would be better if you didn't know."

"Know what? Terence…are you hiding something?" I frown. Usually, one would be excited to do something for their—ok, Ylisse isn't Terence's country, he's made that very clear—but some people would kill for a chance to influence the Exalt's decisions.

I'm getting more and more confused and curious by the moment.

"Is there something you want to talk about, Terence? I know you had a lot to say about our current situation, and I shared that with Emm—"

"NO!" Terence suddenly leaps from his position and grabs me by my shoulders. "Don't! Fuck, you already did that…uh…tell her to disregard everything! She can't, she mustn't be affected by my thoughts and decisions! She—augh!"

The movement surprises me, and I stand in his arms, stunned, until the sudden mania disappears in but a moment, replaced by a malaise. Terence lets me go gently and moves back to his earlier position, cradling his head in his hands.

"Terence…? What…was…that all about? I mean…" I sigh. Terence had brought up many good points during the private discussion with Chrom, myself, Virion, and Frederick, including the need for Ylisse to form an actual army to start dealing with her problems. To take them all back from Emmeryn would be impossible at this point.

Before I can formulate my words properly, Terence looks back up at me. I nearly leap out of my skin at the sight of his eyes; they are glowing with an eerie golden sheen. What. The. Hell.

"Terence! What in the world is happening to your eyes! What's—"

"Robin…" He says with his eyes looking through me. "I have a question to ask."

"W—What's going on with you!"

"Be not afraid. My curse of foresight sometimes acts on its own initiative," He sighs. "It…gets quite annoying at times."

He smacks the side of his face a couple of times until the golden light dies down.

"My…nevermind. Robin, a life for a million lives, or a million for a single life?"

"What?"

"Just…answer the question…please…"

"Um…the one life, obviously…? A million people is a lot…to die…for one person…"

"Even if that one life is the life of a friend?"

"I…what…this…I…Are you going to die!?"

"It's…something that happened in the past, Robin. A…philosophical experiment for you and me to dissect," Terence shrugs. "Don't think too hard about it."

"W—Well…if…as long as I could tell them…I would…no…this feels wrong!"

"I know. But…?"

"I…no! There has to be another way! Neither! Both the million lives and the life of my friend!"

Terence seems…not perhaps surprised by my answer, but more…is that pride? I can't get a read on his expression, especially since his eyes light up with that eerie golden glow again.

"Hmmm…thank you for your answer, Robin. I'll…see you later."

"Wait! You still haven't told me why—and he's gone. How does he do that?" I mutter to myself as he seemingly disappears into thin air as I turn a corner.

His question rattles in my mind for a minute more. I try to think about it some more, but drowsiness quickly floods through my memory. I try to focus, but eventually give up.

As I slowly drift to sleep in my own bed, I recall one moment after I gave my final answer…

His face. His face was…

And you still question me…

---

AN: Whew...it's been a long couple of months (2) since my last post. There's a good reason for that, but that would get into some rather personal reasons, and I'd like that to stay private. No worries, I haven't gotten overly hurt or injured, but I do apologies for this delay. Last chapter was an April Fool's Prank, and I kinda stretched it a bit...too long. My bad.

Right, there's not much I can talk about, so uh...review time, I suppose.

Grimmideals: (Grimm ideals as in ideals that are grim or ideals of the RWBY Grimm? I gotta know.) Thanks man. I have a love-hate relationship with awakening's second gen. On the one hand, perfection in Lucina and Severa. On the other...terrible failure in Nah and Kjelle. It's a mixed bag, and I intend on improving it.

Guest (1): Thank you. Thank you for reading this fic.

Kyle: Well...firstly...he's a dude. I...uh...think you can tell by the Latin name being in the masculine form. Well, you didn't even get past chapter 5, so I'm not going to take your critique too much to heart. He's supposed to be a fucking idiot. We're all laughing a bit at him fumble his life. At least, I am.

Guest (2): Dully noted. Thank you for your warning.

Guest (3): [Guys, please add a name to guest replies. It'll make replying to them much easier.] Thank you. Please do continue reading.

Guest (4): Thank you too. This is the next chapter.

Guest (5): Danke. Sigue leyendo mi trabajo, por favor.

Guest (6): Huzzah! We stan a person who can finish 200k+ of English with some bad Latin sprinkled in.

Guest (7): Great Revi

kjkawesome: Haha, no problems man. It was an April Fool's special chapter. I've just been...terrible at my psuedo-monthly release schedule. Sorry.

All right, that'll be all for now.

Valete, Omnis

Acardia out!