Chapter 24 – Hearts Adrift, Blades Drawn
In the stillness of the night, Corrin stirred faintly in her sleep, the warmth of the bed cocooning her. But her dreamlike haze was broken by the subtle sound of movement. Abel stood, his figure silhouetted against the faint glow of the moon filtering through the chamber's window. He gently adjusted the sheets around her, tucking them in with surprising tenderness for hands that had so often wielded blades. His crimson eyes softened as he gazed down at her peaceful form.
He murmured something under his breath, his expression a complex mix of affection and sorrow.
Corrin, half-asleep, managed to stir. Her voice, groggy and quiet, barely reached him. "What... are you doing?"
Abel blinked, startled for a moment. Then his lips curved into a small smile. "Oh. You're awake, Corrin?"
She yawned, her eyelids still heavy with exhaustion. Her body still carried the pleasant ache of their earlier intimacy, leaving her drowsy and vulnerable. "You should be resting too... The dawn is coming..."
Abel hesitated. Then, as if unable to hold back the storm of thoughts in his mind, he asked softly, "Hey, Corrin? What if… what if I die in my fight with Roa? What would you do?"
His words cut through the haze of her sleep like a blade. Corrin frowned, her consciousness clawing its way to the surface. "What… what kind of question is that?" she mumbled, still groggy. "That won't happen. I won't let it."
Abel gave a faint, wistful chuckle. "I know. But… just humor me. What if it did?"
Corrin shifted, propping herself up slightly as she blinked at him. The weight of his words was beginning to sink in. "If that happened… I'd never forget you. I love you, Abel. I'd carry your memory with me and honor it. Always."
Abel shook his head, a pained expression crossing his face. He knelt beside the bed, his gaze locking with hers, crimson and intense. "That's the last thing I'd want, Corrin. It's a trap. The same one I fell into after losing Elesia. I clung so tightly to the past that I couldn't let anyone else in. I don't want that for you."
Corrin's heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, but she frowned, her voice resolute. "I don't care. You mean too much to me."
"Please listen," Abel continued. "You have so much ahead of you — a family, a kingdom to protect, people who love you. Don't let my death, if it comes to that, drag you into the shadows. I asked because… I needed to hear you promise me that you'd keep moving forward."
Corrin's throat tightened. Something about his words filled her with dread. "Abel, why are you saying this?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Don't talk like this... I have a bad feeling… Please, stay."
Abel cupped her cheek gently, his touch warm despite his cold words. "I love you, Corrin. I always will. You gave me something I never thought I'd feel again — a sense of belonging, of being truly seen. It was more than I could've ever asked for."
Tears glistened in his eyes, and he blinked them away quickly. But Corrin saw the depth of his sorrow, the weight of his conviction. "Promise me you'll keep your compassion, your kindness," he said, his voice low and steady. "That's what makes you who you are. That's why I… love you."
Before she could protest, Abel stood. He brushed a strand of hair from her face and bent to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. "Goodbye, my princess," he whispered. "I'm sorry I couldn't say this properly while you were awake."
He turned and walked out of the chamber, shutting the door behind him with a quiet finality.
…
Abel moved silently through the shadows, his steps barely audible against the damp earth. The first rays of the dim morning light pierced the sky, but he avoided them with deliberate care. The sun was no ally to him now. Even its gentle warmth felt like an oppressive weight, a reminder of what he is.
His thoughts churned as he trudged forward, images of Corrin flashing through his mind. Her smile, her touch, the way her voice softened when she spoke his name. For the briefest of moments, he had allowed himself to hope, to feel something other than the loathing and darkness that always had loomed over him.
As he passed through the ancient underground streets of Windmire, careful to avoid the guards or the retainers of the royal family, a presence stopped him in his tracks. The air grew heavy, thick with an almost suffocating pressure. A figure emerged from the shadows ahead, his form towering and distorted as if the very fabric of reality bent around him.
"Nosferatu," the figure said, his voice a low, mocking rumble.
Abel's jaw tightened. He knew that voice.
Trishanku, the monster of Alaya, stepped into view, his smirk as sharp and cutting as the claws that adorned his hands. His presence exuded power and malice, an overwhelming reminder that this was no ally, but a being whose goals were as enigmatic as they were dangerous.
"Did your little... endeavor with the princess make you happy?" Trishanku asked, his smirk widening as his eyes gleamed with amusement.
Abel growled, his fangs glinting briefly in the dim light. "That's none of your concern."
"Oh, but it is," Trishanku said, circling Abel like a predator sizing up its prey. "You forget, Nosferatu, your happiness or despair means little to me. I am only concerned with whether you will fulfill your purpose... or succumb to your weakness."
