*Hymn of Time [Remix] (The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time OST)

**Mountain Village (The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask OST)

***Altar of Aether [Temple Grounds] (Metroid Prime 2: Echoes OST)

****Miserable Spectacle (Tales of the Abyss OST)

*****Misery in Hand (FE14 OST)

******Stealth Sneak (Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets OST) [GC/PS2/Xbox]

*******Majora's Theme [Orchestrated Remix] (The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask OST)

*Contrary to what some had said about him, those who praised him, condemned him, or didn't give a damn about him in the least, he was no god or deity. He was simply an unusual man with an unusual skillset (and an inexplicably long lifespan) who loved his land, its people, and their gods. A man who would go to any lengths to protect them. However, this day found him in the presence of a very particular deity- a goddess, in fact, who had summoned him to her temple for a very particular purpose.

"Milady," he said respectfully, going down on one knee. "you summoned me? Is there something amiss?"

The goddess' sapphire eyes shone with sadness and concern. "Oh, great hero of this land, conqueror of countless evils, there is a matter which has even managed to confound we gods."

"Hm?"

"As you know, my domain concerns all that is, has been, and will be. However, something has troubled me as of late- your fated enemy, the scourge of this land...has simply vanished from time. Or rather, vanished from this land's past, present, or future."

"Wait, is that even possible, milady?"

"Apparently so."

The goddess paced about the chamber's length anxiously, which her champion felt instinctively. "What is his name?" he requested. "Milady, allow me to track the fiend, wherever he may be, so that I may end him."

The deity placed a consoling hand upon his shoulder. "Unfortunately, neither of those things I can allow. Even we are bound by fate and must not intervene in yours. I would search for him myself, but the consequences of meddling in the affairs of other worlds, especially for a god-"

Nevertheless, she gave a light, wistful smile of relief. "However, I do have one task for you- one that will allow you to project your spirit to other worlds and seek out those worthy of your valor. Particularly worlds lacking the means to resist your adversary."

"Understood. Your wish is my command. But I do not understand one thing, milady. If he is my fated enemy and a scourge, why will you not allow me to pursue him?"

Her expression turned heavy and troubled once more. "Because I need you here, in this world. To deal with- well, you're familiar with- well, them..."*

It was no surprise he'd been a restless child, prone to bouts of general sleeplessness; hell, that very same restlessness and watching his father and uncle spar countless nights only fueled his fascination with the blade and his desire to surpass them both. Gazing up at the stars, half-heartedly listening to his dying fire, ironically enough, by this point in time, even well-before having a wife and children of his own, Lord Takeshi was able to admit to himself that despite all of his childish taunting to the contrary, the one individual he'd underestimated all these years, had in fact, surpassed him in skill with the blade. With everything she had been through, with all of the enemies she had made by this time, how could she not have long since done so?

Still, thoughts of his father, uncle, and little sister swirling about his mind, there was one particular saying- a mantra really- repeated at length during the lifetime of his father and his brother Tomokane both. So engrossed was he in pondering its meaning, that (while obviously aware of his presence if for no other reason than his pegasus) he scarcely acknowledged the present of his most devoted servant.

Dismounting the beast, Junichi knelt before his lord, scruffy hair matting his visage momentarily. "Lord Takeshi." he acknowledged dutifully. "Chief Kikai's-"

"A sword wields no strength unless the hand that holds it has courage." the young lord recited. "That saying hold any meaning for you, Jun?"

"I've never heard it in my life, milord. Why?"

"It's just a mantra my father and uncle always repeated. I remember asking him about it a few years ago- said he didn't know either. Told me it was just something his father always said and his father and so on. As long as anyone could remember, he said."

Rising from his spot, Takeshi made an exaggerated noise as he stretched his muscles. "So, Chief Kikai's summit, go on."

"It's just as I was saying, Lord Takeshi. I made contact with Lady Hana and Princess Sakura and I can confirm they're both alive and well."

"Oh, thank the gods. It will be a load off Mother's mind to hear, that's for sure as well."

"As far as the meeting itself, while there was some tension initially, the representatives managed to make real progress towards a broad anti-Nohr alliance. But understandably, the tribal leaders wish us to do some significant damage to the enemy's troop strength before any joint operations."

Takeshi growled in frustration. "Oh, that just fucking figures." he muttered bitterly. "It's not like we haven't been spending the past seven months bleeding them white across Mutsu!"

"Erm, Lord Takeshi..."

"Oh, of course, Jun. At ease. Flying for hours on end to report to me? You must be absolutely exhausted."

"Thank you, milord. By your leave."

Junichiro retiring to his tent, his lord sighed in a combination of frustration and anticipation. How much more did these new allies of theirs really expect them to do to the Nohrians anyway? Their resources, particularly at a time like this, had limits too. Nonetheless, as perilous as the times ahead were to be, it was also exceptionally exciting as well, only made possible by Princess Sakura and his baby sister's daring. Perhaps courage truly was the key after all?

Well away from the merriment and celebrations of their new alliance, its leaders knew that there was still much to be worked out and urgently so. The level of damage required done to Nohr's troop strength, communication and coordination difficulties, among many other concerns were discussed surrounding a great map of the continent in Kikai's tent. While Junichiro had set off almost immediately to relay the news to his lord, this was not exactly settling for the man who had made such an affair possible.

"That will do for truly urgent matters, yes." the Flame chief conceded. "However, for more mundane matters? Communication between our forces? We simply cannot just rely on sending birds to and fro. The Nohrians will learn to intercept them fairly quickly."

