Intermission 1: A Glimpse of…The Past
The Future Past
The phrase 'until hell freezes over' isn't all too accurate. Anyone who has been brave enough to venture into the depths of the underworld or has been unfortunate enough to be sent there before their time knows; hell freezing over is a common occurrence. After all, the bitter cold is just as punishing as burning heat.
In fact, it happens every day, as much as you can count solar cycles in such a bleak place. Much like a desert, the temperatures in the circles vary wildly, from intense periods of fire and brimstone to a hellish winter landscape that would make the Siberian wastelands red and green with envy. For that reason, refugees, adventurers, or lost souls usually move in the day and rest as the sky becomes stormy and the infernal device that fills the warm sun's place is snuffed out, the winds howling their rage.
It is considered the greatest of misfortunes to become trapped outside while this wild snowstorm rages, and even worse to need to move great distances in such conditions.
Perhaps…this is why Terence had been incredibly pissed.
Currently, the questing group had split up to cover more ground, with Augusta, Antonii, and Signus heading off along a well-worn road, while Terence, Rufus, Jugen, and their tag-along Iason followed the river Phlegethon.
The men looked different from when they had first descended the steep cliffs to get into the circles of hell.
Jugen is still handsome, with a bright smile on his face and delightful eyes that could lighten up anyone's day. However, his eyes are sharper and more vigilant than before, a wary vulture compared to the spry hawk that he was before. A large scar cuts through his mouth on the left side and smaller scars pit and split his facial features; if he was a Prince Charming when he came in, he now looks like Charming the Warrior-King.
Terence is still a tight and punctual soldier, but creeping exhaustion snakes its tendrils around his body and soul. Dark patches ring his eyes, making his eyes look as if they have sunken into his face. A massive burn mark has turned his left cheek a tender pink colour, and numerous scars decorate every inch of his skin. His armour is dented and chipped, the constant life on the move offering little time for such luxuries as cosmetic repair.
Rufus's all-metal construction, made from a sparkling silvery steel that seemed to reflect any light, has been modified and reinforced with sheets and slabs of dark, pitted, flaky infernal steel. Entire sections of his torso have been replaced by lesser equivalents and his eyes glow two separate colours; one shines its proper warm ultramarine light while the other emits a harsh crimson.
Iason, on the other hand, is still his normal self. A white toga covers much of the aasimar's body while a golden clasp holds it in place. A sparkling lyre compliments his bright white hair. A pair of piercing golden eyes are set above a face that seems…unnaturally beautiful.
"Just our luck…" Terence sighs as he trudges through the waste-deep snow that surrounds the banks of the river of boiling blood. The heat from the river has carved out a small canyon in the sea of cold, but standing too close risked being burned alive as the river oozed and popped. "What a great idea, Jugen. Let's go see if that abandoned building had anything in it that was useful. Oh, what is this? An unstable floor that my artificer specifically told me not to step on? Golly gee, I better step on it! Oh no, I'm trapped now! Guess I'll fail to get out until it starts to snow."
"H—Hey, it wasn't my fault that I broke my arm on the way down," The knight mutters under his breath as he shivers. Unlike Terence and Rufus, Jugen has no experience dealing with cold temperatures and snow and is struggling immensely.
"I told you at least three times not to step on that. Three times. Iason can back me up on this one. When I tell you not to step on something, don't! You already got killed once because you stepped on a landmine!"
"Hey, you did tell me right as I was going to step on it. That shouldn't be entirely my fault."
"That's fair, but you should at least learn from your mistakes. Do you know how tempted I was to just leave you?"
"Guys, guys…can we please stop yelling so loud? We're going to attract harpies at this rate," Rufus sighs. "And Terence is right, you know? You really do need to start listening to us."
"I know, I know. I'm just…impulsive, you know?"
"Oh, don't we all know."
"Terence!"
"What? It's true!"
"You didn't have to say it like that!"
"I swear to Mars, if I still had my command, I would have men like him shot. How he came to become a grandmaster of anything other than snoring I have no idea."
"I do not snore!"
"Terence. Calm down."
"What are you talking about, Rufus? I am calm. As calm as I can be."
"Terence."
"Fine. Fine…" Terence grits his teeth as he pulls his cloak closer to himself. "How exactly do we get out of this situation? You got any ideas, Iason?"
"Huh? Oh, I'm just taking notes here. A great novel this situation shall make."
"Truly, the Judean god keeps humanity around for their sins—"
"Take that back!"
"—Rufus? We've got a rather tough march ahead. You got anything?"
"Firstly, I would like to remind you not to be sacrilegious towards any religion here—"
"The One True Faith, for starters."
"Eh. No promises. The gods are usually assholes, no matter which religion you're in."
"—secondly, you're the boss right now."
"I am?"
"He is?"
"Jugen, it was your terrible leadership that got us into this mess in the first place. So let your Στρατηγός do his job for once without your interference."
"Strategus, thank you very much. I'm Roman, not a filthy helenite."
"Terence. Are we doing a racism?" Iason frowns. "I think we're doing a racism here."
"Shut up, Iason. You're an angel, you should have no say in the business of mortals," Terence sighs, taking in a deep breath of cold air and steamy boiled souls. "Let's face it, we're going to die if we keep marching."
"Well, I won't," Rufus shrugs. "Can't freeze to death."
"Alright, yes, that's a valid point. Jugen and I will freeze to death at this rate. We need to do something about that. We obviously can't go any closer to the river or will trade one end of the temperature spectrum for the other real fast. Going away from the river just sounds like a good way to get lost and freeze to death somewhere else."
"Bonfire…?"
"Ah yes, Jugen. You really want the harpies to find us, huh?" Terence snorts. "We do need heat, but we need it discreetly. So—"
"Oh! Oh! I know this one! I read about it in a book!"
"Shut up Iason, our 'leader' is speaking."
"Dig a hole!"
"And off he goes, spitting nonsense…"
"No…Iason's right. We do need a hole. We don't have a tent…so…" Terence produces a quartet of shovels as Rufus starts to cackle at Jugen's stunned expression. "Start digging."
The Future Past
Terence exhaled as his breath froze in the cold winter air of Ylisse, forming a cloud of white air. He tucks his left hand into his coat pocket to spare it from the bitter cold; his right hand is no longer able to feel cold, so he leaves it out. His boots crunch the freshly fallen snow under him as he trudges back towards the city's gates.
He chuckles to himself as he takes in the lights above the walls. The small pinpricks of light dancing high up in the air suddenly scramble hurriedly as he crosses a certain, seemingly random threshold.
In hindsight, taking the time to trail behind the main army and check for enemy screening forces alone probably wasn't the best of ideas at the best of times, especially not in the middle of a war such as this one where people disappear constantly. Especially since…
No, it was better to not think about it than to entertain the voices in the back of his head. The dead must not continue to haunt the living, especially years after their departure. Those two realms should be separate, even if the lines are fuzzy sometimes.
As Terence gets closer to the gates of Ylisstol, he's able to make out figures in the darkness standing in the path to the gate. No…not standing, running. Running towards him.
The artificer laughs to himself again as he realises just how much he relied on his friends before…before everything went wrong. He had good perception; he should be able to make out these figures way before they even got onto the road.
Yes, time away from a hellscape does tend to lower one's ability to survive in hell-like conditions.
Came right back to bite him on the ass as the literal apocalypse decided to show up.
A couple of soldiers catch up to him as he approaches the gate and ushers him inside. A medic checks for wounds while a priest gives his blessings and thanks the gods for his safe return. It doesn't take long for Terence to get out of the gatehouse and into the city proper.
Despite it being quite late, the streets weren't as deserted as Terence would have expected. A couple of night-goers and other such people walked around the cobbled streets of the largest city in the world.
