Cycle

by RoseWarden

Robin is a young woman who bakes cakes during the day, sleeps at night, and drinks on weekends. She does not wage wars, fight demons, or solve dating issues. Yet, somehow by divine mistake, she's found herself doing just that. Clearly, someone has her confused with another Robin...

55. Chapter 55

Disclaimer – I don't own Fire Emblem. All of its properties belong to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems.

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Chapter 55

Ho-ly shit.

What happened to my head? A spiking pressure bores into my temples, thrumming over and over to the natural pulses of my heartbeat. There's a cold numbness in my toes. I flex them and bones crack loudly. My eyes are crusted shut, but I still manage to cringe at the noise. Blood rushes through my lower digits igniting them with a fire that heats up my skin uncomfortably. I moan low and pitiful from my throat. Sunlight hits the back of my eyelids and rips me from an unconscious state I don't have the will to leave. It feels as though I'm throwing a log over my face as I bury it in the crook of my arm to block out the light.

Another exhale falls from my lips even louder than the last. It's a pissed off grunt of defeat. I don't want to get up. My right hand is limp at my side. A chill has crept in there too. I redirect all my agitation into the energy needed to move it. Dirt clots up under my nails as my fingers rake through crunchy leaves for the blanket I discarded. I grasp nothing but empty air. My palm slaps into the ground and gnarls up a handful of dirt. I throw the clump and roll on my side, arms flopping uselessly with me. Stupid blanket. I don't know how I always manage to lose it while I sleep. It's never within arm's reach either. I always have to kick it half way across my sleeping quarters or under a bed .Why can't I-

Wait a minute. My arms stop flailing through space to pat the ground again. The same grainy bits from before gather up around the impression I leave behind. The scent of healthy earth, swollen and ripe from morning dew, greets my nose as grass strands tickle it with the inhale and exhale of my breath.

I sit up. I blink.

Oh. Oh God! Bad idea. I hide my burning eyes under my arm, hissing through the sharp pain assaulting my ocular abilities. My head swims in a way I haven't felt since I got piss drunk after my team won the cup. Come on which one was it? God, I can't even remember my own team? What was it? Ocean something...No Sea! Sea...Breeze? Sea...Stars? Sea...Dogs? Hm, last one sounds familiar but-

What the hell did I just stab myself on?

I shimmy backward and find a blockade pressing into my back. A fallen trunk creates a natural wall between me and what looks like a lived in space, complete with fire pit and scattered cutlery. The threadbare bedroll I've woken up on lies twisted underneath me. A ragged blanket lies crumpled in a heap at the foot of it. Squinting in the early dawn light, I nudge away the bedroll to reveal a sheathed dagger half buried in the soil. I catch the edge of it with my toe and flip it away into underbrush.

I groan again and wrap an arm over the trunk. It takes all the energy I built up while sleeping to turn me around. I hang draped over the wood with my chin resting atop it. I try to focus through blurry eyes feeling no better than before.

The fire pit is the literal center of this small grove naturally closed in by heavy boughs and ivy wound together. A makeshift spit made of hardy branches rests over a worn-out fire. A weathered pot hangs in the middle, its metal skin pockmarked with rust. Bones lay charred black among smoldering embers and gray ash. Mismatched dishes lie in unattended piles around the stone lined pit. Old food is crusted to fork prongs while a line of ants march through chunky remains nearby.

The rest of the camp is bare aside from a lived in corner nestled between the two roots growing up from the ground of a large tree. A mess of textiles litter the grass, the edge of a faded bedroll escaping out of one corner. Like the dishware, there's a random assortment of quilts and blankets from varying cultural destinations thrown together. It gives me the feeling whoever owns it has seen some grand travels. Or, like Gaius, they have klepto tendencies.

My stomach squeezes painfully and a shock of panic rises through me. I fear some adverse reaction might be occurring related to my current condition, but no illness ends up taking hold. Instead, my insides quiver and unleash a massive gurgling befitting a starved bear.

"For God's sake," I grumble pitifully. My face sinks downward and my forehead presses into the bark. I remain like that for an unmarked amount of time, just wallowing. Where am I? What is this place and where are the camp owners? This is a trashy setup. It can't be Ylissean so-

Oh. No.