Abel clenched his fists, his knuckles white. He didn't deny it—he couldn't. Trishanku was the one being he couldn't lie to, not without consequences.
"I'll ask you one more time," Trishanku continued, his tone turning icy. "Will you see this through? Or will I have to clean up your mess when you falter?"
"I won't falter," Abel said firmly, though his voice carried a trace of uncertainty.
Trishanku's smirk faltered, his expression hardening. "You say that now, but I've seen your kind break for far less." He leaned in closer, his breath cold as frost. "This is your last chance, Nosferatu. Fail again, and I will kill you myself."
bel swallowed hard, the weight of Trishanku's words pressing down on him like a vice. He nodded, determination flickering in his crimson eyes. "I understand."
"Good." Trishanku straightened, his smirk returning. "Then let's see if you're worth the trouble."
"Wait," Abel said, his voice cutting through the tension.
Trishanku paused, one brow arching in surprise. "Oh? And what is it that you want now?"
"There's... something I need from you," Abel began, hesitating for a moment before meeting Trishanku's gaze. "The curse. The spell Zio cast on me. It's not just a leash—it strengthens my impulses, makes it harder to control myself. If I lose control at the wrong moment—if Roa's influence overtakes me—everything could fall apart."
Trishanku's expression darkened, his amusement replaced by cold calculation. "And you want me to lift it?"
"Yes," Abel said, his voice firm despite the unease twisting in his chest. "If I'm going to have any chance of stopping Roa, I need to be free of his influence. This isn't just for me—it's for her."
At the mention of Corrin, Trishanku's smirk returned, though it was laced with derision. "Ah, the princess. How noble of you." He chuckled, shaking his head. "You really think lifting this curse will make you a better man, Nosferatu? That it will somehow absolve you of what you are?"
Abel's fists clenched. "I'm not asking for absolution. I'm asking for a chance to fight on my own terms."
Trishanku studied him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. Finally, he sighed, as if burdened by the weight of indulgence. "Fine. I'll do it. But understand this, Nosferatu—this is the last favor you'll get from me. If you falter again, there will be no second chances. No mercy."
Abel nodded, his throat dry. "Understood. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," Trishanku said, his smirk turning sinister. "The process won't be pleasant." He gestured for Abel to follow, turning toward the deeper shadows of the forest. "Come. Let's get this over with."
Abel hesitated for a moment, then followed, the weight of his request settling heavily on his shoulders. The path ahead was uncertain, but he knew one thing for sure: he couldn't afford to fail. Not again.
As Trishanku led him deeper into the darkness, his voice echoed back, cold and sharp. "Let's hope you're as strong as you think you are, Nosferatu. Because if you're not... you'll wish I'd killed you instead."
…
Morning came too quickly.
"Lady Corrin… Milady, wake up," came Felicia's timid voice as she shook Corrin gently.
Corrin groaned, her mind still clouded with exhaustion. She opened her eyes, blinking against the sunlight streaming into the room. For a moment, everything felt normal — until she realized her body was uncovered, her skin bare beneath the sheets. She gasped, clutching them to her chest as a crimson blush spread across her face.
Felicia tilted her head, puzzled. "Milady… Are you alright? You've been in your chambers all morning. Where were you yesterday?"
Corrin stammered incoherently, her mind racing. Then it hit her like a lightning bolt: Abel. She turned to the empty space beside her, the sheets undisturbed.
"No…" she whispered, her voice cracking. Memories of his whispered goodbye flooded her mind. It wasn't a dream. He was gone.
"Lady Corrin?" Felicia's concern grew as Corrin's expression crumbled. Tears welled in her eyes, and she clutched the sheets tightly, her knuckles turning white.
"Abel…" Corrin murmured, her voice trembling. "He… he left. I thought we… I thought we agreed to stay together…"
Felicia placed a hesitant hand on Corrin's shoulder, but before she could say anything, Jakob entered the room. The butler's sharp eyes widened at the sight of his lady's disheveled state. "Lady Corrin, what on earth—?"
Before he could finish, Corrin broke down completely, her sobs wracking her frame. Felicia, though shy and uncertain, knelt beside her, wrapping her arms around her princess. "It's alright, milady," she whispered soothingly, though her own cheeks were red with embarrassment.
Corrin buried her face in Felicia's shoulder, her tears soaking into the maid's uniform. "He said he'd stay," she choked out. "He said he'd stay with me…"
Felicia held her, offering quiet comfort as Corrin's heart shattered, her love for Abel still burning brightly despite his absence.
