A/N: hi hello welcome back
tis time for chapter 4!
hope you enjoy :D
love you
oxy
~xXx~
The Council of Elders was in disarray within Whitewyrm Lair as it had been for several days since one of its number discovered – by pure chance, as the man would insist – that Emperor Sylvestre had independently hatched a scheme to claim the Grand Duchy of Rosaria which failed.
Oriflamme's many citizens did not yet know of the threat of war looming upon them from their neighbor to the west, and the Elders insisted that the Holy Empire attempt to smooth things over with the duchy before making any announcements or moves at all.
The Emperor lounged in his seat while the Cardinals of his empire exchanged heated words below. Marcel stood dutifully a distance away, ready to be of service at the slightest gesture.
And he listened.
"Rosaria knows of Sanbreque's involvement already!" The Cardinal of the North argued. "The Archduke and his son were witnesses! What purpose will negotiation serve now?"
"Dhalmekia knows, as well," the Head Cardinal advised. The missive from Dhalmekia's Parliament sat unfolded upon the grand marble table. "Any trade agreements formerly supported by the Tri-Unity are no more. They will not treat with us."
"What of the Rosarian snake at residence in the dungeon?" The Cardinal of the East broke in. "Can we not draft a message explaining that she is truly at fault, deliver unto the Archduke her head, and put this unpleasantness behind us?"
"And if the good Archduke wishes to take her head himself?" The Cardinal of the West disagreed curtly. "We wish to avoid doing Rosaria any further insult!"
The Emperor tapped his scepter on the ground and the table fell silent.
"The Rosarians are a proud, honorable, and loyal people," Emperor Sylvestre explained softly. "In the eyes of the Archduke, the actions of a company of soldiers may as well be the will of their sovereign made manifest. At this point, there is little to stay the hand of Elwin Rosfield; the men of the ducal army have been disrespected by Sanbrequois soldiers, and one of Rosfield's sons is believed dead. I wager he would be less offended if each of you had spat in his face and insulted his mother."
"If I may, Your Radiance, how do you propose we navigate these turbulent times?" The Head Cardinal asked as he rose from his chair and planted his hands on the table. "Now that the invisible hand of fate has pushed us towards the brink of battle with our closest ally?"
To Marcel, the man sounded very much as though he did not believe fate had any hand in these events at all.
"We shall make a show of engaging in dialogue with the Grand Duchy of Rosaria," the Emperor replied. "We shall send missives and stolases weaving any tale we desire, pleading for peace and mercy from the magnificent Archduke Rosfield and offering our condolences for his losses. We shall offer him the Duchess Anabella Rosfield dead or alive at his preference. Meanwhile, we will prepare for a war unlike any fought before on the continent of Storm. When finally the good Archduke tires of our communications, the Holy Empire's hundred legions will be prepared to march on Rosaria; such is the will of Great Greagor."
The Cardinals appeared ready to argue with him, which the Emperor evidently did not wish to entertain. The sovereign stood from his seat and began to make his way across the meeting space, and Marcel followed behind.
"I shall leave the five of you to your preparations," Emperor Sylvestre declared with finality. Once he was out of earshot of the men gathered about the table, the Emperor asked Marcel, "Where is my son?"
"His Highness the Prince shadows the Commander of the Holy Order of the Knights Dragoon at the Sanbrequois encampment adjacent to the Strait of Autha," Marcel said.
"Very well," the Emperor said. Then, nearly to himself, the Emperor continued, "I do believe it is time Dion ascended to his rightful place as Commander…"
.
(If His Imperial Highness Prince Dion Lesage hastily seized control of the Knights Dragoon after the previous commander met with tragedy upon the battlefield in a skirmish with Waloed scarcely a week later, no one was the wiser.
No one, certainly.)
~xXx~
Cool was the night and slightly bumpy were the wheels of the wagons over the Crystal Road. The Imperial company seemed keen on traveling through the night for reasons Clive could not fathom. Clive was glad he had not been separated from Wade and Tyler, but he was still more tense than he had been in a non-combat scenario in many moons. At least the soldiers had not seemed to care about how young Clive seemed in comparison to his fellows. That, of course, raised concerns about the Imperial Army as a whole, but Clive did not have the time to worry about such things.