Terence preferred to stay out of sight and mind, and so quickly cast an invisibility spell on himself. He walks the streets without much worry as the naked human eye isn't to peer through the veil of shadow that he's placed on himself. Perhaps a Tagul or something similar could have sniffed him out, but the last Tagul was probably quietly sleeping in his bed.
The artificer makes his way to what looks to be a barracks building. Opening its doors, Terence steps into the relatively abandoned hall. What had once held all of the shepherds now only contained two other inhabitants.
Gregor, getting older and slower by the month, the grey and stubborn ox sitting with a grin as he gestures towards his compatriot to hand over money won through a bet. In his late fifties, by all rights, Gregor should have retired years ago. However, any attempt at getting him to do so has been met with stiff resistance, literally and figuratively.
On the other side of the table, handing over a bag of coins is Cordelia. As prim and perfect as always, she was a reminder of what the Shepherds had been in Plegia and Valm before the final war against Grima had begun. Sparkling silver armour and gorgeous crimson hair stood out like a sore thumb against the slightly dilapidated building.
Of course, there were more Shepherds still alive and fighting. Libra had been tasked with keeping in touch with the Feroxi and their defence of Eastern Ferox. Lissa, having been crowned Queen-Regent some time ago, is staying in the castle. Vaike was currently in Frigia, on defensive duty, a task that the aggressive man did not like. Rickten had taken a bad blow to the leg that shattered his knee as was being treated in Leifcandus, where the medical infrastructure still had supplies left.
The others…had been lost to the horde.
Yeah. That's…a lot of people just…gone.
Dead.
Never to return.
Well, a small asterisk on that, but still.
"Ah! The machine man is back! Told you so, yes? Gregor know machine man likes his walks."
"Yeah…I suppose that's fair. Still, it wouldn't hurt to be worried slightly?" Cordelia sighs.
"What's the hubbub all about?" Terence asks with a raised brow as he takes a seat.
"Cordelia said you were attacked!" Gregor chuckles. "She was very scared. Wanted us to rush out, like knights. Gregor said machine man was fine, Cordelia not listen. Made bet. If you did not come back before midnight, we would help. If you did, Cordelia need to give me fifteen gold."
"I didn't think you would be taking one of your walks right now, right after a battle…" Cordelia sighs.
"I am astounded by your trust in me, Gregor. I could have been attacked, for all you know," Terence chuckles. "And I'm rather worried about you worrying, Cordelia. Those bags aren't going to get better with you constantly overreacting like this."
"Gregor not trusting. Gregor knowing. Very big difference," The mercenary snorts, emptying his shot cup.
"That's fair enough," Terence shrugs. "How have you been doing, Cordelia?"
"I've been doing…a little better, I suppose. It's been very busy, you know? But…with the attacks slowing down…I think things are going to be looking up."
Terence smiles bitterly.
"I think you're right, Cordelia. Maybe Grima has finally run out of things to throw at us…" He sighs. He knows that's a lie. The reason why the attacks have gotten more and more sparse is that Grima is saving strength for an all-out attack in the Naguthus of next year. A nasty time to fight, as the winter stores have run dry while the fields have not yet regrown. What's more, launching the final attack in the sacred month of Naga just…well, it seems like a very Grima thing to do.
What's more, that attack would cripple any chance that the shepherds and Ylisse and her allies had of holding Grima back. They would all die…every…single…one of them.
Libra would go first, desperately trying to warn the main Feroxi forces but failing to do so, causing the complete destruction of the Feroxi Armies, and leading to the collapse of the northern front.
Rickten would go next, rallying the troops for a final defence of Themis before being shot through the head by a well-placed Arcthunder.
Gregor would go next, in the prelude of the siege of Leifcandus, stabbed through the heart by a Deadlord…one whose name had served among the heroes of old: Eldigan.
Vaike would follow in the siege itself, going out in a last blaze of glory after locking the last three deadlords in the keep and setting the keep aflame, burning himself and the deadlords into cinders.
Cordelia would fall last, a victim of blood loss after holding off the Risen horde long enough for the children to escape Ylisstol.
He has foreseen this, and so this will come to pass.
Of course, Terence has tried to foresee his own death. He's…had some difficulties with that. Not because he couldn't foresee his own death, no, that happened all the time. In fact, he had difficulties looking down some paths because he just kept dying. No, the problem is that he never knew exactly how he died. The vision would be going one second, and the next would be all black.
It was…problematic, to say the least.
"Terence…? Cordelia asks softly.
"Hmmm? Yeah?"
"I was just checking in to see if you were still with us. You kinda…just…" Cordelia waves her hands in a 'poof' motion. "Another vision?"
"Did my eyes turn gold?"
"I…don't think so?"
"Then it wasn't a vision. Just me…thinking about…things," Terence takes a shaky breath.
"Say…it's getting rather close to the new year, huh?" Cordelia says in a quiet voice after a moment of silence.
"Yes. Gregor has biiiig stash of vodka waiting for him. Was going to share with…" Gregor sighs and shakes his head. "…not here…anymore."
"We've lost…too many. Way…too…many…" Cordelia chokes out. "But…we're…still here, aren't we? We're winning…now. Terence, your army managed to push the Risen back…we're winning. We can do this. They won't die in vain!"
"Aye. Gregor is here. Scary lady is here. Machine man is here too. It will be enough," Gregor nods, refilling his glass.
"Let's hope so," Terence nods. "Let's…hope so. I…hope so."
It won't be. But…it's far from Terence's character to inform them. Better to thrive in the dark than to wither in the light.
||—||
It is…unusual for Terence's house to be so quiet. Usually, the sound of children playing and teenagers training could be heard from the door. Minor explosions would ring out through the hallways as spells went awry, and the clanking and hissing of machines undergoing testing would echo through the corridors as new automatons were made and tested.
Then again, considering that it was three in the morning, perhaps the silence was more explainable.
What was less explainable was the light coming from Fabius's room.
Terence obviously knew what a light coming from his youngest child's room meant, just not why Fabius decided to do…well, anything now.
Terence sighs as he stands outside of the room, deliberating what to do. On the one hand, Fabius is rather busy. He can hear the sound of tools on metal, despite his son's attempts at muting the sound as much as possible. On the other hand…it's three in the evening. A thirteen-year-old shouldn't be staying up this late. A lack of sleep is devastating to a developing brain.
He takes out a small little cube from his pocket. It's a deactivated power core, made in the days before the apocalypse descended on the world. A memory from a much more happy time. He shifts it around in his hands before pressing it up to his forehead. It was originally meant to be a part of a gift for his wife, before the end of the world took her away. He didn't really have a use for it anymore…but…
It was rather a waste to keep it in his pocket constantly…
Perhaps…Perhaps Fabius could find a better use for it?
Terence sighs again. Decisions…decisions…
Well, it can't hurt to have a discussion…right?
Carefully, Terence opens the door to the room. The room itself is rather simple: a hastily made bed sits beside the wall facing the door, a thick blue blanket and fluffy white pillow placed on top of it. A wooden desk with a steel chair sits on the wall with the door, an oil lamp lighting up the surrounding area. It is at this desk that Fabius is sitting, working away at what appears to be a small actuator motor.
Terence quietly enters the room and stands behind Fabius, the teenager not noticing that his father had entered his room.
He stands there for a couple of moments, quietly observing the delicate machine work that Fabius is doing. Is it creepy? Perhaps. Is it necessary? Unfortunately, yes. It's been a while since Terence has made something truly new. It takes a few moments for him to truly understand what is going on, but soon, the pieces of the puzzle come together.
"Fabius…that motor isn't going to be strong enough to move the leg plate armour you've specified here," Terence says quietly as he notices a half-concealed blueprint sticking out from a drawer. Taking it out and spreading it out on the table, it's only then that he realises that his son had done a good impression of the screaming man, sans screaming.