Over and over my brain starts screaming. The battle! That fucking battle! Emmeryn! The others! And, and that Risen! I fought-

My body grows cold, an alien sensation taking over. I sit up slowly, pressing each palm against an eye socket. The flashbacks strike like lightening and paralyze me to the spot. I try to process the images best I can. They come quickly and briefly, then fractured and thorough. Through it all, a certain pain and fear is most prominent. In the end...my end...I...

I...

I shouldn't be here.

…...

Shit.

Excuse the pun, but that should have been the metaphorical game over for me. No resets or spawn points. Yet, here I am! Hungrier than I've ever been, may I add. I should be eating dirt right now! There is no way that I should be...could be-! I mean...Fuck!

I blink lethargically, the close and rise of my eyelids as deliberate as can be. I pull my hands away from my face, free from the scratchy material of the sleeves. Even my clothes are wrong. I was not wearing this before I blacked out. Whose shirt is this even? I twist my arms out and around to survey the baggy garb I wear. The movement allows the oversized sleeves to slip downward.

Holy...

What...is...

My heart seizes. My arm. My right arm is...is...

The normal healthy hue of my skin is gone leaving it bland and ashen. My veins are prominent, thrumming with life under a paper thin layer of flesh. They weave in the natural current of my body, deep and dark. A black poison under my skin looking functionally normal despite the alien color. The blood runs strong down my arm and disappears under the shirt I wear.

"What the hell?" I repeat over and over, a quiet whisper pouring out to help cope with the desperation taking hold. I yank the sleeve as far up as possible and cuff it at the elbow. My blood continues to flow in the same fashion even further. Checking my other arm, my confusion only deepens. The whole limb, despite an equally ashen color, appears as normal as it had the morning before battle. Drawing both exposed arms together, I find the source of the trouble stemming from the brand on my right hand. The mark of Grima burns hot on my otherwise ice cold skin, almost enough to burn. I can feel the thump of my pulse beneath it. It's as though the very mark is tainting my blood with some bizarre toxin.

The uncomfortable knot in the middle of my back grows with the pressure applied to it when I lean back. I wince and try to shift to lean on my side while I try to tug at the collar of the man sized shirt that's been thrown over me. Pulling it away from my neck, I do my best to look down into the tent-sized space between my body and the material. I angle it as far as the cloth allows and squint through the shadows from the tree above. I can just make out that the dark blood's trail continues up my arm and down my torso. It stays largely over my shoulder and manages to fade away as it comes down my clavicle bone to the underside of my arm. While I'm grateful this isn't a full case of developing body horror, I'd be much more at ease if I knew whether this...this thing had stopped or was even regressing. I don't want to believe it's spreading. I have no clue what's going on besides that it has to do with my brand. That's bad enough!

"No. No. Please no. This is not happening."

I slam my right hand down and bury it under my thigh. I press hard down on it trying to will it away. I recline back, sucking in air when the discomfort in my spine acts up again. My eyes press shut until spots start to swim in the darkness before them. My breathing echoes as loudly as the internal beating of my system, so much that I would believe it enough to give my location away even under the dense canopy hiding me. I remain curled up against the trunk and just breathe. Time marches on for a nondescript amount of time. Questions keep appearing that I have no answers to. This situation is just...

I blank. My mind shuts down. I don't even have words to use anymore. I'm horrified. Disappointed. Confused. But most of all, I'm just lost. Is this what Lucina feels everyday she wakes up? An aimless soul struggling to push back an overwhelming fate bigger than any human soul?

"Okay," I reason with myself out loud. My voice cracks, foreign to my own ears. My head is spinning. A severe nausea from hunger is only being made worse by the influx of adrenaline and fear hyper-activating my senses. "Breathe. Don't panic."

Easier said than done! It would be so much better to lay curled up here with my eyes shut just ignoring the world. I could take one of these blankets and throw it over me. I could pretend I was sleeping in. It's a lazy Sunday and I was able to sleep well past the alarm. I could imagine these bird sounds coming from outside my window in the little tree framing my window. It would be so convenient.

Too bad I can't revel in that luxury. Once upon a time, the old Robin would have done just that. I'd have chosen to hide away. Ignore my problems and let time deal with it. That was when I had no responsibilities. Or, it's more accurate to say I chose not to have any. I purposefully avoided conflict or attention, reveling in anonymity. Inaction was my preferred action.

I can't do that anymore. I'm not allowed to. I have people to get back to. A role to play.