Still, the other men in the back of their wagon were interested to hear tell of Phoenix Gate, and especially the danger which had befallen them there.
One particularly curious scout turned to the three of them and bluntly asked, "So you saw the beast, you say?"
"Aye – me and Callum, both," Wade was quick to answer.
The scout leaned forward. Clive couldn't discern most of his features in the weak light of distant crystal lamps, but he seemed eager.
"Just between us – what was it like?"
"…" Wade's mouth opened, but no words emerged.
Wade's reluctance to comment on it paired with the small regretful glances he threw Clive told the First Shield just what Wade thought of the matter. Clive felt much the same.
"It certainly was…ahm…" Wade tripped over his tongue, and Clive decided to take matters into his own hands.
"It was hellish," Clive answered honestly, and immediately the attention of every man in the wagon was upon him.
Clive's acting skills had been ever criticized by Joshua and Jill, and even by his uncle Byron, but when he described the Second Eikon of Fire he did not need to act at all.
"It was tall enough to look over the turrets," Clive recalled hollowly, "Massive horns, claws like spears, teeth like broadswords. Shoved a fist straight through a stone wall. And it was on fire. Just…aflame, the whole time. It tore through everyone who came near like parchment. It was like some demon pulled from a distant realm. It was terrifying." Clive's mouth tasted of ash. "It appeared out of thin air. All it wanted to do was kill and destroy and…consume. When I remember that night, it's just…blood and unholy fire."
We have found you. Clive winced at half-remembered agony and looked down at his boots.
In the wake of Clive's description of the disaster at Phoenix Gate, only silence lived.
It appeared that the men of the company had been expecting some tale of glorious battle. Unfortunately for them, Clive had never really been one to embellish.
A few men shifted in their seats uneasily, certainly picturing the sheer size and destructive power of the creature. There had been no glory that night, only death, and by the lack of questions regarding the incident, it seemed the other men in the squad understood that notion quite well.
The unfamiliar leather of the Imperial kit gloves creaked when Clive clenched his fists. Wade's hand landed on his shoulder, but he did not meet the man's eyes; he knew he would find naught but thinly veiled pity or poorly disguised fear.
Clive was unsure which would be worse.
"No way to fight something that big, eh?" Wade chuckled stiffly and squeezed Clive's shoulder in a reassuring gesture. "Anyway, Callum and I needed to drag the sergeant out…"
.
The next afternoon brought unexpected news to Clive.
Clive was pleased to see that Tyler's wounds were healing, if slowly, under the power of the potions that the Imperial soldiers had delivered to him. The journey to Oriflamme was slow-going in a group so large but nigh constant; the squad had received some information during their survey of Rosaria which made their return to Oriflamme a priority.
It took some asking, but when that information was divulged to Clive and his party, the Lord Marquess was stunned into silence.
"Got a stolas from the Lord Commander while we were on mission," one of the soldiers – Clifford? Kyle? – explained briefly when they stopped to rest near a small river the next afternoon, "Dhalmeks are sendin' a force to Rosaria. There's been mentions of makin' ready for war." He filled a waterskin with a crystal and offered it to one of his comrades when he finished.
"War?" Wade asked, shocked and searching for further clarification.
That was certainly worrying to Clive. Was Dhalmekia also planning to betray Rosaria…?
Clifford shrugged. "Mission at Phoenix Gate failed – targets escaped and made it back to their capital city. If I had to make a guess, I'd say Dhalmekia's men move to support the Rosarians in war."
Escaped from the hellfire of Phoenix Gate? Who? Clive would ask if he believed he could speak, but he found that he could not.
"Which of the targets escaped?" Tyler asked lightly instead, feigning calm curiosity.
Kyle's face was grave and he partook deeply in the liquid from his waterskin before answering.
"All of 'em, much as we can figure. Archduke, Lord Commander, even the Phoenix. We got sent to look for the First Shield, though; guess he's dead or missing. Didn't find 'im, o' course, and time's up now there's a war on." The soldier moved on to speak with a few members of his cohort.
The look that Clive shared with Wade and Tyler was knowing and urgent.