"P—Pater…Ego…Ego…um…" The young man stutters, unable to come up with a response.
Fabius himself is a rather splitting image of his father: same stature, same hair, and a similar enough face that it makes it difficult to tell one from the other. The only different thing is his eyes; amber orbs, gained from his mother, adorn his face instead of his father's pale grey.
"I think you need to increase the wattage allowance on that motor, or else you're going to have to put in a lot of extra work when you're trying to move your legs around," Terence sighs, making some quick calculations in his head.
"Dad…! I…"
"And that chest plate is going to split the moment someone hits it with a hammer with a decent amount of force. The shockwave will shake it off the stands," Terence continues, ignoring the flabbergasted young artificer. "I would say to change out the material from structural steel to something that can handle impacts better, like mithril or orichalcum, but both metals are in rather short supply. Instead, I think we can just add cross-braces…here and here, and cut down on the total thickness. Spread out the strain rather than concentrating on those two anchoring points."
Terence pulls out a pencil from…somewhere and makes a couple of changes to the basic blueprint.
"Dad! Are you…not going to say anything?" Fabius yells before immediately lowering his voice.
"What do you mean?" Terence finally responds, raising an eyebrow and giving his son a quizzical look.
"I…this…all of this. Just…giving me tips? Is that it…? Is that…everything you wanted to say?"
"Well, not entirely. I wanted to…give you something. Of course, I don't think you should stay up late like this…but you obviously have a drive to do something, and I respect that. Just don't push yourself…too hard."
"I know dad…I just…I want to be more useful. I know I'm a bit young, but just…I…I can't stand seeing everyone else be fighting and just…sit here…doing nothing," Fabius looks down at his hands.
"Well, I see that you've chosen your artificer speciality," Terence sighs.
"Ita…Machinarius belli elegi."
"Ah Armourer. I've always wondered why Armourer is translated as 'Engineer of War' while Battle Smith isn't. Well, I guess you have gotten to the point in your training that you needed to choose a speciality anyhow…" Terence nods. "I guess I couldn't have timed this better if I tried, huh?"
"Huh? What do you mean, dad?"
Terence places the small metal cube on the table.
"Isn't that…a Power Core? Where…how…we still had one?"
"Yep. I was going to make another automaton, this time for your mother, but…well, Grima put quite a swift end to that idea. I only got as far as the power source. I had more of a golem in mind, so this power core is exceptionally high-yield," Terence demonstrates this fact by poking the small cube, which causes an arc of magical power to leap onto his finger in a bright flash of light. Terence seems fine, but the energy of the discharge launches the cube across the room. "Perfect for a suit like yours, I think."
"Ack! Dad! Watch the discharge!" Fabius yelps as he leaps to catch the flying Power Core before it smashes into something more important than the brick walls of his room. "I'm…honestly, I was planning on cannibalising one of my older projects to power this thing. I even had around seventy power converters in the back to make sure the small dinky Power Core in that little perpetual motion machine I made when I was seven could power a big suit. This will make things so much easier!"
"Lucky, right?" Terence chuckles. "Better to find a silver lining instead of screaming up towards the sky. Especially now that the sky is full of dark clouds, literally and figuratively."
"Yeah…I mean at least Mom left this behind when she abandoned us."
Groaning, Terence sits down on Fabius's bed as the teenager gets back to work, adjusting his earlier plans to better fit the new power source.
"Fabius. How many times do I have to tell you? Your mother didn't 'abandon' us. She is the last kind of person to do that. She didn't leave by choice."
"Yeah right," Fabius snorts. "She could have not gone. She could have stayed home. But no, she had to follow Sir Chrom to Plegia."
"Yes, Fabius. She died in Plegia, to the best of my knowledge. That's why she hasn't come back, and you know that. There was no miracle. It was death, plain and simple. Death…hopefully quick…death."
The teenager pauses for a moment, considering his father's words, before sighing.
"I don't think I can believe that," He replies in a quiet voice. "Mom…mom was—is strong. There is no way t—that she didn't survive. She did, I know it, and she just…doesn't want to come back."
"Fabius. You know that isn't true. She cared deeply for all of us—loved all…of us, deeply. If she could, she would be here…with us," Terence sighs. "She loved you a lot, you know…"
"I don't think you need to defend her this much, Dad," Fabius shakes his head. "She isn't going to come back. Maybe she found someone else; I don't know. And it's not like we need her; look at how well we've been doing without her!"
"Fabius. I…" Terence stops talking. "No, never mind. There's no point in telling you. Don't go past four in the morning. Good…well, I would say good morning, but good night still applies. I love you, Fabius. And so did she. Remember that."
Fabius doesn't respond as his father leaves the room.
What the two don't know, is that neither of them slept a wink that night. They were too busy crying.
The True Future
Corrin and this was true no matter when or where it was, hated waking up. That would be the reason why his maids wake him up with a bucket of ice water on a daily basis. Corrin understands that this is probably not healthy and he should probably stop depending on his maids to wake him up every day, but waking up in the morning is just…so tiring.
Unfortunately for the Nohrian Prince, the beginning of today would not be so, well, relatively peaceful. Yes, having a bucket of cold water poured onto your face would be considered a 'peaceful' morning for the Prince.
Corrin had just had a dream, a rather strange one, in fact. Some Hoshidans had kept calling him their brother, and it was…rather strange. He didn't get to finish said dream, of course, as the sound of a massive explosion very quickly and effectively shook him enough to remove him from the realm of dreams.
"Gah! I'm awake! I'm awake!" Corrin, still not able to fully comprehend what is happening, leaps up from his bed and yells into the dark and smoky room. The explosion itself, despite making a horrific sound, never actually seemed to damage anything, thankfully. However, one effect was it made his room rather smokey, which was…annoying.
Made the thing that always happens next even more scary, however.
"Good Morning, Lord Corrin. I hope you had a good evening. Vae, I am still disappointed in your lack of ability to wake up in the morning," A deep voice chuckles from the cloudy murk. "Tu rusus fallis, mihi domini. Wake up on time next time."
"Good morning…Obsidius…" Corrin sighs as he calms his beating heart. "You're here in the Northern Fortress again?"
His…how does Corrin start to describe Obsidius? His…tutor friend? A friend who also happens to be his tutor? A tutor-turned-friend? He's not sure which one fits the best. His friend, yes, his friend Obsidius waves a hand to clear the smoke in Corrin's room, revealing the presence of the blonde man.
Obsidius has always been something of an oddball within the court of Nohr. He, along with his friend and Corrin's other tutor-friend stuck out like a sore thumb within any of the castles and fortresses in the dark nation. Obsidius had two looks: a casual and more inviting wardrobe and a much more war-like suit of armour. This is in contrast to most other Nohrians and even Laslow, Obsidius's compatriot, who wear their armour around as their plainclothes.
This time around, Obsidius is wearing something a bit more…exotic. A long black robe that is at the same time tight and loose—Corrin remembers Obsidius calling it a 'toga'—covers most of his body below the waist, though his chest is not covered by the robe. Instead, a dark gold tunic with strange patterns is worn under the robe, giving an all-around strange look to the man. A silver band inset with a massive blue sapphire and engraved with a multitude of different symbols adorn his head, and a menagerie of rings and circlets wrap their way up his arms. All in all, Obsidius stuck out like a black sheep in a white flock. At the very least, the outfit fits his name; Obsidius was wearing mostly all-black.
The story of how such a person was even allowed near a royal prince is rather interesting. Obviously, Obsidius and his companion Laslow were not from Nohr. That much is clear from just an initial look on their face. In fact, nobody is quite sure where they were from, though Obsidius mentioned a 'Rome' a couple of times in conversation.