…
From the shadows of the Tohno estate, the boy who was once SHIKI Tohno clawed his way back into the waking world, an existence reshaped by the dark touch of his demon blood and the fragmented soul of Michael Roa Valdamjong, the Serpent of Akasha. SHIKI's rebirth was not just an awakening—it was an amalgamation of fury, despair, and a terrible clarity born of Roa's eons of reincarnations.
SHIKI's childhood lingered in the deepest recesses of his mind, flashes of innocent games with his adopted brother and his sister, Akiha. Those memories were like fractured glass—sharp, distorted, and painful to behold. He could still hear the laughter, see the sun-drenched corridors of the Tohno mansion. But those echoes were drowned by the darkness of his inversion, the uncontrollable madness that had turned his hands against his family and his fangs upon his brother.
He was no longer just SHIKI. He was more and less than the boy who had played games with Shiki and Akiha. He was Roa, the man who had transcended death itself to return again and again, and that truth burned within him like a brand. He was a hybrid of memories—a child caught in a whirlwind of ancient purpose and a man driven by unyielding obsession.
Locked within the depths of the Tohno mansion for years, SHIKI's mind festered. The cellar was suffocating, yet it was within these oppressive confines that his fractured soul began to take shape. Roa's influence crept into the boy's psyche like ink bleeding through paper, threading the thoughts of immortality, vengeance, and chaos into SHIKI's already unstable mind. He was a beast tempered by years of isolation, his body weakened but his will honed to a razored edge.
SHIKI's release from the cellar was both liberation and damnation. The maid who freed him thought herself clever, but she was nothing more than a pawn. SHIKI cared not for her schemes; her actions were but a spark to reignite the inferno of his ambitions.
As he stepped into the world beyond his prison, the mansion seemed both alien and familiar, like an echo of a life that was no longer his. The boy named SHIKI had been declared dead; the family had erased him from their records. His younger self had been replaced by Shiki, his "brother" and savior, now living the life SHIKI had been denied.
But it wasn't just jealousy that gnawed at SHIKI's soul. Roa's hatred—the undying obsession with achieving Eternity, surpassing the White Princess—coursed through his veins. SHIKI was no longer a mere vessel for Roa's soul; he was its partner in chaos. The boy's primal hatred merged with Roa's ancient desire, creating a singular will: to reclaim what was lost and destroy what stood in his way.
His demon blood surged with violent power, tempered by Roa's calculated malice. He was no longer content to merely exist as a discarded heir or a forgotten child. The Tohno household, the adopted brother who lived his life, and the sister he once loved—they would all come to understand the truth.
The Tohno mansion would tremble under his return, not just because of the chaos he would bring, but because he was a reminder of the family's sins, a living testament to the darkness lurking within their blood.
SHIKI, the reborn serpent, would not merely reclaim his name—he would etch it into the annals of the Tohno legacy with blood and fire. His plan was flawless: dismantle his brother Shiki's fragile existence, crush the White Princess who had been his executioner across countless lifetimes, and reclaim his place as the ultimate arbiter of his eternal reincarnation. Yet, fate had woven a complex tapestry around him, with threads of resistance he had not foreseen.
Roa's thoughts churned with cold malice as he trailed Shiki Tohno through the streets of Souya. He marveled at the irony—Shiki, the usurper who had taken his name and life, now stood at the center of a world Roa sought to unravel. Worse still, Shiki had allied himself with her, Arcueid Brunestud, the one who had slain him in every incarnation he could remember.
Watching from the shadows, Roa noted Arcueid's weakened state. The battle with Vlov Arkhangel had drained her; she was but a flickering ember of her former brilliance. Roa's lips curled into a predatory smile.
"Perfect," he murmured. "The Princess of the True Ancestors brought so low. And my dear brother, stumbling through memories that don't belong to him. This is the moment to strike."
Three days later, Roa attacked.
The moonlight glinted off the knife in his hand as he lunged, aiming to cut the thread of his brother's stolen life. Shiki fought back fiercely, his movements instinctually yet precise, the blade in his hand moving with deadly grace.
But as the battle raged, Roa's sinister advantage came into play. SHIKI's face—the face that once shared childhood laughter with Shiki—triggered a cascade of disoriented memories. Roa pressed the attack, capitalizing on Shiki's hesitation.
"You're remembering, aren't you?" Roa sneered, his voice a venomous whisper. "The brother you thought you killed... the life you thought was yours. It's all a lie, Shiki. And now, I'll reclaim what's rightfully mine!"
Before he could land a decisive blow, an unknown executor of the Church intervened. Black Keys rained down, piercing Roa's body and igniting flames that forced him to retreat. Yet even as he vanished into the shadows, Roa's gaze burned with a curse, his hatred for Shiki unwavering.
