(Publishing one chapter a week until the end of Part 5)

The Tale of Beowulf: Reinforcements

He did not lay eyes on Delita again for quite some time.

He stayed in Goug as he'd been bidden, helping to eradicate the Baerd Company, and to scare off some unpleasant groups who hoped to fill the void left in the Company's wake. He heard the rumors out of Lionel—of explosions, and destruction, and the Cardinal's death. And not long after, he heard of the Nanten march on Lesalia, and the war ignited in Ivalice.

There was a part of him that wanted to march into the heart of the fighting. So many legends had been forged in the fires of the 50 Years' War: Balbanes Beoulve, the Finest Knight Under Heaven; Zalbaag Beoulve, the Gallant Knight; "Thundergod" Cid; Archmage Elidibus; Marquis Messam Elmdor, the Silver Demon. Beowulf wondered what legend he might forge, fighting for one side or another.

But odds were, neither army would relish a heretic in their ranks. And even if they were willing to let him sign up with them, he doubted they would let him go chasing rumors of dragons.

But chase them he did. When his fighting was done in Goug, and the Templars came hunting after him, Beowulf left the city, and headed north.

There were rumors of dragons...but then, there were always rumors of dragons, and most were just tall tales. From time to time, however, there were rumors that sounded closer to the truth. In a bar in Goland, he heard rumors of some great winged beast feeding on minotaur packs near the old Ydoran roads, but the beast had not been seen in some months. Lesalia, still ruined from the Nanten raid and choked with refugees, was also filled with whispers of the dragon, sometimes seen nosing its way through Ydoran ruins, sometimes winging its way over the horizon.

So: she was looking at Ydoran ruins. Why?

Finally, his slow chase led him to the squat, stone expanse of Zeltennia and its environs. The place looked like a castle the size of a city, the buildings built into, over, and upon one another, with walls that jutted here and zigzagged there, overseen by stately watchtowers set at regular intervals. Zeltennia had survived the full fury of the Ordallian invasion, and bore its scars with pride.

He crept along the outskirts of the castle, until he found the ruined chapel in the woods that Delita had told him to come to, long ago. It was another two days before he saw Delita, who looked thunderstruck to see him.

"Where have you been?" Delita asked.

Beowulf shrugged. "Fighting my way north. I sent Besrodio to my father, like you asked."

Delita nodded. "That was good of you."

"He's safer there than anywhere else." Beowulf sat. "You've been busy."

Delita almost smiled. "More than you know. The Black Sheep are doing their part."

"And whose part is that, I wonder?" Beowulf asked.

Delita did smile this time. "Whose indeed."

"You've work for me?" Beowulf asked.

Delita hesitated. "Not exactly."

Beowulf arched his eyebrows. "What's that mean?"

Delita paced around a fallen scattering of debris near the center of the chapel, and took a seat on the steps near the pulpit. "Big moves all across Ivalice. Inquisitor Zalmour's going after Ramza...and managing to drop off orders for our friends as he goes. Grand Duke Barinten might be trying to butt his way into the ranks of the Braves, so Knight-Commander Tengille's going to meet up with him in Riovanes, and see what he has to offer. And the Church is running an expedition into the Neveleska Archipelago, looking to reactivate some old Ydoran weapons." Delita paused. "Bremondt took charge of it a few weeks ago."

A hand of ice squeezed Beowulf's heart. "You mean-"

"There's been some infighting in the Church's ranks," Delita continued. "Because the Cardinal's been using Church resources to chase rumors of a purple dragon across half of Ivalice. Last I'd heard, she'd been spotted in the Archipelago."

Beowulf turned away from Delita, and strode for the door.

"Beowulf!" Delita shouted. "Wait!"

It took every onze of will Beowulf had to stop. "What?" he asked, without looking back.

"He's got operational Workers, a handful of Templars, and every Amazon under his command out there," Delita said. "Not to mention some mercenaries, a refurbished Ydoran warship, and God knows what else. I know you're good, Beowulf...but you can't save her if you die."

"So what would you have me to do?" Beowulf demanded. His tension, his anger, his desperation, were so enormous that they were stiffening his neck and cracking his jaw. The words felt like jagged glass in his throat.

"Don't go alone."

Beowulf laughed. "What? Are you offering to help me?"

"I can't." Delita's voice was full of pain. "But maybe Ramza can."

Longs months had past since their reunion in Goug: in the heat of combat, with Ramza bloodstained and beautiful and comically caught off-guard by Beowulf's arrival. Longs months since they had ripped through Baerd's enforcers like a whirlwind.

"You've gotten better, Ramza," Beowulf had said, his cheeks aching with his grin.

"So have you, Wulfie," Ramza answered, and it was Ramza's voice, Ramza's voice like it had been at the Academy and in Dorter and in the battle against the Death Corps, Ramza's voice full of doubt and anxiety and courage as insistent and undeniable as the ocean's tide.

He was the same Ramza, but stronger somehow. And when they had parted ways, in the shadowed drizzle of a dark Goug night, Ramza had asked: "Do you need my help?"

Beowulf had wanted to say yes. But he did not know where Reis was, and Ramza had his own quest to pursue: a desperate race to save a Princess. Figured: Beowulf had been fighting the Church in a shadow campaign, so Ramza had to show him up by taking on a whole army.

"Not today," Beowulf managed, because he could not ask Ramza to stop without knowing where Reis was. "But if I do-"

"Find me," Ramza had said.

And if Delita was telling the truth—if he knew where Reis was—Beowulf wanted Ramza at his side.

"You know where he is?" Beowulf asked.

"There was a battle at Orbonne," Delita said. "A whole Templar unit wiped out. I can think of somewhere they might run from a fight at Orbonne."

Beowulf's jaw clenched. It was a long time since he'd laid eyes on his father: he didn't want to give the Church any reason to go after him. This was Beowulf's fight, after all.

But it was a fight he couldn't win alone.