Her companion so obsessed with the tactical minutiae that he'd neglected some of the basics of warfare, one of the quietest members of the Hoshidan delegation had an epiphany from one of her many conversations with the dispossessed. "Fireworks." Kagero assuredly. "The army would use them all the time to send messages, illuminate target areas, and so on. Lord Tomokane and his men used them to great effect against the Nohrians. Of course, they've been somewhat difficult to produce as of late, but-"

Rinkah smiled mischievously. "I think we can help with that, eh, Father?"

Kikai sighed in resignation. "I suppose they'll have to do for now." he conceded. "At least until we can get more freedom of action."

Spurred on by his conversation with his aunt and Sakura, Tristan thought it wise to raise another henceforth-neglected issue. "King Leonard, his minions, and kingdom are our common enemy, that goes without saying." the knight reiterated. "But what of their toadies, hangers-on, and general opportunists? They won't defeat us alone without their master, but that's not to say they won't be a headache."

"A mighty one at that." Fuga added with no small degree of concern. "Even without the rumors my scouts have been recalling from the south, a band of well-organized, well-trained cutthroats is causing us no end of problems. I'm afraid we won't be much use to the overall war effort until the bulk of our warriors are freed from them."

Well-aware of the reign of terror his vulture of a rival was inflicting upon the other tribes, Florian's expression flared. "So what? We just kill 'em all, right?" he challenged. "Twenty-five of my best men. That's all I'll need."

"Such an undertaking would require resources which we cannot spare." Flora reminded coldly. "Instead, I'll see the condemned to outlawry; deprive them of half their men without a single casualty of our own. THEN we eliminate them."

Lupina grinned one of her trademark toothy grins. "Sounds good to me! Besides, we might just beat you to 'em if they're dumb enough to come poking around our country again."

And there was of course, the unavoidable discussion concerning the general amount of damage each involved nation would have to do to Nohr's manpower to make their plan even remotely viable. "Since the capital when they declared their 'victory," Saizo began bitterly, motioning the figures across the eastern half of the map restlessly. "I figure we'll have done about...maybe two-and-a-half armies of theirs worth of damage. Either killed or wounded badly enough to be useless to their war."

"How long will it take them to replace those losses?" inquired Kikai.

"To replace the men or raise an effective fighting force?" asked Kagero in return. "Conceivably, they could just conscript every third or fourth male and stick a spear in his hands pretty quickly. For the latter, several months is a good estimate. For some of the higher-quality units, double that."

As someone hailing from a country and region which had (in addition to having done their enemy a great deal of damage already) suffered horribly at Nohrian hands, Flora was not exactly surprised at the icy glare Hana shot her way. "I know what you're thinking, and it's not like that." she explained contritely. "It would be no large feat for the Nohrians to overwhelm us with sheer numbers alone."

"Or they could, you know, just starve us out." Florian added boredly, his mind obviously in a very dark place as of late.

And speaking of the Nohrians, a very concerned-looking messenger whispered in Kikai's ear, the chief shortly mirroring the expression before cursing to himself. "I've an urgent matter to see to concerning the war." he announced. "Let us continue this meeting once the sun rises. Eat, rest, do as you please until my return."

"Once again, you are too courteous, Chief Kikai." Flora prefaced. "However, we must set off for our country at once."

"Understood; stay safe, Lady Flora."

The two travelers were well afield of the encampment, well out of earshot when Florian finally vocalized the burning question in his mind. "Why did you lie to Chief Kikai?" he asked. "And all of them? Because you know damn well your father-"

"I know." she answered grimly, keeping a brisk pace and consciously turned away from Florian.

"But how could you promise all of them that we'd join their war-"

At that moment, Florian made a horrifying realization. A horrifying realization of just what his childhood friend had been psychologically preparing herself for this whole trip. What she had been preparing herself for to ensure the survival of their people as anything more than Nohrian chattel at best. "Oh, gods, Flora-" he began. "You're not really-"

Quickening his step, Florian quickly caught up with her, taking her by the shoulders and forcing Flora to face him. "Yes, I am." she confirmed, no other explanation of her intentions required. "This King Leonard is a power-mad tyrant. Our future is simply not secure in either of their hands- I don't have a choice."

"Yes, you do! If this is the only way...let me do it!"

"Florian, this is my respons-"

"People expect this from me! Me and the old bastard have never, ever gotten along!"

"Florian...I appreciate the gesture...but you've already done so much for me- more than I could ever hope to repay. I'm not going to push this burden onto you as well."

Loathe to show any weakness at all, the Ice Tribe's champion shut his eyes, hell-bent on holding back empathetic tears for which his dearest friend was setting herself up. "You know, for someone so smart," Florian remarked finally. "you can be really stupid sometimes."

"Call it what you like, but that's not going to change the facts on the ground or my mind. So I can count on your support?"

"...Always. You know that, Flora...if even you say that war is our only option...things must be even worse than I'd thought."

Given her frigid surroundings and her apparent complete lack of biological protection from said conditions, it probably was not surprising that Corrine's dreams took her to an island- a warm, lush, tropical paradise with endless white sand beaches and crystal clear seas. Also given for whom she was enduring said discomfort, it was also little surprise with whom she frolicked on said beach. Was his torso always that sculpted, she hazily wondered to herself. And those legs! It was difficult to tell under all that armor, but Corrine knew one thing damned well- he was utterly ripped!

"Corrine! Wait up!"

"Hee hee, come get me, 'Your Majesty!"

One thing that should have tipped her off that this was an exceptionally vivid dream (not that she really cared) was the fact that she owned no such swimsuit and she could never see herself wearing something so revealing! To say nothing of her abrupt loss of time, transitioning into a vacant dance studio, the warm twilight streaming in on Corrine and her flamboyant, low-cut red dress, her lord clad in a pair of crisp slacks and a slightly unbuttoned dress shirt, standing a bit more than arm's length from her with a confident smirk.