Roa was not a man who accepted failure. Days later, he attacked again, this time cornering Shiki at his school. The fight was brutal, and Shiki fell under Roa's blade, fatally wounded. Victory was within his grasp—until she appeared.
Elesia.
The sight of her froze Roa in place. His former vessel, the one who had carried his soul through her twisted devotion, now stood as his enemy. She was clad in the black garb of an executor, her once-vampiric aura replaced by the unmistakable purity of faith.
Roa laughed, his voice laced with disbelief and amusement.
But she was not the Elesia he remembered. She moved with conviction, her Black Keys cutting through the air as she shielded Shiki and escaped with him. The irony was not lost on him—his most magnificient vessel had become the sword of the Church, the very force that sought his annihilation.
SHIKI's body, infused with the power of Roa's perfected soul, became the ultimate vessel. Through meticulous preparation, Roa constructed a massive Bounded Field, siphoning the city's entire magical energy supply. With this reservoir of power, he prepared for the climactic confrontation with Arcueid.
The battle was cataclysmic. Roa's mastery of SHIKI's demon blood combined with his centuries of knowledge made him a near-unstoppable force. He overwhelmed Arcueid, striking her down in a brutal display of dominance.
As the White Princess fell, Roa stood over her broken form, triumphant at last. But his victory was short-lived.
Enraged by Arcueid's death, Shiki Tohno confronted Roa one final time. Despite his grievous wounds, Shiki's resolve burned brighter than ever. He attacked not with strength or skill, but with the reckless determination of a man who had nothing left to lose.
The battle led them to a precarious walkway, in the upper floors of Shiki's school. A place Roa had declared his lair.
The night had been cold, the air sharp, carrying the faint metallic tang of blood. His mocking laughter had rung out, bold and defiant against the abyss below.
"Do you not see, Shiki?" Roa had sneered, his voice filled with contempt. "You are nothing compared to me! Your life is stolen, your strength borrowed. I am eternal—my victory is inevitable!"
He had felt unstoppable then, empowered by the newfound ability to perceive the threads of death itself. Or so he believed. It was intoxicating, this revelation, and he wielded it like a weapon against the young man before him. But Shiki's expression remained unchanged, resolute, a chilling calm that chipped away at Roa's confidence.
"All you're seeing is life," Shiki had said, his voice steady, unshaken. "You don't understand death at all. That's why you can't kill me, and you're only able to kill a weakened woman."
Roa had bristled at those words, his composure faltering.
"If you could see death, you couldn't maintain your sanity," Shiki pressed on, his gaze sharp, unyielding. "All you can perceive is the part which keeps things alive. If you could see death—you couldn't even manage to stand."
Those words had struck Roa like a blade, sharper than any weapon. Shiki's eyes bore into him, cold and lifeless, their piercing clarity stripping away the facade of control Roa had so carefully constructed. It was as if those eyes alone unraveled the very fabric of his being.
"That's your mistake, vampire," Shiki had said, his voice like a dirge. "Life and death may be back to back, but they will never face each other."
Roa had lunged forward then, desperate to silence him, to crush the weight of those words beneath the force of his attack. His movements were wild, fueled by anger and panic. But Shiki's blade, guided by some primal instinct, moved with precision. It was not desperation, Roa realized in that instant—it was inevitability.
The strike found its mark, severing Roa's point—the singularity that tethered his soul to this existence. In that fleeting moment, he felt the truth of Shiki's words as the threads of life and death unraveled before his eyes.
The walkway groaned under the weight of their battle, its structure no longer able to withstand the strain. With a deafening crack, it collapsed, sending both of them plummeting into the void below.
For Roa, the fall was eternal, the cold embrace of death wrapping around him as the memory of Shiki's final gaze burned into his consciousness. Those lifeless eyes, reflecting not fear but absolute certainty, haunted him even now, in the depths of his fragmented existence. As his soul unraveled, the Spiral of Origin loomed before him. Yet, this was not the end he had anticipated.
The root took him back, reforming his essence. Roa's reincarnation cycle was shattered, his plans undone. But the root had its own design. It cast him forth once more into the world, reshaped, reborn, and bound to a new existence.
Michael Roa Valdamjong, the Serpent of Akasha, would rise again—but in a way even he could not predict.
The cycle had not ended. It had merely shifted. And Roa, ever the survivor, would find a way to reclaim his destiny.
Zio awoke with a start, his body drenched in a cold sweat. The remnants of the dream clung to him, vivid and inescapable: the crumbling walkway, Shiki Tohno's blade striking true, and the inevitable fall into the abyss. But it wasn't just a dream—it was a memory.