My right hand clenches tight together where it hides under me, a sinister reminder that I carry the singular key that could doom this whole affair if I let myself fall to such poor habits. Like it or not, I forced myself into this role when I chose action in Southtown so many months ago. Coming this far, I can't return to what I was. So, with the most ungraceful moan to ever touch this planet, I somehow find strength to sit up.

"This...this isn't so bad," I smile weakly. I wipe dirt off my cheeks, a sticky mess clinging to left over tear stains. I pluck an overly large leaf off and flick it away. "It could be worse."

Y-yeah. It's true. I'm here. Even with this monstrous looking thing going on...I'm still me. No possessions or whatnot. I'll prove it! Backstreet Boys are still the best, popcorn should only be eaten with butter and nothing else, and Key Lime always wins over Lemon Meringue when it comes to tart pies. Sorry Jules, but you will never win that fight with me!

I emit a weak snort of amusement. Yep. Still me.

I lift my head and rest my nose over my drawn up knees. Withdrawing my branded hand, I raise it up once more. The marred skin is no better. I flex my fingers from under the edge of the sleeve in a personal wave. Aside from the hypothermic cold in them, they function. I'm still drawing breath. I have no hidden desires to conquer anything aside from the biggest tourtière I could sink my teeth into. I am so starved. And when I'm hungry, everything is worse.

Okay, so besides this horrible blood mutation and gnawing pangs of starvation, I'm doing okay. Totally.

A-alright, I should do something before I start to wallow again. I can't afford to do that! I need to figure out the where and who first. What's my location and who am I sharing this pitiful camp with? A swear-laden stream of poetry exits my mouth in my struggles to stand. I stop to take breaks balancing on my ankles, then knees in straightening upright. My back is an old, dried rubber band being stretched after forever, stiff and unwilling to expand. I settle for a hunched place of rest, both hands supporting my weight on the tree trunk.

This camp is unprofessional. No way anyone from the army did this. There would have been some basic shelter established. Heck, the Feroxi of Flavia's army can make mansions out of twigs. This is just sad. And the equipment around even more so. Even lower class hunters work with better equipment. This is a hobo camp with materials scrounged from trash cans.

A bigger question is why I'm here. I'm wearing a change of clothes. I mean, my under things are the same, but these are not my trousers or shirt. Someone has seen this on my arm. Ylisseans are superstitious folk. This close to the Plegian border, I'm surprised I wasn't brought to a church for an exorcism. So what does that mean? Not my allies, but not an enemy either? They're also open-minded and not afraid of magic or folktales. Hm. I have no idea how to explain this new development.

I try to lift up a leg to slide over the trunk, but the increasing discomfort in my spine makes it impossible. Trying to raise any of my lower limbs over the hip pulls on my lower back. It's stressing out invisible stitches I cannot feel physically on my skin. Something is healing and I can't pull any harder on it for fear of injuring myself again.

Again? Yeah, that's right. Again. How did this happen again? I know it was in the battle against the Plegians but that doesn't feel totally right. I pause in my slow drag around the side of the trunk. There's a needlepoint of pressure in my skull that digs in deeper the more I try to dwell on things. I raise my right hand and press the back of it to my burning forehead.

The last I remember was that there was a woman. I had fought...fought the Plegians! Right. The priest was dead and the others just so. That weird general was there too! Beforehand, that is! Yeah, where did he end up going? I think he chased someone? I was then alone, or so I thought. And, someone else was there! A woman I didn't know. She said some weird junk about about scouting, and then I heard a male voice.

I try to remember more but my marked hand flairs hot as fire, a sensation that travels up under my skin and continues to climb past my shoulder. It leaps all the way up my neck and sears into the lower part of my skull. Almost as if punishment for trying to remember. I sink back down and rest my elbows on the scratchy bark, burying my face in between my shaking hands.

It's like the wires in my brain are fried. They get too close when trying to put pieces together and they create maddening sparks. Alright, let's try that later. I just woke up. Maybe it will get better as I start to open up my senses. Yeah. Probably.

"I really am messed up."