"Might I have this dance?"

Corrine giggled coyly. "Naturally, my king." she answered huskily. "Anything else you fancy to have?"

Taking her hand and twirling Corrine a couple of times before dipping her, the king returned her mischievous expression. "As a matter of fact, yes there is..."

Meanwhile in the real world, in one of the officer's huts, Ira continued nudging Corrine awake from behind, ignoring the gasps under the other woman's breath. "Yo, princess! Wake up!" she scolded. "The storm's let up! We're moving out!"

Abruptly jolted awake, upon realizing her surroundings were not in fact, that of the beautiful island, a mortified Corrine abruptly pulled her hand away from her waist before turning to her colleague. "Oh, of course! L-let's go!"

"Well, it looks like someone slept well last night."

**Blushing at either the accumulated heat within her, the cold as it made contact with her skin, or some combination, attempted to put the (counterintuitively) rather-pleasant dream from her head. It was just a dream, she insisted to herself. It meant nothing!

"Our scouts just reported back." Ira reported. "The savages are held up in a village a bit west along the main path."

Corrine sighed in fatigued relief; the end of this ordeal was finally in sight, at least for these people. There was no way the Flame Tribe would want to continue hostilities after a loss like this. "What does our approach look like?" she inquired.

"Straight, overlooked by ridges. I don't like it. Armin's troops are on the other side of the damn mountain and the wyverns hate this cold almost as much as you."

"Well, it looks like we don't have much choice. Send the armor out in front and archers covering them. If it gets too hot, have them fall back."**

***The morning sun and frigid air against his face did little to disturb Madarao and his pre-battle meditation. Why should it have? When little more than three decades of more or less continuous physical, psychological, and spiritual training, much of it under the chief's shadow himself, saw him correctly described as probably the Flame Tribe's mightiest warrior apart from those two. As was expected of him, as the guardian of the tribe's temple on Mount Haku.

No, the honor of disturbing his his meditation went to the breathless runner who'd made his way to the temple summit. "S-Sentinel..." he began breathlessly. "The Nohrians...have broken through! Town probably...already...fallen."

Rising to his feet, Madarao shook the accumulated snow from his utterly hairless head."So they are inevitably coming this way?"

"Y-yes sir! Lord Naeba...leading refugees...to the temple..."

"Nohrian bastards..." growled the guardian. "Stay safe, Brother..."

Even in the days of the even-more-fragmented tribes and principalities, from time immemorial, the continent's inhabitants, for all their differences, had one mutually understood and implicitly-agreed-upon norm regarding conflict- places of worship and sacred sites were simply and utterly off-limits for targeting, quartering of soldiers, exploitation of natural resources, and so on. To break this norm would see one sentenced to outlawry- a de facto death sentence the very second one returned to whatever part of civilization they called home; that is of course, if they survived the wrath of those who considered the sites holy in the first place.

But also as long as anyone could remember, there had been one nation that not only ignored or disputed the prohibition on any number of grounds, but actively sought out the destruction and defilement of these sacred sites, as if their very existence was an affront to their collective honor and sense of decency. That nation, was of course, the very same one currently marching on one of their three sacred peaks for gods-only-knew-what purpose. Why exactly they compulsively engaged in such sacrilegious behavior was an utter mystery, even to the Nohrians they'd captured and interrogated.***

**After a morning of bloody battles along the path (not at all helped by the settlement lying east from their camp), Corrine and Ira's battered forces had routed the defenders of the pass and the nearby town. Exactly as predicted, the enemy lie in wait for their approach, raining down arrows and spears the very second the first Nohrian vanguard advanced, being virtually annihilated in the process by the warriors along the path. This would not have been so devastating had the enemy not held back their own casters until the armor arrived, for whom they were easy prey, covered by both their bow-wielding allies and their melee fighters below. Indeed, had Corrine not, after the destruction of her own guard detail, sprung up to the right ridge to cut (and tear, and rip, and claw) a bloody swath through their casters, the casualties would have been even higher.

She'd witnessed more death and bloodshed than she had in months and, upon she and Ira entering the town square, looked forward to nothing more than some downtime, preferably in Azura's (or her king's) arms. "As you can see," Corrine continued to explain to the town's elder. "your warriors have been routed and our comrades are hunting stragglers. Please, show some sense and order them to lay down their arms!"

His wizened visage managing a scowl, the old man simply spat at Corrine's feet. "You've got some nerve defiling this mountain, Nohrian slime!" he scolded. "We all know damn well if the situation were reversed, you'd not stop until we were wiped out!"

Ira, having none of the old man's disobedience, grabbed the front of his tunic and raised that odd, forearm-mounted blade of hers to his neck. "I don't think you understand the position you're in, you senile old bastard." she threatened. "Call off your hordes or else-"

"Or else what? You'll kill me, wench? Go ahead! I've lived a full life!"

**Ira grinned a wicked smile at the young man- a boy of no older than nine or so, really- successfully attempting to break free from his grandmother's hold. "No, leave him alone, you Nohrian witch!" he cried, making an ineffectual attempt to charge her down. Ira however, simply extended her leg slightly to send the lad to the ground, grasping him by the nape of his neck.

The old man reared up to attack Ira himself. "What are you-"

The town overlooked a steep cliff; so steep in fact was the overlook, that the ground below was completely obscured by low-hanging cloud cover. Two of her minions roughly restraining the elder, Ira, taking care not to choke the boy (to death), took several exaggerated steps towards the cliff face, dangling the boy over the edge. "This little guy gets a little flying lesson."

At this, even Corrine had to put her foot down. "Stop that! Stop that right now! What on earth do you think-"

Ira scowled even more strongly than usual in response. "I know what I'm doing, you softhearted bitch! I'm not killing anyone. HE is."