He sat on the edge of the lavish bed, gazing at the faint glimmer of the moonlight through the ornate curtains. His breathing slowed, but his thoughts churned with restless intensity.
"SHIKI Tohno," Zio murmured, the name feeling foreign yet familiar on his tongue. SHIKI had been another vessel, another life sacrificed to Roa's unrelenting cycle of reincarnation. Yet there was something about SHIKI's story that resonated with Zio, a flicker of recognition amidst the weight of alien memories.
The Tohno heir, like Zio himself, had been consumed by ambition. SHIKI sought power to break free from his family's constraints, to carve his own identity apart from the shadow of his father. His life had been defined by rebellion and desperation, his fall into darkness as much a product of his own choices as the curse of being Roa's host.
And yet, SHIKI had fallen short, crushed beneath the weight of his own desires. His descent into madness had been swift, inevitable. It was a fate Zio could understand all too well.
The Zio family had been fierce traditionalists, their name synonymous with Nohrian strength and dominance. For generations, they prided themselves on their unwavering loyalty to the crown and an almost fanatical reverence for power. To be a Zio was to embody the ideals of Nohr: strength above all, loyalty unshaken, and the relentless pursuit of dominance.
Zio had inherited these beliefs as a child, absorbing them like air. His parents demanded perfection, and failure was met with harsh reprimands. Every lesson, every word of praise or punishment, drilled into him the unyielding expectation of excellence. As he grew older, Zio came to view these ideals not as burdens but as a challenge—a proving ground for his own greatness.
But Zio's ambitions went further than the family creed. His aspirations extended beyond serving the Nohrian crown, beyond loyalty to the royal family. He wanted more than influence or authority; he wanted eternity. Immortality. Power that surpassed the mortal plane.
It began innocuously, with ancient texts and whispered legends of forbidden magic. Zio devoured them, driven by a growing obsession. The allure of eternal life was intoxicating, promising a freedom from the constraints of mortality, a chance to transcend his enemies and even the gods themselves.
His descent into darkness was subtle at first—late nights in dusty libraries, secret purchases of ancient grimoires. But as his hunger for knowledge grew, so too did his willingness to cross lines others would not dare. Blood rituals, necromancy, the harvesting of life essence from unwilling subjects. These practices isolated him, alienating him from other noble families who saw him as a threat to the delicate balance of power in Nohr.
Zio's arrogance only fueled their disdain. Highly intelligent and fiercely charismatic, he dismissed their scorn as jealousy. To him, they were weak, incapable of understanding the sacrifices necessary for true greatness.
And yet, despite his confidence, Zio could not shake the unease that gnawed at him. SHIKI's memories haunted him, the echoes of a boy who had once dreamed of similar greatness. SHIKI, too, had reached for power beyond his grasp, and it had destroyed him. The parallels were undeniable. Both had burned bridges, alienated those around them, and sacrificed their humanity in pursuit of something greater.
But where SHIKI had been a victim of Roa's possession, Zio had chosen this path willingly. Zio saw in Roa a kindred spirit—someone who had defied death itself and transcended the limitations of mortality. Yet, as Roa's reincarnation, Zio also saw his flaws: the arrogance, the desperation, the eventual downfall.
"I will not be like him," Zio whispered to himself, clenching his fists. "I will not be consumed by my own ambition. I will not fall."
But the doubt lingered. In the quiet moments of solitude, when the echoes of past lives threatened to overwhelm him, Zio couldn't help but wonder: Was he truly different? Or was he destined to repeat the same mistakes, another pawn in Roa's endless cycle of destruction?
The thought filled him with anger—and resolve. SHIKI's life, Roa's failures, the scorn of the other noble families—it all served as fuel for Zio's determination. He would not succumb to weakness. He would prove that he was more than a vessel, more than a man.
As he stood and peeked out the tent to take a short glance dawnlit horizon, Zio's eyes glinted with cold determination. The siege of the Nohrian capital was merely the beginning. His story would not end in obscurity like SHIKI's. He would carve his name into eternity, no matter the cost.
In the dim, flickering light of his tent, Zio leaned over a large, worn map of Nohr, his gloved fingers tracing the roads leading to Windmire, the heart of the kingdom. His grin stretched wide, a malevolent expression that reflected the darkness within. The time had come. Years of planning, manipulation, and sacrifice were finally about to bear fruit.
The tent was silent save for the soft rustle of parchment and the crackling of the brazier. Around him stood a collection of loyal lieutenants, their faces pale and vacant, eyes devoid of humanity. They were his trophies—the once-proud Nohrian soldiers and search parties sent to capture him, now twisted into loyal thralls by his dark magic. Zio had prepared meticulously, subjugating every force that dared oppose him.