They had just shown up to a rather average competition one year while Corrin was still a small child—seven or eight years old—and had promptly demolished the competition. Even King Ganon, Corrin's father, decided to join in and was rather embarrassingly defeated by Laslow. Instead of getting angry and demanding their deaths…admittedly something that he couldn't just do, seeing the smashing that the Captain of the Guard had endured at the hands of Obsidius…King Ganon had offered them high ranks as retainers in the meritocratic court of Nohr. Both had immediately replied that they would like to become Corrin's retainers.
A strange situation developed, as Corrin technically wasn't allowed to have retainers, so a solution was devised. They would become Corrin's tutors while being retainers to King Ganon's other children—Laslow was placed under Corrin's eldest brother Xander while Obsidius was placed under Corrin's other brother Leo. This meant that despite not being his subordinates, Corrin practically grew up under these two men.
"Ahaha…I'm sorry, Obsidius. I'm trying to wake up earlier…but I had this weird dream today and I just…"
"Not to worry, my lord. Dreams and visions are a common side effect of powerful blood, as you and I have, and such mistakes are mere trivialities. However," Obsidius sighs. "Lord Xander and Lord Leo will likely not see it that way, and if my burning blood is to be believed, they are already quite annoyed at your continued absence."
"Xander and Leo are here!?" Corrin yelps loudly. "Why didn't you tell me? I need to get dressed now!"
"Yes," Obsidius snorts. "I had assumed that you would have understood what my appearance here means. The power of my blood is bound to your siblings and my own honour; independent movement and action are limited."
It takes a few moments for Corrin to put together an outfit. It's not too dissimilar to his normal one, but it still takes a bit longer than usual to put on due to the observant eyes of Obsidius looking over him.
By the time Corrin's done with getting himself in a more presentable state of dress, his butler, Jakob, his caretaker, Gunther, and his two maids, Flora and Felicia, have all arrived and are quietly chatting with Obsidius when Corrin signals to the them that he's ready to.
"I see that you are ready to go, Lord Corrin," Flora nods.
"Oh. Uh…hi, Flora…Felicia…Jakob…Gunther…er, how long have you guys been standing there?"
"Since you were putting on your shirt. We must hurry, Lord Corrin, your brothers are waiting for you. You have practice today," Gunther says.
" I have taken the liberty of readying your armour, and, er, pounding out the dents," Jakob sighs. "Don't be so rough today, Obsidius."
"I'd like to remind you that those dents were made by Lord Corrin falling after tripping. I know how to temper my blood and calm the rage that boils within," Obsidius huffs.
"Alright, let's go!" Corrin preempts the inevitable argument when one puts Obsidius and Jakob in the same room by leaving the said room. "We shouldn't keep my brothers waiting!"
The servants all rush off to follow their charge, with Jakob giving Obsidius one last glare.
Obsidius, however, does not follow the group. Instead, he stays down in Corrin's room, chuckling to himself. In a flash of black and gold light, he disappears a moment later.
To Corrin's disbelief, Obsidius managed to get up to the fortress roof far ahead of his group. To be fair, Corrin had also snuck a bit of breakfast and had to get his weapons, but he shouldn't be so far ahead of the group as to already be in a warm-up bout with Laslow!
Speaking of Laslow, the other of the two enigmatic Nohrian courtiers is currently dressed in a full robe sparkling in a kaleidoscope of different colours shimmering into existence and then quickly being covered over by another colour. To pinpoint one specific hue that the robe was trying to be would be pointless as the light reflected in a menagerie of different shades as the duelist twirled and danced around with twin rapiers swirling around in his hands as if two points of silver constantly rotated around him.
The rapiers clashed with the shining silver sword of Obsidius, an apparently holy weapon that firmly contrasted with the more…evil look that he has. The blonde swordsman who also knew more magic than Leo has changed into his combat uniform. He's wearing a set of dark gold segmented plate armour and a helmet with a massive crimson crest on it. His joints are protected with leather tassels reinforced with the same dark-gold metal in studs.
The styles of the two swordsmen couldn't be more different, and even Corrin could tell the difference between the strategies that the two were going for. Laslow had a more energetic style, bounding and moving across the battleground, twirling and spinning, striking when he spotted a weak point in Obsidius's form. Meanwhile, Obsidius is a stone wall, parrying and watching Laslow's movements like a hawk, not giving the mobile combatant a chance to strike.
Both are saving energy but in different ways. Laslow, either knowing he's physically weaker than Obsidius or just not bothering to, never engages in a bind with Obsidius's flashing silver sword. Instead, he backs off when one of his attacks stalls or is stopped, waiting for another chance to attack. Obsidius, for his part, doesn't take any of Laslow's baits, obvious or not. He sticks to the defensive, saving his energy for when Laslow inevitably gets tired or makes a grave mistake.
Corrin's brothers, Xander and Leo, are watching with observant eyes, obviously trying to absorb as much information from the bout as possible. It was rare for these two men to be practising on each other rather than Xander and Leo, and it was clear from their faces that they were a bit relieved.
Well, clear from Leo's face. Xander's face is as stony and stoic as it always is.
"Corrin. You have arrived," Xander notes as Corrin finally gets up the final set of stairs and into the courtyard at the roof of the fortress.
"Late as always. When will you learn that you won't beat the strongest knight in Nohr by sleeping all day, Corrin?" Leo chuckles. "You've also missed the spellcasting portion of their bout."
"Spellcasting portion?"
"Yes. For some reason, every time Obsidius and Laslow fight, it follows a peculiar pattern: Obsidius and Laslow exchange spells for a while, then they develop into a melee fight without any spells despite both having melee-ranged spells and then they just so happen to disarm each other at near-enough the same time and go into an unarmed, spell-slinging melee. It's…rather strange," Xander explains.
"Huh. Well, I think I'd better watch them; Laslow beat me quite soundly last time we spared," Corrin chuckles.
"Well, at least you're not alone in that," Leo mutters.
||—||
Corrin is rather confused. See, when he was unceremoniously dropped into the Bottomless Canyon by Hans and was subsequently saved by his maid-turned-dragon protector Lilith, he also got this…weird astral plane fortress. For lack of a better name, he decided to name it Fort Corrin, much to the humour of his Hoshidan siblings. It has, however, served as a great resting place and base of operations for the ragtag forces of Corrin's Army…once again, for a lack of a better name.
The thing about this confusing island in the mist and clouds is the weird mode of construction. See, since the astral plane is a locale that only regularly houses Dragons, it requires the power of such creatures to be able to construct anything of any note in the landscape. All the walls, all the buildings, and even the rivers and lakes that dot the tranquil landscape have been shaped by either Lilith or Corrin's own draconic powers.
Why does this matter? Well, Corrin is fairly sure that the hill that Laslow and Obsidius are taking him and his family has…nothing on it.
See, during their rather…chaotic escape from both Hoshido and Nohr, Corrin and Azura had become…close. Getting married close. One thing led to another, and in a night where both hadn't made the best of decisions despite both Laslow and Obsidius warning them about this…Corrin managed to get Azura pregnant. She gave birth to a beautiful boy a couple of months later, Shigure.
However, they quickly realised that they couldn't raise a child in the middle of a war. Yeah, raising a child in an army isn't the best of ideas. They were on the run, and even when the situation stabilised, if it would ever, putting a newborn child in danger just…didn't seem to be the best course of action. Still, Corrin doesn't think that having a kid was a bad idea…just…timed incorrectly.
Thankfully, Laslow and Obsidius had come to the rescue. They said they knew someone who could raise little Shigure away from the war, their benefactor who had helped them get to their position in Nohr. After some decision-making by the couple, they decided to meet this mysterious benefactor of Laslow and Obsidius's. A few days later, they had managed to secure a meeting with this person, though Corrin was rather confused at the lack of communication between Corrin and this person.
Still, they had come this far. At the very least, Corrin wants to see who this benefactor is.