I power through the blossoming migraine and hobble the rest of the way around. Baby steps carry me at a snail's pace to the central point where the makeshift kitchen is set up. The horrid looking cooking station is surrounded with an assortment of small canvas bags that probably hold travel rations. I collapse more than kneel into a jumbled mess beside them. Poking through the lot, I find exactly what I thought: dried meats, grains, and forged goods. This is the true way of rustic living off the land. Only the rawest of ingredients. Well, beggars can't be choosers. I wonder if my saviors would mind me taking a little snack? Step one in recovering is feeling better. Eating anything would alleviate half the problem given how often the wailing siren in my stomach keeps going off. There's plenty of meat here. I'll just sneak a little bit and-

Holy crap are those wild strawberries?

I can't help myself. I dig into the soft berries and rip out whatever I can manage to carry in my fist. The first one that slides through my lips is heaven. A sweet and tart melody on my starved taste buds that would have me singing if I were able. I cram in another and revel in the sensation of it, one that's more divine than the finest of delicacies I could ever create. I swallow the barely chewed strawberries and eagerly grab more. Even as I do so, my eyes start to roam for new tastes to add to my palate. A ravenous hunger takes over and blinds me to everything but the edibles before me.

I dig through more bags, carelessly devouring whatever I can grab. I find some rolls, a little stale but otherwise good. Another bag is full of wild veggies. I pass on the onions but find a few corn ears still in the husk. And what's this? Carrots? I continue to explore the food stores like a greedy child on Christmas. I sample every bag finding all of the servings inside big enough for at least several people. A small travel band. They sure know what to look for! I'm not this savvy at forging, but I'm aware of nature's bounty thanks to the likes of our more naturalist Shepherds like Panne and Stahl. Definitely got a good gatherer in this party.

As I work at taming my hunger, thirst becomes another problem. No one in their right mind would leave into the wilds without a water container of some sort, and these people took whatever they had with them. There's not a drop around camp. Luckily for me, the sounds of rushing water are nearby. I wobble on my feet and use the natural flora around me to guide me along.

Pushing through the brush leads me to the banks of a large river, Wintersmouth if memory serves. It's the only one nearby, anyway. The water rushes past at a steady flow, an occasional rocky outcropping peaking up over the frothy current. A boat is anchored on the bank, big enough for a small ensemble to ride. Pebbles roll away from my toes as I move from rock to rock until no more are left to lean on. I shuffle across the damp shore to a small runoff meandering inland. The stream breaks away from the larger body and settles into a quiet pond among a spattering of trees. The surface is so still it retains a mirror-like quality. While probably unwise to drink river water this natural, I'm just thirsty enough to take the gamble. I collapse on my knees and lower a hand under the rippling waters. All it takes is a few handfuls, the cool water a balm on my dry throat. Once I've had my fill, I wave off the excess droplets and rub my hand against the shirt. It tugs down on the material and my collar slips. In the pond's reflection, I can see more of the black markings. While the advance stops on the front of my shoulder, it continues to extend down my back.

I swing my legs to the side and angle myself up to the pond. It's hard not to wince from the pressure of muscle and bone stretching unwillingly. I turn my head back over my shoulder and lift up the hem of the shirt. A sound merged between disgust and denial slips past my lips at the sight.

My skin has turned into a horrible network of black veins that span the whole length of it. The center of this anatomical spiderweb is located right in the middle of my spine. A white, hardened blister rides up over a raised vertical bump the length of a knife's blade. Whatever is running through my body, it's feeding into that wound. A shudder rips through me, my breath sticking to my lungs. I drop the shirt hem and press both hands over my face to block out the sun now burning into my sensitive eyes. A volatile ripple of denial takes hold. My mind refuses to grasp the reality at play here. Or, perhaps it just refuses to accept it.

I remember the feeling. Even when I shouldn't, I force myself to. Something happened when I fell over. I was...dying. God, it's all so foggy though. I was there, but I wasn't. I was doing something. I definitely felt it! Angry. So, so angry. I'm not sure about what, but I definitely was. Then, just...nothing. Now, I wake up to this horrid reaction in a foreign place. Great. Just wonderful. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, the old cooks of yore would say.

I sigh out loud, exasperation giving power to the forceful rush of air that exits my lungs. I let the shirt slip back down and slowly fall to the grass. I throw my arms out and stare up at the canopy. Flecks of dust particles float lazily through the streams of golden light threading through the fine points of exposure in the treetops above. One or two of the maple leaves fall lazily to the ground, dancing on a breeze all of their own. Soon, within a month or two, the leaves will start to change. The harvests will begin and we'll worry about the temperatures shifting.