"The royal family," he muttered, his voice dripping with malice. "Their arrogance blinds them. They sit in their precious capital, thinking themselves untouchable. But they have no idea what's coming."
He chuckled softly, the sound growing into a low, guttural laugh that filled the tent. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he gazed at a crude drawing of the Nohrian royal crest pinned to the map. A dagger was embedded in the center, marking Windmire.
"Princess Corrin," he said, almost savoring the name. "The key to it all. The one way ticket to the accursed realm. She doesn't even realize her significance—how precious she is to my plans. To Roa's plans."
He straightened, casting his gaze over his makeshift war table. Scattered across it were artifacts and relics he had painstakingly collected: ancient tomes, glowing crystals, and fragments of blood-stained armor. Each piece told a story, a chapter in the grand design that had taken years to bring to fruition. The war between Hoshido and Nohr, the inclusion of Malkav Archangel, and the manipulation of Baron Vordenburg—all of it had been carefully orchestrated, a grand chess game in which Zio controlled the board.
And now, with the capital in his sights and his army poised to strike, the endgame was in motion.
"Vordenburg," he sneered, the name laced with disdain. "The fool marched to his doom, playing his part perfectly. Let him fall in his quest for redemption—it matters not. His role is finished."
Zio turned toward a shadowy corner of the tent, where a collection of peculiar objects rested upon a ceremonial altar. Among them was a corpse from Hoshido's crypts, a discovery that still sent shivers of triumph through him. It was steeped in power and regret. A weapon was buried alongside the body.
The Raijinto.
It was more than just a weapon—it was a legacy, a symbol of the ancient pact between man and dragon. Crafted by the legendary Rainbow Sage alongside other relics of similar might, the Raijinto had been forged to end the cataclysmic war between the First Dragons. Lightning coursed within its blade, a crackling reminder of its origin and purpose. Together with Siegfried, Fujin Yumi, and Brynhildr, it was a key—a fragment of the puzzle needed to unlock the full potential of the divine Yato.
After the war between the dragons had ended, the blade became a sacred heirloom of the Hoshidan royal family. It had been wielded by King Sumeragi himself, a symbol of his strength and the protector of his kingdom. With Sumeragi's death, the Raijinto passed to his eldest son, the Crown Prince of Hoshido. In his hands, the blade had become a symbol of his resolve, his connection to his family, and his unyielding sense of duty.
But now, it was here, far from its rightful place.
Zio smirked as he ran a finger along the blade's edge, the static energy prickling his skin. It had taken meticulous planning to claim the Raijinto and the body from Hoshido's crypts. The crypt was a fortress unto itself, guarded by ancient wards and loyal retainers. But Zio had been patient, waiting for the opportune moment. He had slipped into the shadows of the land and taken what he desired.
"It's almost poetic," Zio mused aloud, his voice laced with amusement. "This weapon, so revered by the Hoshidan royal family, now turned against their enemies... and their allies."
The thought delighted him. The Raijinto was more than a tool—it was a symbol of strength, loyalty, and hope. To wield it against the Nohrian royal family would be an insult as much as a challenge, a strike not only at their bodies but at their spirits.
Zio grinned darkly, his fingers tightening around the hilt of the blade. The lightning within flared, as if protesting his touch, but he ignored it. He had bent stronger forces to his will before.
"This weapon and its wielder have seen countless battles," Zio said, his voice a whisper now. "They both tried to end the war, to bring peace. But in my hands... it will be the herald of chaos."
The brazier's light cast twisted shadows across Zio's face as he laughed, the sound echoing in the enclosed space.
"The northern borders are under my control," he said, his grin widening. "Every search party they sent, every soldier they thought loyal—I have taken them all. And now, I have the perfect army to march on Windmire. An army that cannot be reasoned with. That cannot falter. That does not fear."
He leaned forward, planting his hands firmly on the table as his malevolent laughter echoed once more. The pieces were all in place, the culmination of five long years of schemes and sacrifices.
"Corrin," he murmured again, his voice laced with cruel anticipation. "You'll come to understand your purpose soon enough. You'll kneel before me, and through you, I'll open the way. The cursed realm awaits, and with it… Anankos."
The thought filled him with exhilaration, the culmination of his dark desires. The wind howled outside the tent, carrying with it the promise of chaos. Zio welcomed it, his laughter fading into a satisfied silence as he prepared for the march on the capital.
Windmire would fall. The royal family would break. And Princess Corrin, the key to everything, would finally be his.