"Laslow…are you sure this is where he's going to come?" Corrin asks as they start to trek up a small but rather steep hill on the far edge of the island.
"Well…yes and no," Laslow sighs.
"What do you mean by that, Laslow?" Azura frowns, holding Shigure in her arms.
"Well…there might be a couple of…complications with our plan. It requires the cooperation of not just us…unfortunately." Laslow explains.
"Who?"
"You'll see," Obsidius sighs. "If she doesn't…"
"I'm less worried about her," Laslow chuckles. "But if…"
"Yeah. Yeah, that would be bad," Obsidius agrees.
This exchange of words just further confuses Corrin and a sceptical frown starts to emerge on Azura's face.
When they finally reach the peak of the small hill, Corrin is surprised to find the hilltop to be perfectly flat—unnaturally so. He didn't do this, and Lilith didn't mention anything like this to him either. So…how…?
Arranged before them is a table and six chairs. Two of the seats are already occupied by Subaki and his wife, Bellona. The two were engaged in conversation when the quintet managed to get up the slopes. Laslow and Obsidius take a seat and urge Corrin and Azura to do so as well.
"Good morning, Lord Corrin, Lady Azura. I see that you two have made the trek here on schedule," Subaki is the first to speak. "I am sure you have many questions at the current moment, but uh…I implore you to keep these to yourselves at this present moment. My wife…er…has some…disagreements with her compatriots that she needs to sort out."
Corrin notices Obsidius and Laslow wince before turning his attention to Bellona. The red-haired wyvern rider—a strange niche for a person in Hoshido—had joined his small army when his younger sister Sakura had decided to join him, on account of being Subaki's wife. He was rather surprised to find out that the fiery and oftentimes explosive knight was a friend of Obsidius and Laslow, and he later learned from Takumi that the redhead was just as shrouded in mystery as Obsidius and Laslow were in Nohr.
From that angle, the fact that they know each other isn't that much of a surprise, is it?
"She does…huh…" Obsidius sighs. "I know we sprung this on you rather quickly, but please, this is a really big problem!"
Bellona folds her arms over her chest and sighs.
"I know, Obsidius…but I'm more worried about…well, everything. The consequences. The…you know…Case Zet was supposed to be a secret, but getting them involved might screw everything up. Also, I don't think he'll even agree. He was…rather annoyed taking in Caeldori; he'll be even more mad if you push this on him."
"That is…true. I think we're all a bit worried about that happening. But..what else can we do?" Laslow points out before Obsidius can speak. "This is the only thing we can do with any chance of security and success."
"We…well, we could just find someone in the Outrealms."
"What, without telling—! He's always jumping around the Outrealms; if he finds out, he's going to be furious!"
"I…I guess that's true as well…" Bellona sighs. "I'm just…worried, I guess. This is the first time we've been allowed this much…freedom to do whatever we'd like. I can't help but think too much."
"On the other hand, that must mean he trusts us enough to let us do this. Otherwise, I doubt that he would let us be this free with our movements. You know how he was after Robin disappeared."
At this point, most of their words are going in one of Corrin's ears and immediately leaving the other.
"We could just…ask him, you know?" Subaki raises an eyebrow. "Why are you three so worried?"
"Subaki, dear," Bellona's voice gets really low. "You might not mind asking him, but to the three of us, he is not somebody to just…ask willy-nilly, ok?"
"What Bellona means to say," Laslow sighs. "Is that he's someone that we look up to? If we were to inconvenience him, it would make all of us feel terrible."
"Gods know we did enough of that in the past," Obsidius chuckles.
"Yes…yes…it's worse than that, you know! No matter what you ask, he always says yes, even if it stresses him out! It makes you feel really bad when you ask anything of him!" Bellona huffs. "Gods, I can already see the disappointed glare that he gives you…ugh."
"Guys…" Corrin speaks up quietly. "What are you guys…talking about?"
Corrin shrinks a little as all four pairs of eyeballs suddenly turn to look at him.
Obsidius shrugs.
"It doesn't make sense because it really shouldn't. We're talking about this in full earshot of you three because we fully expected everything we talked about to be rather incomprehensible."
"Still, Bellona, have we convinced you yet?" Laslow asks the red-headed wyvern rider.
With a sigh, she agrees, though not before a round of conversation in a language that Corrin can make either heads or tails about. Despite starting on the back foot, it appears by the end that Laslow and Obsidius were able to assuage whatever fears Bellona had.
"So…where are we going to be meeting this…benefactor of yours? I see only six chairs at this table."
"Yeah, this is the point we kinda have to apologise. See, we had neglected to inform…well, anyone that we met that we can also use Dragon Veins…to an extent," Laslow rubs the back of his head. "Through some…unconventional magics that Obsidius would be a lot better at explaining than I could ever, we were able to create…this."
"There's nothing…here."
"Exactly. I outdid myself with the invisibility. I had a feeling my blood had been boiling for a challenge, and this is what I was able to do," Obsidius chuckles proudly. With a snap of his fingers—something that Obsidius does with all too much flourish—a line of colour appears in the air, slowly splitting away what appears to be the real world to reveal…
A quaint little log cabin. A bit of an anticlimax, if Corrin has anything to say about it, but then again, what else was he expecting? A castle?
"How…how did you guys manage to build this?" Azura gasps. "I thought that…"
"That Dragon Veins are needed to build in the astral plane, yeah?" Laslow chuckles. "We thought so too…and it's technically not wrong. It's just…"
"Potentior sum draconibus!" Obsidius grins with a thumbs up. "Such paltry power cannot compare to the magic of Obsidius Umbrosus!"
"We had no idea that Obsidius had somehow gotten the power of a dragon, and he made…most of his. The hill wasn't here either," Bellona sighs.
"We should probably get going, dear. They're going to be here very soon," Subaki lightly taps his wife's shoulders. A chorus of agreement rings out through the small group and they hurry to enter the small cabin.
Corrin…isn't sure what he was expecting for the interior of the log cabin. He finds…very little. A small table with eight seats and a small bed in the corner are the only pieces of furniture that are around. A tiny wood furnace powers an equally small stove on the wall opposite the bed.
"Well. At the very least, we aren't late," Laslow sighs. "That…would have been terrible."
"Horrid. Catastrophic, even," Bellona agrees with a nod.
"Now, Lord Corrin, Lady Azura, Lord Shigure…I am going to need to put a spell on the three of you," Obsidius announces to the royal couple.
"Huh? Why?"
"You…will see in time. Please stay quiet when he gets here. It is incredibly important," Laslow answers for his compatriot, cryptic as always.
"Huh? Alright…?" Corrin agrees with a blink.
A few moments later, as Obsidius finishes a quick chant, Corrin sees a curtain of blue sparks descend over his body…without much happening.
"And there. Please, don't make a noise when he gets here, even if you do recognise him," Laslow asks once again, a pleading look slowly appearing in his eyes.
"I don't understand the point of this—Corrin. Corrin!?"
"I'm here! Azura…where did you go?" Corrin turns his head to where his wife was sitting a moment ago…only to see an empty seat staring back at him.
"That, my lords, is an invisibility spell. The reason for this will be rather apparent once he gets here," Subaki's words calm the royal couple down.
Corrin finds Azura's hand and she grips him, hard.
"They should be here anytime now…" Obsidius mutters. "In thirty seconds, they'll be late—"
As if on cue, a sudden flash of blue-green light in the shape of an archway springs into existence in the centre of the room. A two-dimensional hole suddenly appears in the centre of that archway, with space itself splitting into a kaleidoscope of colours and shapes. Infinite fractals seem to seep out from the edges of the portal, spilling some of the insane world into the sane one.
Seeming to be excreted by some membrane, a pair of humans emerge from the portal.