Time has gone by so fast even though it hasn't even been a full year in this world. It's strange in that even though I just got here, it feels as though I've lived here forever. Maybe it's because I finally have a purpose beyond my own singular driven goals. I've actually looked forward to getting up in the morning to see my friends. Not that I hated life before this or anything. I just sort of followed the motions. Lived day to day with no regard for the future.

Future. What a strange word. It meant nothing to me in the past. A synonym to goals or the word "tomorrow." Now, it holds so much weight. The future is not one single focus. It is millions of lives in the present. It is four very powerful lights in the future, with nine more waiting to be rekindled.

It's the difference between the two places I'll call home. Or, if I can even find one.

I hold my hand up to the light, finger splayed out. Appearances aside, this doesn't seem to be alarming. However, that doesn't change the fact that something is happening to me. A thing that should, for all intents and purposes, be impossible if I were some human nobody from another world like I claim to be. Even I can't deny this. I guess, I mean it seems that, well, Chrom might have been right all along.

I think...No. I know my mother was hiding something. Clearly, this is not a normal human reaction. I should be dead. The wound on my back is evident. I can see it. Yet, it's healing over, to the best of my guesses, and I'm still breathing. There's no odd red glow in my eyes. I'm alive.

"This makes no sense!" I cry out loud to the emptiness around me.

"What doesn't?" The forest answers back.

"Everything!" I shout louder, slamming a balled up fist into the dirt.

"Well obviously. You've been sleeping awhile," it responds.

"Yeah, well I don't-Waaaaait a minute!" I lurch up at the waist, miscalculating the speed I jerk up at. Pain racks my body and I end up hissing through my teeth while I curl forward. I draw my knees up and rest my head on them while I wait for my frayed nerves to stop screaming in agony.

"Nice going, dummy. You spooked Master," a new voice chimes in, followed by a loud 'thwack' and someone yelping out.

"I didn't mean to."

If I didn't recognize the voices before, I do now with the inclusion of the familiar title. Only two people have every called me "Master" to my face.

"You two," I mutter weakly. I bite hard into my lip and let the dizziness subside. Digging up strength from deep down, I call out stronger. "Marc? Echo?"

Absolute destruction reaches my ears. The two youths charge through the brush with reckless abandon, crushing anything underfoot that gets in their way. Their dark cloaks flutter around them and settle in the dust. They're fretting over me in seconds with one hovering to my left and the other kneeling down on my right.

"We're here, Master! Forgive us for leaving you unattended!" Marc jabbers in my ear.

Echo hovers at my side with his arm extended, but not touching, my body in case I were to fall over. "We had been checking for food for you. If we had known you would be waking, we would never have gone!" he continues off of his sister. Then the two speak in perfect unison.

"Please forgive us, oh great and powerful overlord of all time and space!"

I almost laugh, but that would be too painful. I dig into both palms and curl my fingers deep into the earth for the strength needed to push up. "I'll forgive you," I answer with shaky breaths. I pause and peek over at Echo's hooded face through the space in my bangs, "If you never, ever call me something that ridiculous again."

The kid has a mask on making it hard to determine anything Echo may be thinking. Still, when he looks up at his sister and she to him in her own matching mask, I get the feeling they're at a loss for words.

"Just help me up," I sigh.

I feel like an old crone ready to die. My hunched form wobbles all the way back to the campground with two adolescents holding me by each arm in guidance. This is not my finest moment, nor is it for my pride. I can feel it peeling away and fluttering off on the breeze with each step.

Entering the small glade yields a small, if not unexpected final surprise. The Risen General hovers with arms crossed at the edge of camp. He remains pressed up against the trunk of a tree. His helmet scrapes with the shift of his head over his armor. Those two red pinpricks of his lock onto me and follow my path back to a proper resting spot. The twins chirp positive words of reinforcement until I crumble into the sleeping spot provided for me. I flop my jelly arms over the downed trunk beside it and rest my chin on the top of the bark to keep them in eyesight.

Echo kneels down on the other side and stays with me while Marc goes toward the supplies. She nudges one of the overturned bags up right causing the few berries on the lip of it to fall into the undergrowth. She places both hands on her hips and surveys the mess I made of their food stores.

"Master sure was hungry," she says in a way that's half in awe and half in exasperation.

I press a hand to my stomach and shrink down past the barricade to hide the flush rising to my face. "My bad."