If what Clifford said was true, Joshua had escaped from Phoenix Gate along with Clive's father and Lord Commander Murdoch – they had made it back to Rosalith and were preparing to wage war upon Sanbreque. And, from the sound of it, Dhalmekia had agreed that Sanbreque violated the Tri-Unity Accord and moved now to support Rosaria in its war effort.
Clive could barely feel his legs. He hadn't killed Joshua, or his father, or Lord Murdoch – they escaped. The relief was overwhelming, and he would have fallen if not for Wade helping him sit in the grass.
More than one of the Imperial soldiers seemed concerned for Clive's welfare.
"Welch! You alright?"
"Get him some water, Kyle!"
Regaining himself took a moment. Every breath seemed to come more easily than the last, as though an invisible hand had relinquished its grip on his heart.
"I'm—more tired than I thought," Clive lied and finally waved off the Imperials, "It's been a long few days, if you catch my meaning. I'm...glad to finally be back among comrades."
At his other side, Tyler whispered faux-conspiratorially and purposefully loud enough for the other soldiers to hear, "It's alright if you're afraid of going to war, lad!"
Laughter flickered through the gathered men and they slowly dispersed after Tyler's reasonable explanation for Clive's behavior. Before leaving, though, one of them clapped a hand on Clive's shoulder and chuckled a little while reassuring him that the "Rosarian pansies" would hardly put up a worthy fight and that Clive should not fear.
Clive hoped his grimace read as anything other than what it was. The implication that Clive and his countrymen were weak or cowardly was more than a little insulting.
They needed to find a way back to Rosalith as fast as they possibly could, now that they knew it was still held by the Rosfields, which meant they needed to escape from the entire company of Imperial soldiers. That would need to wait for Sir Wade's recovery, and in the meanwhile…
Founder, the relief. The relief! They were alright. Alright enough to be waging war on Sanbreque, at the very least.
Clive's failure still stung, but it no longer crushed. He could live with this, he could.
It may be true that Clive had the power to summon a fire-aspected Eikon, and it may be true that he had been the one to destroy Phoenix Gate; however, he could live with this. He could look upon Joshua and Elwin Rosfield, apologize, and work to atone for his actions. Clive could work to regain the trust Rodney Murdoch surely had lost in his student.
He stared up at the sky. It was the same as it always looked, but it felt new. Massive.
Clive breathed in relief like air.
~xXx~
The afternoon was clear and lovely, Torgal snoozed in a sunbeam on the balcony floor, and Jill Warrick decided she was tired of watching Rosfields ride away from Rosalith Castle. Her prayers last time hadn't worked – Clive was lost – and so she believed everyone would be better off if no one ever left again. While not realistic in the slightest, it was a pleasant thought.
The departure this time was far less grandiose; fewer staff had gathered to see the soldiers off, and both the Archduke and Joshua wore armor instead of the robes befitting their stations. Jill secretly thought that Joshua's armor did not suit him at all; ten was still too young to look like a warrior, in Jill's opinion, no matter how much power Joshua could summon.
Additionally, the undercurrent among the men was far less joyous and far more vengeful. By the time the news of the mission to retake Drake's Breath had spread through the legions, all of the remaining Shields and soldiers of the ducal army knew of the murder of the Archduke's son and the fall of Phoenix Gate.
Honor demanded vengeance for every fallen comrade from what was now being called the "Night of the Flames" – the Empire had broken the alliance and killed more than a hundred soldiers that night, including the First Shield. If that had not been enough, attempts had been made on the lives of their sovereign, his heir, and the Lord Commander. And if that had not been enough, Phoenix Gate had been destroyed by some mysterious fire demon.
Fire belonged to Rosaria as earth belonged to Dhalmekia and light belonged to Sanbreque and ice belonged to the North – it was particularly insulting to have fire used against the duchy in this way.
"Men!" The Archduke roared from his place atop his steed, audible even to Jill so far away. "We ride for Port Isolde! May the blessing of the crystals go with us!" The man was enraged, which in Jill's mind was far better than despondent.
The answering cry rang out, "And shield the Firebird's flame forevermore!" just as it had that day nearly a week before.
The company from within the castle's walls marched through the gates into the city proper with the Archduke at the fore where they were joined by still legions more Rosarian soldiers for the journey to Port Isolde. A war cry cut through the usually-peaceful Rosalith.