The first has long, crimson-red hair and holds a naginata—no, a glaive—in one hand. It is immediately obvious that this person is female from their face alone; in fact, if Corrin isn't completely mistaken, she has a rather large resemblance to Bellona. She's wearing segmented armour in a similar style to Obsidius…but that also has a certain…Hoshidan flair to it.
The second person has short golden hair that has started to grey in some places. His eyes are a shining silver that seems to have energy at odds with his age. He's wearing a simple white robe, once again, much in the same style that Obsidius does. A golden hilt of a longsword without its blade is kept around his belt.
"Caeldori!" Almost immediately, Subaki and Bellona rush to the red-haired girl.
"Mom! Dad!" The girl is immediately swamped in a hug from her parents and disappears in their arms.
Corrin has so many questions right now. However, he keeps his mouth shut, as requested.
The other man looks at this…family reunion with a slightly exasperated smile on his face before sitting down.
"It's only been what, a month up here since the last time we visited?" He chuckles.
"A month is a long time, you know?" Laslow shrugs. "I understand their feelings."
"Well, thankfully, she's old enough to rejoin everyone now. I'll leave it to you to figure out what you're going to tell Corrin."
"She'll figure out. She always has."
"That's true. Severa, for all her faults, is an intelligent woman. At the very least, she's not like her mother. Sweet Ambrosia, Cordy nearly made me take a swing. Thank the gods she's able to talk out her feelings instead of bottling things up," The man sighs and shakes his head. "Enough of this old man complaining. Tell me how things have gone. Did anything interesting happen this month?"
"Well, we managed to get Prince Takumi on our side, along with a sizable infantry regiment. Helps our legitimacy…somewhat."
"Aye…but…uh…he's a bit of a pretentious noble. You know the kind."
"Oh, so you've made it Izumo already? I hope the snowblowers helped out."
"I mean…it kinda did? It didn't go down exactly as you said; Izana didn't die for one. Still, it was rather fun to use the snowblowers to clear a path quickly and confuse the Nohrians with how fast we managed to clear the snowfield."
"He didn't die? Did he not…you know, convene with the gods?"
"Nope. He took one look at us and just said to ask you for any God-related questions. Kinda…confusing, honestly."
"The power running through Uncle's blood is more powerful than some random priest. Of course, he realised his mistake, and submitted to the superior prophet," Obsidius chuckles.
"Yeah yeah, that's enough flattering for one day, Owain. Anything other developments, sans your experiences at Izumo? I'll get an after-action report from Subaki if I need to find anything specific."
"Hmmm…Well, there have been some other interesting developments on the more domestic front."
"Oh, really? I hate that you say 'domestic front'. Please don't tell me…someone got pregnant?"
"I—well…"
"Gods damn it…who was it? Which one popped out?"
"Popped out…?"
"Who was born? It'll tell me most of what I need to know."
"You can tell the parents from the baby's name!?"
"I can tell you the important one. So, who is it?"
"Well…" Obsidius scratches the back of his head. "Shigure…"
The man blinks a couple of times before sighing.
"Mother is Azura, father is…well, the one I've seen the most is Corrin…so…?"
"Yep. You got it right…"
"Fucking hell. You did give Corrin the talk about everything, right?"
"Y—Yes. It…uh…did not seem to work," Laslow rubs the back of his head.
"Great. Let's put a pin in that for now. I don't want to think about that fact until I need to. And you two! Stop squeezing Ianthina! You're going to crush her! And come over here and sit down. It isn't a meeting if not everyone is here."
"You know, Uncle, why do you always call Caeldori purple?" Laslow asks as the trio that had been off in their own small conversation in front of the glimmering portal rejoins the main group and sits down at the table.
"Oh, that's actually a good question. See, I first knew about what name Severa and Subaki chose for her from Subaki himself. This was just under a decade ago, as you know back then, he wasn't really the best at Latin."
"Still have trouble with the pronunciation."
"No, you've gotten a lot better. Anyhow, Obsidius, what's Caeldori's name in Latin?"
"Caeldora? It's rather easy to transliterate into Latin; what, Caeldora, Caeldorae, Caeldoram? Owain is a nightmare…"
"I didn't think it was that bad. Sure, Ovinatus sounds a little weird. Anyhow, Subaki's pronunciation wasn't what I expected and I misheard the 'l' as an 'r'."
"Which made it…Caerdora. Ah…"
"Sounds a lot like Caerulea, doesn't it? Especially coming from Subaki? Yeah, I joked that her name meant blue and her hair is red, so she's purple. Viola! Ianthina as a nickname was born."
"Huh. So that's where that joke came from. Subaki, why did you try to say everything to Uncle in Latin back then?"
"I didn't know he spoke any other language! He was this mysterious man that you guys hyped up a lot! Oh, we're going to meet with the Lucius Cornelius Magnus and you expect me not to panic?"
When Subaki says that name, Azura's hand tightens in Corrin's. It's obvious that she has some knowledge of this person.
"Hey, lay off him a little. Practice does make perfect, and he's nothing if not always attempting to be perfect," Lucius holds his hands out to stop Laslow from responding. "As per usual, I've managed to produce a couple of gifts for you three—well, you four now. I know you've been looking forward to this, Obsidius."
"Oh! Are they here yet?" Obsidius rubs his hands together excitedly. "It's been six months!"
"Yeah, the delivery has been a bit touch and go lately, from what I've heard from the Anna network. But, I did manage to get the past six month's worth—out here, at least—of Ave! Romana!" He places a packet of…what appears to be paper books bound by…more paper. Strange.
"Sweet!"
"Grand-Uncle—"
"Oh, gods! Iove Optimus, Ianthana! I'm not that old. Just…augh. That just feels weird. How many times have I told you to just call me Terence…"
"I apologise…Terence…" Caeldori appears to choke out those words as if she feels it to be wrong. "But uh…what are those?"
"Oh, Ave! Romana! Is a Latin-language magazine made for inter-dimensional expats. I personally don't read it all too much, but Obsidius loves it for some reason."
"Hey, it's a good read, alright?"
"I didn't say it wasn't. Just that I don't enjoy it," Lucius sighs, shaking his head. "And for you, Severa…a bit of a late birthday present from me and Ianthana. A set of knives—domestic and combat—smithed by the two of us."
He places a well-made case on the table before opening it up. Inside are two dozen knives of varying sizes. On the top lid are a dozen that look to be more rounded and with more cleft—probably for cooking and shaping wood—while those on the bottom are unmistakably a mix of throwing knives and discrete combat knives. They all have a near-mystical blue-black sheen to them.
"Mythril…aww, you two shouldn't have!" Bellona—or is it Severa? Corrin doesn't know—picks one of the throwing knives up and lightly flicks the surface. "Great craftsmanship, Uncle. Nice to know you haven't lost your touch."
"The combat ones aren't the ones I made, Severa."
"Hmmm…? So you made the cooking and cutting ones…? Then—Caeldori!?" She looks at her daughter with a look of glee, excitement, pride, and disbelief.
"I'm happy you like them, Mother!" The red-haired girl smiles brightly.
"Thank you so much! Woah, these are really well-made! You're going to beat Uncle Terry one day!"
"I wouldn't say that, Severa. Their blood has—"
"Just let her have this one, alright? She has a knife in her hand," Laslow smartly points out.
"That's…a good point…"
"Huh!? Do you think I'm the sort of person to throw whatever is in my hands when I get angry!?"
"N—No! Just that—"
"Severa, please. There's no need to get angry here," Lucius sighs and shakes his head.
"I—I'm not angry. Just…"
"And you two, don't poke fun at her. She'll snap back eventually, you know?"
"Yes…"
"I understand…"
With a few words, this…well, Corrin isn't sure what to call him either; on the one hand, Azura reacted to the name Lucius, but they've all been calling him some variation of Terence of Terry. It's all…strange. Well, whatever he's called, he's able to defuse a famously tense situation between the three outlanders. An impressive feat.