"That's a good thing! If you're awake and your appetite has returned, then you're almost done healing. Your heightened need for sustenance means your body is working fast to heal." Echo radiates a grin despite the mask. "That's great news!"

"Great news," I murmur. My eyes flicker to my marred hand. "Yeah."

So I was right in my guess. Healing? I guess that solves one thing. Could be a little less freaky about doing so. Not enjoying this whole haunted zombie look.

"Are you still in need of food?" Marc asks. She picks up a spoon from the dirty stack and starts whisking it about to shake off the hardened crust around it. When it fails to do, she drops it with a shrug and turns to search for cleaner gear.

Echo turns his head back to me, speaking with an enthusiastic rush to please. "We can make something! Less raw anyway!" He snaps his fingers and then taps the side of his head knowingly. "Unless you want meat. We know how fresh you like it!"

Actually, I do like my steaks on the rare side. However, I don't think that's what he has in mind. I picture this large, bleeding hunk of leg slammed down in front of me. Blood pooling up on the plate and flies just beginning to settle on the still warm skin. Not. Appetizing.

I swallow a groan and slump all the way as far as my tired body will allow. "I'm really craving a home-style chicken noodle soup, but I doubt you know that, let alone have the proper ingredients," I moan pitifully.

I hear Echo moves against the tree trunk. He leans over the sloping side on his elbows, hands pressed up against both sides of his face. His mask tilts to the side and I can see in the darkened shade the blink of his eyes. "What are new-dels?" he asks, innocently unaware of how such a statement breaks my heart to pieces.

"I hate this world," I moan into the wood.

"So do we Master! Though, if you hate these new-dels so much you'd like to eat them up, I'll kill all of them for you whenever we come across them!" Marc announces in a voice way too chipper for me to be comfortable.

"Noodles are made from dough, Marc. They're an edible food form," I explain through clenched teeth. After this war is over, I'm publishing a cookbook. No, ten cookbooks! This world must be educated!

"We can try to make it for you," Echo says beside me. I peer up over my arm at him, eyes growing wide. For a moment, a glimmer of hope forms in my stomach, cheering with a loud gurgle. Then, I remember I'm stuck in the middle of the most unsanitary place to make food and fall back into despair.

"I will be making the food around here if we try," Marc calls out from the fire pit. She has several spoons in her hand and is mulling over each utensil with a critical eye. Every soiled one is dropped into the dirt. Upon reaching the last spoon, she sighs and proceeds to wipe it off with the hem of her shirt. When cleaned enough, she wiggles it menacingly at her brother. "You stay away from the pot."

Echo pushes off the trunk and turns to face her. His arms fold over his chest and he leans in with a nasty little bite to his defense."What are you talking about? I'm a great cook!"

Marc lets out a hefty laugh, one that sends her body shaking. "You can't cook for beans." Her boisterous laughing turns into a series of hissing snickers from out between her teeth. "Or bread or soup for that matter."

Echo stalks over to the fire pit and stops right before his sister. His left hand reaches back over his shoulder then cuts through the air in a sharp arc, snatching up the spoon out of Marc's grasp. "Of course I can!"

Marc looks down first at her empty hand and wiggles her fingers around. Then, her mask follows from the spoon, to Echo's face, and back to the utensil once more. "What is the first thing you put in soup?" she asks him.

"Salt," the boy announces proudly.

"And on porridge?"

Echo is less quick to answer, but still manages to reply. "Salt."

I can hear the wicked grin Marc carries when she leans in to her brother's face. Their masks are nose to nose when she utters with a slow drawl of confidence. "What about muffins?"

Echo is a figure of stone, wheels grinding silently in his young mind. With a dramatic stretch of uncertainty drawing out his syllables, her brother manages to answer, "...Salt?"

Marc slowly reaches out and takes the lower portion of the stirring spoon not covered by Echo's grasp. With a sharp twist, she pulls it back from him and slaps the concave end of it across the bridge of his mask. "Get out."

Echo takes a hurried peek back over to me then grabs the bunched edges around the shoulders of his sister's cloak. "Be quiet Marc, you're making me look bad!"

"You are bad at this," she laughs again.