Angry? Far from angry; the men of Rosaria were incandescent and seemed prepared to prove it.
And Jill could muster only worry in droves. Worry for Joshua, worry for the Archduke, worry for the Lord Commander…
Would they come back? Would Jill have to say goodbye to someone else?
She looked down at Torgal, who still napped. Mayhap when he grew more, into the "fine hound" the Archduke predicted he would become one day, he would be able to accompany the men to dangerous battles. The poor boy would be inconsolable to be left behind, again. Jill was still uncertain how he had escaped from Rosalith Castle in the first place, but this time Joshua made her promise to watch over him even more closely. She was happy to look after the pup – it at least allowed her something to do instead of worry the entire time.
Jill shook her head.
She was going to worry the entire time, anyway; it was the only thing she could do.
A chill ran down Jill's spine. Cold prickled at her skin. She looked up to see the same perfect and cloudless afternoon sky, sun still shining brightly on the marvelous white stone of the balcony.
Why had…?
"Let's go inside, boy," Jill said and scooped Torgal off of the ground to do just that, "I'll ask the maids if they could prepare some tea for us."
~xXx~
They were scarcely a day and a half's ride from Oriflamme when it happened, and it truly only happened by chance.
Clive noticed Tyler inspecting his wounds, and the Shield caught his eye and nodded once with a serious cast to his face. The skin was pink and appeared tender to the touch, but it was healthy and free of the taint that typically accompanied festering wounds.
The message was clear – Tyler had finally healed from the damage done to his abdomen, and he believed himself to be fighting fit.
"Wilf," Clive said, nudging Wade's side, "look at that! The sergeant's healed!"
Wade, to his credit, caught on immediately. He nodded at Clive and addressed Tyler.
"Well done, Sarge! That'll make the journey home," Wade emphasized shortly to the older Shield, "much easier."
"Indeed," Tyler replied and set to work hastily redoing the fastenings on his jerkin.
What followed was truly a matter of happenstance.
Excess weaponry was kept in a covered wagon which happened to be nearby at the time. The dwindling food provisions were kept near the middle of the convoy, and how fortuitous it was that that was where Clive and his fellows traveled, as well. The captains kept the supply of crystals on them, Clive knew, save for the ones held by the few Imperial Astrologers among them.
But Clive did not need a crystal to cast magic, and he could feel fire writhing in his chest and arcing through his arm to his left hand, seething just below the surface of the skin. They would not be able to best an entire company of Imperial soldiers if all of them attacked at once, certainly.
However, enough chaos among the ranks would inhibit the ability of any company to organize a coordinated attack, especially if they knew not from whence it came.
No one was looking.
Flame sprung from Clive's fingertips and sufficient chaos was sewn, indeed.
When they had finished their work, no Imperial soldier lived to tell the tale of Sergeant Tiago Reeves or Privates Wilf Burns and Callum Welch.
.
Clive, Wade, and Tyler spent the next several days traveling West to return to Rosaria, and the three of them encountered two more large groups of Imperial soldiers consisting nigh entirely of scouts returning from missions. With Clive's abilities and the skills of his comrades, they were able to dispatch the enemies quickly and in their entirety.
How many men had the Emperor sent in search of Rosaria's First Shield? Clive marveled at the effort while slinging the blood from his stolen longsword.
They were on a hill perhaps a kilometer east from what Clive believed to be the border between Rosaria and Sanbreque when—
Vibrations?
"Did you feel that?" Wade asked, referring to the tremor which had juddered through the ground.
Clive watched small birds erupt from nearby trees and hurriedly fly off east. He spied a few antelope fleeing from an unseen danger. Dread rose up his spine.
"What is that?" Tyler asked, alarmed. He drew the spear he had taken from the weapons wagon and looked to the east carefully.
The tremors grew more intense.
"An earthquake?" Clive proposed, but he, too, drew his sword.
Clive felt very much as though the three of them should turn and flee along with the fauna he had seen, but he knew not which direction to run.
It was disturbing, just how unstable the earth beneath his feet became in an instant.
Wade noticed something to the west.
"My Lord, look."
Clive looked and wished he had not.