Now Corrine had half a mind to attack Ira, but this dilemma was nothing compared to the chief weighing one of his people's holiest sites against the terrified, sobbing pleas of his grandson. "Five seconds to make up your mind." the brunette threatened, visibly loosening her grip. "One...two...three...four...fi"

"Alright! I'll tell-"

The boy's horrified screams as he plummeted to his demise were audible for quite a ways. She had worked with some utterly reprehensible individuals, true, but Corrine stood mouth agape at the woman who had literally murdered an old man's grandson in front of his face." "What...what have you done...?" the princess asked blankly.

"Too bad, so sad." scoffed Ira.

****Climbing atop one of the dwellings, Corrine's counterpart seemed far less subdued than usual as she addressed her soldiers. "My brave soldiers! You've traversed this frozen hell in the name king and country and fought brilliantly!"

The gathered crowd of soldiers whooped and cheered at the rousing speech. "Now, these insolent insects- these vermin who stole the lives of so many of our comrades for nothing, are on their knees!"

The cheers reached a fever pitch as the crowd became increasingly unruly; Ira's conclusion was simply adding fuel to a preexisting fire. "It is not simply understandable- I BEG you to treat these beasts as they actually deserve! As a great man once said, nits make lice, so do your duty for your people and do away with both!"

That sinking feeling in the pit of Corrine's stomach was becoming more and more oppressive, leading her to confront her counterpart immediately as the crowd dispersed. "What do you think you're doing?!" she demanded. "Do you know how delicate this situation is?!"

Ira rolled her eyes. "It's called 'morale-building." she informed boredly, snatching a gem from the now-deceased elder. "You might want to consider it sometime."

Exactly as she had feared, what Ira considered a simple exercise in team building, was naturally, a complete and utter bloody nightmare for the remaining townspeople, the shrieks of anguish and terror, the horrific sounds, sights, and smells continuing to haunt her for years to come.

Of course she was inclined to stop it, even with force if need be. And to her credit, she actually did rescue a pair of terrified housewives (for all the good it did) from a gang of her own soldiers. However, the sheer brutality of the affair, from the orgy of all manners of violent dismemberment of old men, women, and children, living and dead, the spontaneous, random fires set to structures and living beings alike, to the countless acts of interpersonal violence perpetrated against the townspeople, all began to exhaust her even further on all levels.

Perhaps it was between the mages herding many of the old women and children into the nearby stream before using their lightning tomes on the water (and having a grand old time doing so) or the soldiers setting the little boy on fire and forcing him to run until he could no longer. Or perhaps it was the fifth gang rape she'd witnessed but been utterly powerless to do anything about due to putting out figurative (and literal) fires elsewhere, but at some point fairly early on during the massacre, Corrine simply broke down, curling into the fetal position behind a burnt-out dwelling, hoping- praying to make the horrific sensations fade away. Of course, even amidst all this chaos, her predicament was still noticed by her own soldiers.

"Princess, what's wrong?" a pikeman inquired, the gentleness of his tone contrasting with the collection of dismembered, bloody body parts. "Are you okay? Should I get a healer?!"

"I-I'm fine." she lied shakily, coming to her feet just as so. "I'm just- W-what the hell are those?!"

The soldier pawed one of his twisted trophies curiously. "Oh, this?" he remarked as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Killed some buck for it after he tried to attack Jensen. And this one, well I didn't technically kill him for it, just killed him afterwards. And this one, I cut off his-"

"I KNOW WHAT IT IS!" Corrine spat at him. "So help me, I'm this close to executing you myself for this disgrace!"

The soldier shrugged boredly. "C'mon, princess. What kind of commander executes their whole unit?"

"Wait, the WHOLE unit?"

"Yeah, unless you're Sir Piet-"

The pikeman shook his head violently. "Forget I said that last part, milady. Just thinking out loud."

Interestingly enough, by the time the sun had retreated mostly behind the horizon, the carnage had largely died out. Then again, this was due in no small part to the fact that the town was utterly depopulated, nearly all its inhabitants lying butchered in the snow or their own homes, in varying states of bodily integrity and dress. Helping themselves to the remaining spoils, especially of food and drink, morale was in fact, higher than it had been for the past week. Corrine, well out of the way of the festivities, simply sat in front of a campfire, gazing blankly at the inferno in a vain attempt to process what she'd just experienced. War was a hideous thing, true. But the princess was forcing herself to wonder- was the treatment of the people of Cheve and Hoshido simply a pair of isolated incidents or a symptom of something ingrained far more deeply?****

Being a rather selfish individual, it was surprising the person she wanted to see the most had actually sought her out. "Hey, why aren't you celebrating?" Ira inquired "Don't tell me you're sobbing over your pets. Bought you some rum. Kristoph was passing around cups of it- sure, he just wants into my skirts, but drink is drink."

The princess grudgingly accepted the vessel, only to recoil in shock and disgust at the realization that it was literally a hollowed-out human skull, allowing it to drop to the ground. "Go away, you butcher..." Corrine scowled tiredly. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't ram this sword through your chest."

Ira rolled her eyes once again, placing a hand on her hip. "Alright, I'll give you a damned good one- how would it look for your beloved king if you were disobeying his direct orders in killing a fellow Nohrian, and an officer, at that- all because of what? Some worthless savages? Giving them a taste of things they probably do to each other for sport? I don't think so!"

Corrine swore to herself, knowing the rogue had her checkmated; her heart and mind both were a nigh-incomprehensible jumble of her general kindness and instinct to preserve human life and her conscious inclinations to carry out her duties honorably and well. Combined with just how sexually-charged her relationship with her adopted brother had become, it was no wonder the princess' heart and mind were a mess. "Fuck you, go away..." she snarled.