"I also know you like embroidery, Severa, so I made you these orichalcum needles. They're a bit on the thin side, but I think you'll like them."
"Whoa…I…"
"There's no need to say anything in thanks if you don't have to. I made these in my spare time anyhow; I needed a way to get rid of some excess orichalcum that had been burning a hole in my bag. Oh yeah, the improved music player that you wanted finally got here, Inigo."
"Really? Finally, it's been six months! What took them so long!?" Laslow catches a small metal plate no thicker than a finger. "We ordered this like a year back!"
"Tell me about it. Apparently, some idiot decided to do some unauthorised jumps around the Akasha sector and that had a profound effect on shipping lanes. So much so that the Anna corp, large as they are, had significant trouble. The dude that was doing these jumps has been apprehended by the Divine Arbiter, so all is good now. Things should be moving smoothly—as smoothly as interdimensional transit can, at least."
"That's good," Subaki sighs. "Does that mean the wine club is back?"
"Yup. This month…I have no idea what kind of wine it is. I am not a wine expert; I'm not allowed to drink alcohol," He hands over a small box the size of one's arm over to Subaki.
"Hmmm…I think I'm going to have a blind tasting later tonight…try to guess what it is."
"You go do that. Now with all of the good things out of the way…we can move on to the less fun stuff. Primarily…what the hell do we do with baby Shigure?"
"Ummm…Uncle, we have a favour to ask of you…actually."
"Hmmm? What kind of favour?"
"Well…since you raised Caeldori, we thought—"
"You want me. To raise Shigure. A baby. You want me to bring. A baby along with me. When I travel through the outrealms?"
"Well…when you put it like that—"
"No no, I can do it, I just wanted to make sure you and I were on the same wavelength. This…no, I can do it. I would much rather I take care of him than some random people that they find in some outrealm. Or Juno forbid, they keep him here when all this is happening."
"That's great, Uncle! Uh…well…we might have jumped the gun a little here, but…"
"They're here in the room, I know. I was wondering what he was doing, sitting as still as he possibly could for the entire conversation."
"He…?" Laslow blinks.
"Yeah? That's Corrin—and that's Azura next to Shigure in her arms. Great. Hey! You three! You don't have to sit there like mannequins anymore!"
Corrin finally takes the initiative to speak.
"Hi…Mister…?"
"Hello. Septimus Terentius Aquilius Aurelius, but please just call me Terence. I know who all of you are, no need to introduce yourselves. I imagine you all have many, many questions for me?"
Corrin nods his head.
"Good. Ask away."
Another Truth
[1st of Guardian Moon]
"You…Are you alright?" Byleth jumps as she hears a voice come up from behind her. She turns around to find a slightly concerned-looking Rufus smiling sadly down at her. His golden wings shimmer behind him, cutting through the mist and rain like a lighthouse cuts through the midnight sky.
Why are you so scared? Such a child…do no fret, I will be waiting here for us to continue our conversation. The being in Byleth's mind chuckles and sighs.
"Good…afternoon, Rufus." Byleth manages to choke out. She doesn't even bother standing up from kneeling over her father's grave. Too many emotions are streaking through her mind right now. Too many things to think about. Too many things to discuss.
"You still haven't answered my question," Rufus sighs before sitting down, tucking his massive wings back into himself…somehow. "Are you alright?"
"I…don't know," Byleth frowns. "I…I don't know what to feel. I…I can't be sure…what I am…feeling."
"That's fine. Grief is…one of many emotions that is hard to get across. Don't worry. We've all been there."
"We…? Rufus…did you…?"
"Lose someone?" The usually serene face of the supposedly not angel grimaces as he looks deep into his memories. It was a face that usually accompanied any question into his past, which is why Byleth didn't like to ask these kinds of questions. "A great many someones…spending your time in a place where the sky itself spawns harpies to kill you because it's bored…doesn't help your mental health."
"Really…? I've never heard you…talk about this before."
"That's by design," Rufus chuckles, shaking his head. "I don't like talking about my life before I was magicked away here. It certainly wasn't a kind one…"
Byleth nods, wrapping her arms around her legs and waiting for Rufus to continue with his story.
"I wasn't…always in this body, you know…" Rufus sighs, looking up at the rainy sky. "I was a machine, created to fight the wars of the late Empire. Pro Deus et Imperator, as it were. After my duties were done, I was to be dismantled and scrapped…it was from that heap that I was plunked and sent on a quest to the worst place in all of the worlds I have seen."
The bronze-skinned man purses his lips and looks down at the ground for a moment before continuing.
"And…and I'll be honest…with you, Byleth. I…I enjoyed my time there. God above, I died a lot of times. It was miserable to constantly march and march and march with practically no respite. To question all of your senses, to ask questions that no sane being should ask…and yet," Rufus lifts his head to look at Byleth with a weak smile. "It was bearable. Enjoyable…all because of the friends I had made. My compatriots, my allies, my squadmates…all of them. They made literal hell bearable. Jugen, our self-declared leader with his attitude, headstrong nature, and kleptomania…Terence, our strategist, the stiff and unbendable marble column that kept everything from collapsing…Augusta, our feisty knight with her snarky and passive-aggressive disposition…Signus, the wispy and constantly high monk that provided calm and collected counsel at all times…Antonii, the gentle giant that could crush an orc in his hands…Amette…we lost her so early, and yet she is still such a gentle and warm reminder of our earlier days. Even Iason, the strange angel bard that we picked up along the way…"
The ultramarine light in Rufus's eyes dims slightly as he reminisces.
"How…how did you get here?" Byleth tentatively asks the question that's been nagging at her mind for the longest time.
"Well, death finally caught up to me. And…it stuck a bit more permanently this time around. There weren't many people still with us near the end…Amette was crucified and her body was left to rot. We were never quite sure how Augusta died; Signus refused to speak about it and Antonii never really talked. Signus leapt from Lucifer's spire and was smashed into a fine white paste. Iason fucked off to God knows where, and Antonii was killed by Satan himself after giving the fucker the hardest backhand I have ever seen. In the end…as we were trying to leave…the gate caught me and I was crushed in half as that particular gate to the underworld was closed forever," Rufus smiles bitterly. "After I died, a bright flash of light wrapped around me, and when I finally had eyes to open, I found myself here, having received an entirely different body from the Warforged one that I had inhabited before. I…really hope Terence and Jugen made it. If anyone deserved to make it out, it was those two…"
Byleth doesn't say anything, instead looking down at the ground. She takes a moment to digest what she has just heard. It's rather difficult, but the pained and slightly nostalgic look in Rufus's eyes brings another feeling that she hadn't felt very much before. A feeling…of comradery. Of sympathy.
After a moment of silence, Byleth feels Rufus's radiant and warm arm wrap around her shoulders. Before she can say anything, Rufus quietly and gently shushes her, the look in his face asking her to remain calm.
"It's fine if you take a break from it all occasionally. It's…good for your health. A…good moderating process," Rufus smiles gently. "Just…don't think. Don't talk. Just…be. Let the wind and the rain occupy your mind for a few minutes. Then, we can start thinking of a way to move forward."
So she did. She is not sure if she cried, or just sat there motionlessly for the better part of half an hour…but Rufus was right. She did feel better. Just…
What was this emptiness in her chest that she was feeling?
||—||
Rufus hated the rain. Every time storm clouds moved on the horizon, he half expected the skies to turn crimson and boiling blood to spill forth from the heavens.
Still, enjoying a nice walk out in the rain was something that he could get behind. A nice…calm walk. It was relaxing. Perhaps…a little bit too relaxing.