Titan's feet made a constant, horrifying rumbling that rolled through the air and the ground as one. The Eikon of Earth made no vocalizations as he walked, as he had no need to; it was impossible to miss the colossus as he trampled the land flat with each step.
"By the flames," Clive exhaled and steadied himself when the impact of Titan's feet nearly threw him to the ground, "What in the hell is he doing here?"
Titan slowed his pace and then stopped, bending his head almost comically slowly to track his gaze across the ground. The Eikon appeared to find what he was looking for. He began the process of lifting one of his feet and orange light flared brightly about his figure.
"What's he doing?" Wade asked, horrified.
Clive shook his head and refused to look away.
Titan's foot descended, heavy and meteoric, and crashed into the earth with force unlike anything the men had ever felt. Clive, Wade, and Tyler were all knocked to the ground, and the air shimmered and rippled vibrant amber.
The earth was torn asunder, the ground suddenly pulling apart unnaturally amidst the undulating shockwaves from the strike. The sound it made was teeth-rattling.
"Impassible" was the word Clive would use to describe the chasm which opened.
The rift which formed on the Sanbreque-Rosaria border was at least one hundred meters across. The new gap between the nations was deep and uneven enough that Clive could not determine where the bottom was, if it had one at all. And the obstacle extended as far as the eye could see.
Impassible by foot. Impassible by mount. Impassible.
No army would make its way across that border without a bridge of some variety, and lacking true ingenuity Clive sincerely doubted the possibility of a bridge that could span such distance.
Had Sanbreque been planning on striking at Rosaria before the duchy could declare war officially, those plans would need to be altered. This barrier would add weeks to any journey between the two nations, and that was only the length of the canyon visible from where Clive stood – it may extend farther, even to the Northern Territories.
He could scarcely fathom how far south the canyon reached. The border of Dhalmekia, perhaps? Surely Titan would not cleave Dhalmekia in half and create a rift which reached the coast…
"Gods be damned," Tyler breathed, having finally regained his footing in the wake of the tremors. He stabbed the tip of his spear into the ground and leaned on it for a moment, panting and shaking slightly.
"Rosaria may be safe from Sanbreque, but at what cost?" Wade asked.
The new terrain yawned before them.
It took only a small pause in which he considered the formidable depth and breadth of the rift. Even if they were to travel around to the canyon's north end, wherever that may be, they would surely be met with men of the ducal army, prepared to cut down any who made it that far. Clive, Wade, and Tyler were dead, for all the duchy knew, and they would be clad in Sanbrequois fatigues. And similarly, if they were to travel south, towards Dhalmekia…
It was with a creeping dread and quiet resignation that Clive voiced his conclusion aloud.
"We're trapped."
~xXx~
Joshua was familiar with the sensation of his becoming theirs.
The glory of his arms becoming their wings could not be understated, infrequent though it was that Joshua had the opportunity to experience it. The Phoenix was ancient and wise, and it was this wisdom which Joshua could lean upon on occasion when his body merged with that of the Firebird. They were something magnificent when Joshua primed – the two moved as one, and with such power at their disposal it was as though the world was pliable clay before them, ready to be worked into any shape they desired to see.
The Phoenix's presence otherwise seemed to vary. When not engaging its might, the Phoenix could feel small as a marble in Joshua's chest or settled with its invisible wings draped over his shoulders like a shawl.
The Phoenix had enjoyed Clive's company almost as much as Joshua had; it pulsed with warmth unseen and shifted about restlessly and happily, stretching itself out to settle as closely to Clive as possible. That night at Phoenix Gate when Clive had wrapped an arm about Joshua's shoulders, the Phoenix had extended a wing right back.
Joshua sincerely wondered if the Phoenix had ever been as pleased to bless a First Shield in history as it was when it had blessed his brother.
Mount Drustanus loomed before them, the Mothercrystal glowing brighter than the sliver of the moon in the sky.
Joshua stood at the bow of the Defender with his father at his side.
"One more time, Joshua?" The Archduke asked softly.
"I prime," Joshua recited, "I destroy the outside structures of Mount Drustanus, then I make for Craeg Loisgte."
"And at Craeg Loisgte?" His father pressed.
"I destroy as many ships as I can find at port or at sea and allow our men time to reclaim Drake's Breath properly," Joshua said.