Ira simply shrugged. "Alright, have it your way. Just don't sleep too late. That 'temple' of theirs is within striking distance and if we can take that, we can end this."

But much like her other promises, this one was not to be kept. Corrine was awakened first of all by the frigid winds picking up, blowing snow into the tent she'd erected. She attempted to ignore this and return to sleep before her attention was seized by Ira's boot in her back. "Hey, princess!" she called. "Bird from Armin just came; the savages are trying to reinforce their temple!"

Rising to find it still very much nighttime (or early morning) with the lull in the snowstorm having ceased, Corrine glared impotently at her fellow commander as she collected her blade and meager possessions, including the cape she'd wrap herself in for some protection. "Stop looking so sour!" Ira chided, a vague hint of playfulness in her tone. "We intercept their stragglers, their temple falls, and they learn to never fuck with us again."

"Fine, let's end this." Corrine conceded bitterly.

In spite of the frigid conditions and being awakened several hours early for a march, the soldiers under the joint command of Corrine and Ira were in fairly high spirits, due in no small part to the imminent completion of their mission and yesterday's "celebration." Unsurprisingly, this was remarked upon by their subordinates.

"Hey, what's wrong with the princess anyway?"

"No idea. She's been like that for hours."

"I dunno. Lady problems, I guess?"

Just as unsurprising (to anyone paying attention, anyway) should have been the increasing desperation of the enemy, the skirmishers deployed along the treacherous passes just as much scouts as suicide attackers attempting to finish the job their comrades and attrition could not. Then again, there was some self-awareness among the men marching on the temple, albeit very limited.

"I don't see what the problem is." remarked one axeman, driving his weapon into the back of his fallen enemy attempting to crawl away. "The savages want to die, we want to kill them. What's the problem there?!"

"There is none." a second confirmed. "It'd make their lives and ours so much easier if they'd just give up, but they don't, so-"

Being exceptionally-tempted to smack the pair marching behind her, Corrine gave scarce thought to the possibly impact her foul mood was having upon her troops, but a couple of hours of fast-past marching in these forbidding conditions was doing a number on morale as well.

"How much longer to this temple, ma'am?" whined one of Ira's men, attempting to use one of his pauldrons as a makeshift pillow.

The blizzard would have wiped away any prints left behind pretty quickly, but given the scouts' reports and her own sense of direction, Ira was fairly certain. "Just ahead." she insisted.

Apparently, there were only two approaches to the temple on Mount Haku with any real capacity and Ira's hunch that they were on one of them proved correct by the scattered Flame Tribe warriors laying in ambush, as well as (oddly enough), the great snowballs being rolled down the incline in a last ditch-attempt to impede the Nohrians; of course, by this point, these measures were like trying to bandage a brain hemorrhage.

As Corrine and her vanguard negotiated the incline, on the horizon, the great structure came into focus at last, smoke from its many pyres wafting off into the darkened sky, the column of war refugees before it and their torches illuminating much of the approach. Then again, there was something else of exceptional importance impeding them; a man, quite visibly middle-aged, his powerful frame only barely obscured by his bulky winter clothing and looking none too pleased with the intruders.

*****"So you murdering, raping Nohrian filth really DO have this little respect for the sacred?!" the man spat, jabbing his great club against the ground for emphasis. "You've defiled this holy mountain long enough! I, Naeba, will kill you all!"

"Princess, look out!" cried one of the pikemen, knocking Corrine from her position, only to have the warrior cave in his head, helmet and all, in a single blow, jabbing the hilt of his weapon into his sword-wielding comrade's stomach will all the power he could muster, momentarily stunning him before inflicting a similarly catastrophic injury.

"Alright, you asked for it, boy!" spat an axeman, his five comrades forming up to surround him.

Springing to her feet, Corrine attempted to hold the men back, Naeba's power being transparently obvious to her. "No, wait! Fall back!"

Blocking a pair of incoming spears as though they were mere sticks, the warrior, as though somehow clairvoyant, sidestepped just in time to avoid a blade in his back and, with a great cry, performed a 360-degree flourish of his weapon knocking most of the men to the ground dead or with a grievous injury before springing onto the chest of the prone spearman, snapping his neck with his boot.

Just having watched his brother-in-arms perish without getting in a single blow, the second axeman lost his nerve, attempting to scurry away. "Waaah! I don't want to die!"

"That's what THEY SAID!" Naeba roared, coming in for another flying leap, only to have his attack blunted by Corrine's brilliant, obsidian blade. She'd never admit it to even Azura, but she was, at that moment, having more than a little difficulty blunting the attack. Slipping away, the princess managed to press the offensive, any angle of slashes or thrusts possible, she would use. Somehow, the man was managing to parry or dodge them all! Or at the very least, he was so furious, that the minor cuts she'd managed proved nothing to him. The second time he came in for an overhead strike, Corrine, still not exactly used to fighting in these boots, lost her footing as she blocked his strike. While his hit glanced off, Naeba did manage to raise his weapon and deliver a not-insignificant strike to her temple, sending her tumbling quite a ways.

Had he been using all of his strength, it was apparent to Corrine that she would not have survived the attack. The fact that she was only rather disoriented with a splitting headache had her considering herself fortunate. Frightened, tired, angry, and in the only real danger she'd been in for months, as Naeba swooped in for what he intended as a killing blow, the princess with a great shriek, she reflexively transformed her free right hand into a silvery, claw-like appendage, spearing the warrior through his chest.