Maybe that's why he didn't notice Claude sneaking into his room until after the house leader of the Golden Deer—the very same House that Rufus helped teach—had managed to grab the item Claude was looking for.
Rufus chuckled inwardly. The hyper-observant cleric who was able to spot a heldrake trailing them from kilometres away unable to hear one poor rogue sneaking into his room? Truly, this life was making him soft.
With a snap of his finger and a sigh for extra effect, a quintet of magical lights are lit up, illuminating the rather small room in the teacher's section of the dormitories. Rufus doesn't even bothers with turning around to look at the attempted petty thief caught red-handed in an attempt to steal his teacher's personal belongings.
"Good evening, Claude," Rufus says exasperatedly. "I have office hours, you know? It ended around…three hours ago. If you have something serious to say to me, you can just ask tomorrow. Please put my journal back where you found it, in my desk drawer."
"O—Oh…Teach Two…I…wasn't aware…that you're awake. Uh…on account of you…not glowing…and everything."
Snoring with amusement, Rufus turns around in his chair to stare at Claude, caught comedically mid-step glued to the wall.
"Firstly, I'd like to make it clear that I can in fact turn that rather annoying feature of my physiology on and off," Rufus shakes his head as his skin glows with a warm bronze light and his hair shines a glistening silver. "Ditto for the wings. Secondly, I barely need any sleep; the average amount of time that an Aasimar spends sleeping in a day is around three hours. You should know this; we've shared a tent too many times on campaign."
"Th—That's not true! And it's not a campaign, it's a trip."
"Same difference. And really? I've been keeping track. Every time that Hilda decides that you're not worth it, she kicks you out of your own tent, and you crawl to me."
"That's…true."
"You still haven't put my journal back, Claude."
"Oops. Sorry, Teach."
Claude places a leather-backed book on the desk.
"My Journal, Claude. Not some look-alike book you found at Anna's shop."
"Aww…Come on, Teach! How'd you even know!?" Claude groans as he puts a much more tattered book on the desk.
"I've spent way too much time around people like you. Most of them were better at stealth and poisoning than you are. Do you think that the court of the King of Almyra was bad? I've dealt with thieves, assassins, and spies trained by the personification of stealth and murder."
"Oh, I'm just a passing hobbyist—" Claude blinks as he slowly takes in the full meaning of Rufus's words.
Half a moment later, Claude looks as if he's been slapped.
"What did you just say…?" The half-Almyran says in a low voice.
"I know who you are, Claude. There's no need to keep that mask up around me," Rufus sighs, putting his fingers together with a disappointed expression escaping into his face.
Almost instantly, the persona of 'Claude' drops and a far more calculating and observant face emerges on 'Claude's face.
"Ah, there you are, Khalid. Claude is not such a good pseudonym, I'm afraid. Too close to your actual name for comfort. Well, at least for mine," Rufus chuckles. "Something like Sigismund…or Tankred…or I don't know…I used Edward for the longest time as my pseudonym."
"How many other people know about me?"
"Just me and Anna," Rufus shrugs.
"And…as for my name…I just…I suppose I wanted something close to my name…a transliteration if you will."
"Ah. I understand."
"Professor. I want you to be frank with me."
"Can you leave my journal alone, then?"
"I…yes. Yes, I can."
"Great. Well, you're obviously not Fodlani. That much I noticed immediately. It was just a case of locking down where you came from. A couple of genealogy checks later…and I came up with what I believe to be a rather accurate recounting of your family history."
"How…how could you tell I'm not Fodlan?"
"Hmmm…perhaps that has something to do with the fact that I am also not a native of this land," Rufus chuckles, gesturing towards his bronze skin. "I've noticed…little things that Fodlani people do. Small, little, rather insignificant things. A general preference towards large game meat, even if they say they do not like such a thing. That ever so slight dip of the head when they enter the cathedral. Small things that people won't notice. You…however…what is strange, I've noticed, is that you overcompensate. You try your hardest to look Fodlani…and that's hurting your disguise. You've noticed the vowel rounding that happens at the end of Fodlani words spoken by native Fodlani…but you've rounded the vowels a little too consistently. You follow Fodlani mannerisms too strictly, too…dare I say…robotically." Rufus nods.
"I…see. And…may I dare ask…do you do this to…everyone? Or is it just me?"
"Oh, I notice these kinds of things…mostly accidentally. Once you've trained your eyes to find these things, they can really never stop. I know about Marianne…predicament and even tried to help her out, but she refused. I know why Edelgard and Lysithea's hair is white. I've even managed to find out the identity of the Flame Emperor…I think. That case is still open; someone's interfering with me and I really don't have the time or motivation to dedicate to that task."
"This…I…why?"
"I've already told you. On accident. If you've trained yourself to be able to pick up on the smallest of details, it's rather hard to stop." Rufus shrugs. "I can't…just stop doing it, if you're wondering."
"I…understand. One…one more thing, Professor."
"Yes? Ask away."
"Do…do you think Professor Byleth will be alright? I've seen grief before…never this bad, though."
"She'll be alright. She is a tough girl. Though, you might want to reconsider judging different people on their grief; the most silent of grievers most likely are the most hurt inside," Rufus sighs as he remembers a certain golden-haired artillerist.
"I…will keep that in mind, Professor."
In relation to this last one, I just want you guys to know what Rufus's perception managed to get to.
Wisdom 20: +5
Feat [Observant]: +5 (Passive)
Feat [Skill Expert]: Expertise (+ 2 time Proficiency Bonus (+5)); +10
Sentinel Shield: Advantage on Perception (+5 Passive)
30 Passive Perception
+15 Active Perception; Advantage
AN: Hello There! Acardia here!
Well, here it is. The intermission. I missed New Year's by five damn days...ugh.
I'll be taking a break from this fic as I turn my attention back to WC;LS and some other projects (Fate Series, RWBY, Azure Lane, Star Wars, Harry Potter) that I want to get into before too long. They've all been burning a hole in my mind for far too long.
We got...actually a bunch of reviews. Wow.
Wheattus: The closest thing I could find to scale was HP, unfortunately, which makes for some rather wacky scaling, unfortunately. Hopefully, the mechanics turn out well. Hey, thanks for sharing your opinion! I'm trying my best not to shin too much of a spotlight on Terence—especially since he's my OC—and give other members their share in the spotlight. Makes for a more interesting world if you see things from different perspectives. Especially as we get deeper into the story and the more strategic view of Terence clashes with the more tactical view of Robin, and you start to see how a person who very much cares about politics meshes with a person who could not care less. As for Robin, I find any depiction of her/him needs to be a careful balance between being a good tactician and being an amnesiac. I hope I'm straddling that line well enough. I need to add more scenes about Robin and her dealing with her amnesia in the same way that I have four or so scenes planned for Terence dealing with his PTSD.
kjkawesome: I did manage to reclaim that streak, thankfully enough. Man, Apollo is one of the more terrible of the Olympian gods. I really don't like the dude. I don't think that's an unpopular opinion.
Guest[1]: Thanks!
Guest[2]: Thank you!
Guest[3](I'm assuming all of these reviews in quick succession are all one person):
1. Thank you! I try my best to write conversation in a way that is more...human? If that makes sense. Does make for some dialogues where I have to have a character pull back on the conversation, lest it gets out of control.
2. You'll have to find out along with everyone else when those chapters come out/get written.
3. Well, it was really don't get Robin hurt. He doesn't care about getting hurt himself.
4. They were; nobody knows about the voices other than him yet, past or present.
5. Well, he's only gotten knocked out by the enemy three times. And the time by Lucina only half counts since he collapsed after the fight. Honestly, with how evil our DM is (FUCKING KOLBOLDS), this is a good streak for him.
6. Thanks!
Anyhow, that's all for now. I'll probably get back here...February? Maybe. See you...whenever then is.
Valete, omnis!
Acadia out!