…
The throne room of Castle Krakenburg was as grand as ever, but the atmosphere was tense. Xander sat upon the throne, his regal demeanor a testament to his role as king. Beside him stood Leo, his sharp eyes filled with curiosity and a hint of suspicion. Camilla lounged elegantly against a column, her ever-present smile not hiding the flicker of worry in her gaze. Elise, meanwhile, fidgeted nervously, her wide eyes darting between her siblings and Corrin as if anticipating something dramatic.
Corrin stepped forward, her heart pounding. The weight of the previous night still lingered, but she knew she couldn't keep her family in the dark. Not completely, at least.
Xander's commanding voice broke the silence. "Corrin. You requested this audience with urgency. What is it you wish to discuss?"
Corrin took a deep breath. "I… I need to tell you all what happened last night. After everything that's transpired with Abel."
At the mention of the hunter's name, the room grew noticeably colder. Leo crossed his arms, his frown deepening. Xander's expression remained impassive, though his eyes darkened. Elise and Camilla exchanged a glance but said nothing.
"I went out," Corrin began, her voice steady despite the tension. "I went to find Abel."
"You what?" Leo's voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. "You went to find him alone? Corrin, do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"
"Leo," Camilla chided gently, though her own tone carried an edge of concern. "Let her finish."
Corrin nodded gratefully at her elder sister. "Thank you, Camilla. Yes, I went out alone. I needed answers. I needed closure. Abel and I… we had a lot to discuss after everything that happened with Vordenburg."
"You faced Vordenburg together?" Xander's tone was unreadable, but the implication was clear: he was both impressed and troubled. "And survived, I assume."
"Yes," Corrin confirmed. "We worked together and defeated him. And… we talked. About everything."
Leo narrowed his eyes. "Everything? Did that include the fact that he forced himself on you when he lost control? Did you forget about that?"
Corrin flinched at the reminder but held her ground. "I didn't forget, Leo. And yes, we talked about it. He explained what happened, why it happened. He was consumed by his instincts, but he regrets it deeply. He hates himself for it."
"Regret doesn't undo what he did," Leo retorted. "You're too forgiving, Corrin. What if it happens again?"
"It won't," Corrin said firmly. "I trust him. He's fighting against his nature, and I saw that he made a huge step to overcome it. He deserves a second chance."
"Trust?" Xander's deep voice interrupted, commanding attention. "Corrin, Abel was branded a traitor and an outcast for a reason. He endangered this family. He endangered you. How can you expect us to accept this so easily?"
Corrin's gaze didn't waver. "Because I know him, Xander. Better than anyone else. I know what's in his heart. He's not the monster you think he is."
"Corrin…" Elise's small voice broke in, her hands clasped tightly. "Are you sure? I mean, really sure? He's scary sometimes, and I don't want you to get hurt."
Corrin softened, walking over to her youngest sibling and placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I know, Elise. And I appreciate your concern. But you don't have to worry. Abel would never hurt me again. I'm certain of it."
Camilla, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke up. "Darling, I admire your bravery and your faith in him. Truly, I do. But… this is a lot to take in. Are you sure this isn't just… passion clouding your judgment? You said you talked, but…" Her violet eyes sparkled with curiosity and a touch of amusement. "Did something else happen?"
Corrin hesitated, her cheeks heating. "We… kissed," she admitted.
The reaction was immediate. Elise gasped, her face turning bright red. Leo's mouth fell open, his usual composure shattered. Camilla raised a hand to her mouth, a delighted laugh escaping her lips. And Xander… Xander's grip on the armrest of his throne visibly tightened.
"You kissed him?" Leo's voice was incredulous. "The same man who—"
"Enough, Leo!" Corrin's voice was sharp, silencing him. "Yes, we kissed. Because I love him. And he loves me. I've made my decision, and I won't apologize for it."
"Corrin…" Xander's voice was low, almost dangerous. "Do you understand what you're saying? Loving him doesn't erase the consequences of his actions. You're a princess of Nohr, with responsibilities far beyond yourself. This isn't just about your feelings."
"And I understand that," Corrin replied, meeting his gaze without faltering. "But Abel is more than what you all think of him. He's proven himself to me. He's helped me, fought for me, and… I won't abandon him. Not now, not ever."
There was a heavy silence as the siblings processed her words.
Camilla broke it first, her voice gentle. "If this is what you've decided, darling… then you have my support. Just promise me you'll be careful."
Elise nodded hesitantly. "Me too… I just want you to be happy, Corrin."
Leo sighed, rubbing his temple. "I still don't like it. But I trust you, Corrin. Even if I don't trust him."
Xander stood, his imposing figure casting a shadow across the room. "I don't agree with your decision, Corrin," he said sternly. "But I won't stand in your way. Just know this: if Abel betrays you again, he'll face my judgment."