Suspended for a few seconds before the limb returned to its regular dimensions, Naeba, well-aware that his mission had been a failure, hacked up a considerable amount of blood before falling to his knees. "Damn...I'm sorry...everyone..." he croaked. "Protect...the temple...Madarao..."*****

Corrine's head throbbing and breathing still heavy and anxious as the warrior's ceased to be audible, Ira ended it beyond any shadow of a doubt, jamming one of the discarded spears into his heart. "Good riddance." she said coldly.

Meanwhile, Corrine staggered to her feet, attempting to reorient herself to the situation, the raucous, celebratory cheers not helping her headache at all. "Oh, gods, my head..." she moaned.

"Princess!" the axeman began, awe on his face. "You saved my life!"

"Yeah, that was some excellent savage arse-kicking, eh?" interjected a bowman, scratching his ear with the snapped weapon.

Meanwhile, Ira conversed with one of her subordinates, looking none too pleased. "What part of 'nits make lice' don't you understand?" she snarled. "Deal with them."

"Understood, milady." he replied dutifully.

The increasingly-adulatory and numerous crowd notwithstanding, inching forward, Corrine was still able to get a glimpse of Ira's men "dealing" with the Flame Tribe refugees; the freezing, emaciated old men, women, and children being stabbed, slashed, cut, incinerated or impaled by the soldiers, their ineffectual pleas for mercy only seeming to spur them on further.

Appropriately enough, Corrine's body and mind seemed to be in a similar place; falling to her hands and knees, Corrine retched and vomited as the voices became fainter as she drifted in and out of consciousness.

"Hey, she's sick!"

"Well, that buck hit her in the head pretty hard, didn't he?"

"Someone, go get a healer, you idiots!"

Ira on the other hand, seemed fairly aloof from the commotion. "What do you mean we can't attack the temple?!" she raged. "We've won! It falls and we're off this frozen hellhole!"

"We just don't have the forces to spare, milady." her adjutant reminded dully. "Sir Armin's forces are closing in by the minute. The savages won't last the week, I promise you."

Ira growled in frustration. "Fine, but don't think I'm letting him hog all the credit for this. We did most of the work, after all."

As popular as it may have been among their cousins (and hell, the beorc) across their home continent, the one lesson his Kali's father had attempted to imprint upon him; never to hold all members of a group culpable for the sins of a few. The old bastard was so naive as to almost be senile, Kali thought bitterly, still constrained by his literal cage and taunted, implicitly and explicitly, by his "host."

"Say, why don't you come over here?" Kali asked disarmingly, attempting in vain to mask his homicidal rage. "All that talk of tearing your flesh off was just venting, you know?"

Paying no attention to the burning Hoshidan hamlet and its inhabitants dealt with in all sorts of unpleasant manners, Pepin hoisted his trousers once more, refastening the twine used as a makeshift belt. "Why, you gonna take care of this?" he inquired half-facetiously, punctuating his statement with an unpleasant chuckle. "No offense, but I love the ladies and they love me."

While his expression remained somehow neutral, Kali's mind's voice was furious. How fucking DARE he?! Fucking joking?! After what he did to that girl AND her little sister?! "Why do you treat other people like this?" he inquired, furious, but still genuinely curious. "Don't you- er, humans have any group solidarity?"

The crooked knight snorted derisively, as if his mother had been insulted. "As if the only people worth a damn on this continent have to explain ourselves to you!" he exclaimed. "But just between us, they ain't people, so it doesn't count."

Now having done away with any and all pretense of amicability, Kali's expression flared. "You know what, fuck you and fuck your people. You humans are all the same anyway. I promise to the Goddess herself I'm killing you the second I get out of here."

"Yeah, right! That'll be the day!"

For wildly diverging reasons, the night the de facto lady of the castle returned proved a relief for a number of figures in the Nohrian capital; the king himself, obviously, being chief among these. "Gods, I missed you so much!" he exclaimed, rising from his throne to embrace her. "Where have you been all these weeks?"

"I had some urgent business to take care of." Camilla answered evasively. "Not to worry, sweetie."

"I understand, Cammy." he responded, an inexplicable hint of darkness in his tone. "I've matters to attend to, as well. Some extended tantrum by Pietro or another requires my presence at the front."

"Please, stay safe, brother."

Very few inhabitants, if any, had ever discussed it at any real length, but it was as if there was some sort of miasma in the air surrounding the castle that made it exceptionally difficult to be truthful with others, especially concerning difficult ones; growing up in its confines, one learned to either excel in deception or suffer whatever consequences came your way. Hell, she'd witnessed (and participated in) so much figurative-and-literal backstabbing in her day, it was sometimes difficult to tell where the lies ended and the truth began.

The few outsiders allowed within its confines, seemed to be less-affected by the aforementioned air; whether they were originally evasive (or deceptive of others outright) personalities to begin with or not. Kaze was of course, overwhelmed with guilt at the other week's show of utter impotence in the face of his lady's command. "Once again, milady, I apologize profusely." he repeated.

Azura gave one of her rare, albeit-wistful smiles for the ninja. "Please, give it no more thought, Kaze." she plead.

Nonetheless, her expression suddenly turned dire. "Besides- had he- the king, truly wanted me dead, there wouldn't have been anything you could have done."

"Surely, there must be something I can do! Something to atone for such a failure, anything!"

"Actually, there is something you can do for me, something you can retrieve; but I must warn you, it will be exceedingly dangerous."

"Just name it."

Azura swallowed nervously. "I'm not even sure they still exist, but in Hoshido-"

******And the absent dragon princess' chambers were not the only places to see intrigues that evening. Late that night, long after she was damned sure each of the castle's regulars, common and noble alike, had turned in, Camilla, her evening robe feeling very lacking among the drafty corridors, set out, down several stories to a place in the castle she'd not frequented for years.