Vengeance would start here – Joshua would make it start here.
The Archduke patted Joshua's shoulder. "Good lad."
A flame kindled close to Joshua's heart, no larger than a candle. The Phoenix stirred as might a curious cat.
Vengeance for Joshua's ancestors who had lost their lives to the Ironblood at Mount Drustanus eighty years before.
"Move away, Father," Joshua warned, and was pleased when the Archduke retreated from the bow.
The fire grew torchlike, the hungry flame consuming aether from the air, and the Phoenix crooned in Joshua's ear. Ravenous. Insatiable.
Vengeance?
Joshua nodded.
Vengeance for the men at the feast on the Night of the Flames. Joshua had sprinted past their still-warm corpses in the hallways of Phoenix Gate and nearly vomited at the juxtaposition of their broken bodies and the men who'd been making merry not three hours before.
"I'm sorry to ask this of you, my son," Elwin said from somewhere behind Joshua, remorseful and guilty.
"I know, Father," Joshua said, and his voice doubled strangely in his ears.
Air scorched down Joshua's throat and a campfire burned somewhere within him. Half-thought wings of light and flame erupted from his shoulder blades, nearly knocking him over with their force. His hands tingled. His skin was alight.
The Phoenix cried out.
Vengeance.
Vengeance for Sir Wade, who Joshua had saved years before with the healing flames gifted to him and who had come to lead him to safety. Vengeance for Sir Tyler, who had nearly given his life in defense of the fortress and had perished hours later to the invading Imperial traitors.
The cold wind skimming across the sea did not faze him. All around him were hot updrafts and currents lifting his hair and whipping his clothing about violently. Other men on the deck cried out in alarm, but not Joshua's father.
A pyre, consuming him. Forests falling to ash. A thousand, thousand wildfires raging across the earth.
Vengeance for Clive.
The Phoenix screeched in supreme outrage, furious and piercing.
Vengeance!
The Eikon enfolded Joshua entirely in its massive, burning wings, and the two launched into the sky as one.
~xXx~
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TEN YEARS LATER...
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~xXx~
YEAR OF THE REALM 870
Oriflamme's streets were as busy as they had ever been since the beginning of the war – amidst the bustle off daily life, citizens warily watched the skies. They waited for Bahamut to appear and bolster the morale of the city as he did on occasion, or perhaps for the Phoenix to arrive and drown the city in raging fire as it had at Creag Loisgte.
Amidst the uncertainty of war, either option was equally likely.
Marcel arrived just in time to the narrow, secluded alley between an abandoned apothecary and a down-on-its-luck leatherworks.
"Well, now," came a deep voice from the shadows. A brown-haired man stepped towards Marcel, clad intimidatingly in leather as though he were going to battle. "I had started to worry you'd forgotten about me."
Marcel pulled a folded piece of parchment from his pocket and extended it to the man.
"I forget nothing," Marcel said, "'Tis both a blessing and a curse."
The man unfolded the parchment and read the words printed there.
"Interesting," the man admitted as he closed the fold once more. "And you're certain?"
"He is quick and clever," Marcel said, "unfortunately, when you've a memory like mine, quick and clever cannot outmatch patient and observant."
"Suppose it can't," the man allowed. "Never been too patient, myself. Always jump right in where I think is right and damn the consequences."
The man brought a lit cigarette to his lips and Marcel blinked. Had he always had that?
The ember of the cigarette was used to light the edge of the folded parchment and the two men watched it eventually crumble to nothing.
"Might be a lesson to be learned somewhere in there," the man said after a time, "but that can wait. I assume you've told no one else of this matter, as we discussed?"
Marcel felt threat wash over him.
"I've told no one else, no. This is stays between you and I," Marcel assured slowly. The exit of the alleyway was behind him, if he could just…
"Thank you, kindly," the man said as he breathed out smoke.
And then there was a blade in Marcel's heart.
.
The man leaned against the wall of the alley for several more moments, smoking peacefully. He had retrieved his blade from Marcel's chest and it hung with its partner at his left hip.
"'Commander Callum Welch', eh?"
~xXx~
A/N: that's all for now! more when i can find the time to write it lmao
see y'all later :D
oxy