Corrin nodded, her heart swelling with gratitude for her siblings' reluctant support. "Thank you. All of you. I promise, you won't regret this."
The heavy doors of the throne room groaned as they opened, drawing all attention to the figure who entered with a poised, deliberate stride. Lord Rolent, striking as ever, walked in with an air of elegance. His long, blonde hair was neatly tied into a tail that brushed against his back. His attire was richly Nohrian, a dark, tailored coat adorned with silver embroidery draped over a pristine white shirt. Crimson eyes, sharp and discerning, glimmered as he bowed gracefully before the royal family.
"My king," he began, his voice smooth yet laced with urgency, "forgive my intrusion. I bring troubling news that cannot wait."
Xander, seated regally upon the throne, nodded curtly. "Speak, Lord Rolent."
Rolent straightened, his expression grave. "The guards reported an abandoned camp in the forest near the capital's outskirts. Scouts investigated further and confirmed the presence of Count Zio among the remnants."
The name sent a palpable ripple through the room. Leo stiffened, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his tome. "Count Zio," he muttered, his voice low and tense. "The last vampire lord who dared to threaten Nohr. Of course, he would resurface now."
Camilla's playful demeanor evaporated, replaced by a cold, calculating intensity. "Count Zio, near the capital?" she said, her lilting tone now edged with menace. "How bold of him. Or perhaps foolish. No one threatens our home and lives to tell the tale."
Elise clung tightly to Camilla's arm, her wide eyes brimming with fear. "He's really dangerous, isn't he?"
Xander's brow furrowed, his grip on the throne's armrests tightening. "More dangerous than you know, Elise. Zio is cunning and relentless. If he has come so close to the capital, it is not without purpose."
Corrin's heart sank at the revelation. She had barely begun to process her emotions regarding Abel, and now this new threat loomed over them. "But why would Zio come here now?" she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "What could he possibly hope to gain by challenging Nohr again?"
Rolent turned to her, his crimson gaze locking with hers. "It is uncertain, Princess Corrin. But the scouts reported signs of unusual activity in the forest. It is possible that he seeks to draw us out or rally forces against us. Whatever his intent, it cannot bode well."
"Then we must act swiftly," Xander declared, rising from the throne. His presence was commanding, his tone resolute. "Lord Rolent, send word to our generals. I want the capital's defenses fortified immediately. Leo, it's time to use your devised strategy to deal with this threat."
Leo nodded, his sharp mind already working through possible scenarios. "Understood. I'll gather the necessary intelligence and prepare our forces. If Zio is bold enough to show himself, we will ensure he regrets it."
Camilla's lips curled into a dangerous smile as she stroked Elise's hair soothingly. "And I'll handle things on the ground," she said, her voice deceptively sweet. "It's been too long since I've reminded our enemies why they should fear Nohr."
Elise, though visibly shaken, straightened up and nodded. "I'll do my part too!" she said with determination. "Maybe I can help with the injured or—"
"No, Elise," Xander said firmly, his gaze softening slightly as he looked at his youngest sibling. "You will remain in the castle where it is safe. I won't risk you being harmed."
"But—" Elise began, her protest cut short by Camilla's gentle embrace.
"Listen to Xander, darling," Camilla cooed. "There will be plenty of time for you to help once the danger has passed. For now, leave the fighting to us."
Corrin stepped forward, her resolve hardening. "I want to go with you, Xander. I've faced these vampires more often than anyone else, and I know how dangerous they can be. I can help."
Xander regarded her with a mix of pride and concern. "Corrin, you've already endured more than your share of trials. Are you certain you wish to involve yourself again?"
"I am," she said firmly. "This is my home, and I won't stand by while a threat like Zio endangers it. I've made my decision."
Xander nodded, his expression grim. "Very well. Prepare yourself. We leave immediately."
Rolent inclined his head respectfully. "If I may, Your Majesty, I would request to accompany the expedition. My knowledge of the forests and Zio's past movements may prove useful."
"Granted," Xander said without hesitation. "Your assistance is appreciated, Lord Rolent."
As the royal family dispersed to prepare, the weight of the impending battle hung heavily over them all. For Corrin, it was another test of her strength and resolve—a chance to protect those she loved and prove, once again, that her compassion was not a weakness, but her greatest strength.
Disclaimer: Fire Emblem, Fire Emblem Fates and Tsukihime/Melty Blood belong to their respective owners.
OCs in this story created by me are Abel Deville/Kain, Zio, Rolent, Malkav Archangel and Baron Vordenburg
OC Trishanku/Monster of Alaya is by scorchingleo9