Granted, she'd been more of a voracious reader as a young girl- long before becoming a woman swept her up in the backbiting life of a high-ranking Nohrian noblewoman. But upon returning and taking in the great, ancient stacks of books casting their long shadows across the immaculate stone floors, Camilla was struck by how little the particularly cavernous atmosphere of the library had changed, even the moonlight shining in from the odd window seeming somehow cold and sterile.

Nonetheless, there was a very particular wing of the library- one forbidden to all but the reigning king, which held any promise, distant as it may have been, to discern if there was any hope at all to see the last of her blood siblings turned from an increasingly-dark path. But the royal Nohrian collection held a great many curiosities, more than enough to intrigue rather curious individuals.****** "Oh, princess," scowled a very familiar, unpleasant voice. "what brings you to the library at this hour?"

Camilla's heart leapt as she almost dropped the lantern in her hand to the ground. Turning abruptly on her heel, the princess' shock was not assuaged in the least by his identity. But maintaining one's face in her life was essential. "Oh, Duke Toscana." she remarked neutrally. "I could ask you the same. I'd expect Lady Desdemona's bed to be rather cold without you at her side."

Matteo scoffed dismissively at the mention of the duchess. "Well, THAT'S never been an issue for her. And besides, you know fully well the only reason we wed is due to Father's wishes. Damnable gold-digger. But my question remains; what brings you here?"

The princess gave a rather insincere smile. "I was just looking for a collection of folktales and legends from our land's history." she half-lied. "Selena wished me to read her a story, you see."

The duke audibly stopped himself from chuckling. "Princess, don't tell me you actually believe the rot contained in those? Of the First Dragons and whatnot?"

"Well, some must ring more true than others." she answered honestly. "You know how people are. But what concern is it of yours, Lord Matteo?"

"You're absolutely correct, it's none of my concern. I really don't care whether they're fantasies and exaggerations concocted to make children eat their vegetables or if they're going return to the world tomorrow. With that said- well, you know what my actual concerns are."

Apparently having irritated him enough to drive him from the library, as Matteo turned to depart, Camilla seriously considered simply doing away with the noxious duke before deciding better of it. He may not have been loved at all, but he would certainly be missed, complicating a great many matters further. Nonetheless, Camilla continued on her search, seeking out the hidden key Azura had previously mentioned. It had taken a bit of time for her to locate it (actually a positive in case Matteo decided to hold back and eavesdrop), but she did in fact, locate the key enter the wing of the library under lock and chain.

With no idea where to start in the slightest, Camilla sighed, simply picking a tome at random and hoping against hope for some sort of obscure miracle cure for her brother. About half an hour of searching proved both informative, yet disappointing nonetheless; of course, she had no such luck in discovering any sort of medical treatment. In fact, it was the exact opposite, seeing that the vast majority of the information concerned deeds of bloodletting ages ago ("Moon Tribe?" she asked herself. "What the devil...?") or terrible, wicked magic and potions designed to inflict infinite variations of suffering- and ultimately death. It was little surprise their forefathers decided to keep such information literally locked away, she thought grimly. She was never (especially) magically inclined in comparison to her siblings, but another half-hour of exposure to the tomes, still in search of some miracle elixir, actually made the princess slightly ill, not only at the descriptions and depictions of horrible suffering either.

Still, she'd had Selena scour every other shelf in the library- there had to be SOMETHING helpful on these shelves! There just had to be, Camilla swore to herself, her eyelids growing heavy as she slouched against the nearby wall...

"Oh, you're still here? I thought I told you to take care of it..."

"OH, GODS! CAMMY, WHY?!"

"Take a good look, girl. We win or we die. Look at what happens to this game's losers."

"Oh, gods! Mother!"

"You...you...you worthless...little girl..."

"Lady Camilla, stand back! The scene is far too dangerous for a lass, especially royalty!"

"...I'm sorry, milady...there was nothing we could have done...for either of them...He'd just lost too much blood...and her heart was..."

It was not exactly a nightmare of an experience. It was far too organized and cohesive. Just as vividly, if not moreso than when she'd experienced them, as she "rested," Camilla was forced to relieve all of the absolute worst moments of her life, the emotional pain magnified tenfold. All throughout, there was an audible (to varying levels), distorted, masculine, demonic laughter echoing, seeming to escalate with the intensity of memories of her own suffering. At some point, between her fourth reliving of chasing down and slashing a half-sibling's throat and her third "discovery" of her mangled mother on death's door, despite the lack of control she had, the princess felt the overwhelming urge to simply crawl into a ball, close her eyes, and simply not awaken. "Please...just end...She'll...Corrine will be fine...and I can see them again..."

She would have only fallen deeper into this odd abyss between the waking world and dreams if not for the timely intervention of someone else who didn't quite belong in their world. "Hey! Lady Camilla! Wake up!"

Eyes shooting open, Camilla, reflexively (and inexplicably) removing her form from the wall, turned her head and gave a tired smile. "Oh, Selena..." she said, more fatigued than when she'd closed her eyes. "What brings you down here?"

"Well, I couldn't sleep and went for a walk. Noticed you weren't in bed, so I went looking for you. Out in the corridors, I heard you sobbing, moaning, and screaming."

"I see...thank you, Selena. I must have dozed off for a bit. Silly me."

The redhead crocked her head sideways, crossing her arms under her nightshirt's bust. "Wait, what WERE you dreaming about, anyway?" she inquired. "I thought you were being murdered in here or something!"

"Oh, n-nothing in particular."

Finally rising from the chair, Camilla took a few unsteady steps before collapsing to her hands and knees, her breath heavy and hurried. "Lady Camilla!" Selena exclaimed, lowering herself to help the princess up. "Are you sure you're alright?!"

Through frazzled lilac locks, the princess gave a weak smile. "Just a little dizzy." she half-fibbed. "I'm not feeling too well, Selena. Could you help me to my chambers? I should be fine in the morning."

Selena did not mind having to help the princess back to her bed in the least. Hell, she readily took any possible excuse to be more physical than usual with her stunning employer, even when the princess herself did not take the initiative. Still, any enjoyment the interloper could have gotten from Camilla clinging to her person was overshadowed by her dread at what could have done this to probably the second-strongest woman she knew- without leaving a scratch on her while leaving her both ill and very disturbed. However, something had become clear as day to Selena; that there was something (or someone, for all she knew) really, really, powerful and really, really, REALLY fucking evil in that restricted wing of the library. Maybe that's why King Leonard spent so much time there, she wondered to herself half-seriously.

*******The inhospitable terrain, hostile wildlife, and barren, rocky landscape surrounding the tower in question were scarcely a deterrent for the devotees in question. In fact, the trials required for their pilgrimage to the sacred site had actually for centuries, inspired the tribe's faithful, man, woman, and child alike, said suffering only strengthening their connection to the divine. Besides, the sheer power emanating from the site inherently repelled the heathens, save for occasional patrols from the execrable neighboring kingdom- those foolish enough to remain even briefly lost their minds (if they were fortunate); and their lives even more frequently.

That was not to say that the patrols sent out by the neighbors lacked any utility however. As one hapless young pikeman, coming to his senses after his forcible ingestion of some vile sedative solution, would soon learn; forcing his eyes open, while (terrifyingly enough) lacking the strength to move his limbs, motion and creaking of wheels beneath him was indicative of his unwilling transport in a cart of some kind, his best friend and war buddy Artur unconscious and even immobile than he; once the cart finally stopped, enough of the sedative had worn off to allow some movement of his neck.

Finding himself in the midst of a crowd of the enemy- his country's mortal one from across the mountains, would have been terrifying enough. But there was something...eerie, something oddly untoward about the whole affair, due perhaps in no small part due to the massive crowd (more than he could make out; but easily in the hundreds or even thousands) seeming utterly entranced by something to do with the great tower, their focus shortly shifting to the man at their collective center, standing atop a great altar of sorts. The young soldier could scarcely make him out, but his peripheral vision told him he was wearing some sort of ceremonial garb, this assumption only strengthened by his invocation.

"O Great Spirit of Chaos!" he bellowed, raising his staff to the sky. "Cleansing Destruction Itself! Just as we all pray for the return of the Absent One to scour this wicked world clean, we curse the perfidious heathens for their disbelief and futile attempts to impede your majesty! We, your humble servants, offer you these sacrifices as tribute!"

As the crowd began humming their ominous chant in unison, the soldier swallowed nervously; he knew fully well that he and Artur were about to die, and that was without the priest descending on the cart, ceremonial knife drawn. Seething at his utter helplessness as he was dragged to the wicked altar by one of the acolytes, the young pikeman winced in solidarity with his friend as the wicked priest slashed his throat, having consciously positioned him so that his blood would flow quickly to the ground. He could deal with the idea and practice of death, even his own; he was a soldier, after all, but what was about to transpire was, without a doubt, the wickedest spectacle he would ever lay eyes upon: With absolutely no warning whatsoever, the members of the crowd systematically, almost mechanically turned on their neighbor, their own copies of the ceremonial knives drawn; father slew son, mother slashed daughter's throat, husband killed wife, brother killed brother; any and all possible combinations were at play for the sick orgy of bloodshed as before long, the cracked, dry ground surrounding the tower was literally submerged in human blood. "THIS is our sacrifice to you, Spirit of Chaos!" the priest said manically, ramming the bloody knife into the soldier's throat. "You have demanded blood from the heathen and faithful alike, now drink of this offering!"

Of course, he was in tremendous, unparalleled pain and took scarce notice of the depraved priest slaying his last surviving acolyte; fully prepared to meet his ancestors in the next life, the young soldier could scarcely help but notice however, the earth quaking for a couple of seconds. Was this what it truly felt like to die? Because the atmosphere now was one of overwhelming dread and hopelessness, wondering if even the gods were hopeless before such a force.

As the strength to even keep his eyelids open waned, he'd hoped the entity he saw being knelt before was a hallucination bought on by blood loss; even counting what he'd just witnessed, this creature was quite literally, the wickedest thing he had ever laid eyes upon; some malevolent, purple demon standing literally a story-and-a-half (at least) high with razor-sharp claws and equally-sharp prehensile protrusions from its wrist. Truth was, he'd actually wished himself fortunate enough to be done in by the deep, guttural laugh than be subjected to the spectacle.

"You do me honor with this sacrifice." the demon spoke at last. "You have done well, my servant."

"Oh, Great Spirit!" the priest answered, the awe still shining through his ceremonial mask. "The honor is all mine!"

"He's still not returned? Ah, well, I'm certain we can give these insects quite the 'game' they're looking for."

"Of course, O Chaotic One!"

"Rest assured, you WILL be rewarded, my servant."

With this, the demon reared back, its maw, that of some monstrous, horrible insect, opening up and consuming the priest whole. At this spectacle, as the life drained from him, the soldier spent his very last seconds giving profuse thanks to the gods that he was expiring before the monstrosity could turn its attention to him.

The entity released however, was rather pleased. In fact, it was overjoyed, giving an unhinged, wicked laugh at the zeal of its followers. It would not be an immediate thing, of course. Strength takes time to recover after all those centuries under a seal, particularly one forged by that contemptible wench they called a "goddess" and her errand boy. However, to be sure, those heathens who'd spurned it and those four great human-loving dolts would be made to pay and pay dearly.