This sets him off. Echo proceeds to take a stronger hold of her cloak and uses his leverage to push her back. Marc goes feet up to the ground and lands with a tiny, "Oomph!" Her anger unleashes in a primal yowl of rage, and she lashes out with her one foot. The heel connects with his lower shin causing him to topple right next to her. She throws the spoon at the crown of his head causing it to smack with a hollow thud against him. He yelps and grabs at the sore spot to rub it vigorously. I catch a flash of light in his eye holes, the draconian magic of his birth flaring up much like I see in Nowi when she gets excited. He gets on all fours and then leaps on his sister, entangling the two in a mess of fighting limbs. They roll away from the fire pit in an ever changing scuffle of dominion as one constantly replaces the other.

While a part of me is horrified and ready to spring into action, an unbidden lethargy takes over holding me back. It's both alien and familiar, not me but still a powerful enough suggestion that this happens all the time and that it's best to let it go to expend their energy. It's a practiced sense of knowledge I can attribute to a parent's frustrations. Immediately, I cast my eyes toward the source emanating with such feelings.

Their father retains his statuesque vigil over the campsite, though his eyes are narrowed and darting across the floor with the constant movements of his children. Only when my own sense of curiosity seems to bleed in and overcome this powerful urge does he seem to respond in like. His helmet's rusty screech is for but a moment when his visor shifts just enough to form a side-glance in my direction. He blinks, waiting.

"Do they always do this?" I ask him.

The light extinguishes under darkness. A dusty, short burst of air rasps out in the gravelly sound his vocal chords can still muster. It's a knowing sort of sigh that can also be taken for a laugh. The same tired expression I've heard many parents use in regards to their child's antics. I've heard my own mother use such over me. In moments, I'm enveloped in a feeling, a warmth so fragile and tender that it cushions my chest and makes my heart feel two times larger.

"Siblings. Right," I whisper. When the feeling fades away, it leaves me more empty than before. A craving need for a connection I lost when my mother died. The clatter of tin and wood pulls my attention away to the wrestling twins before me who have now come dangerously close to knocking the cooking spit askew. Without that, I can't eat!

I'll admit that I must look rather pathetic, the ripping of my stomach at its own walls forcing a desperate plea to fall over me. Turning my sad, puppy eyes on their father, I ask him, "Are you gonna stop this?"

The general lifts his hunched shoulders in a shrug. He emits a breathy chuckle, eyes partially closed and focused with a great fondness on the two. The General's moves are deliberate and slow. His armor clashes tightly against his movements when leaning away and into his walk. His stride is casual and he takes his time stepping over the scattered supplies to where his children tussle in the dirt. He comes to a halt right before them and leans over so his shadow is cast intentionally over them.

Marc is the first to see him from her position on ground and throws both hands off her brother's clothes. "Uh oh."

She starts to pat Echo's shoulder in furious strokes to get his attention. Echo, hearing his sister's bashful declaration, stops. He seems to realize how dark things have gotten overhead and slowly rolls his head back. Echo starts to slide off Marc's body until he's kneeling beside her. "Uh, hi?" he greets with a fake sweetness of any kid caught with a hand in cookie jar.

Marc sits up and brushes off her shirt before casting off some dust on her brother's shoulder. "Is something wrong?"

These kids are too much.

Before the general can make a move, the woods erupt in noise. Off to our left, the sounds of leaves and brush ignite in a flurry of sound. The careen of an animal breaks the peace of the forest and causes birds to fly off in piercing shrieks of alarm. The four of us remain frozen until the last flutters of leaves and feathers alike settle. The activity disappears as quickly as it came causing the serene atmosphere of this ancient wood to return to normal, save for the pounding of my own heart.

I clutch my shirt and can feel the throbbing against my skin. My eyes rove over the thin spaces between trees for movement of potential enemies. "What was that?"

The twins break their frozen vigilance, both heads turning to look the other sibling in the eyes. In unison, both of their fists pump into the air to the joyous ring in their voices.

"Pitfall!"

They are a flurry of activity in oversized cloaks as the two scramble over obstacles to rush out of sight into the woods, their recent argument all but forgotten. I watch them scamper merrily toward the alleged trap, mouth ajar.

"...the hell?"

I find my gaze matching the General's when he turns back. I feel, or he feels, like this is to be expected. Get used to it. He rolls his shoulder joint to create a loud pop of bone, then strides casually back to his place in the shade. He doesn't appear the least bit worried having faith that whatever is out there is either not a danger or not so much that the twins couldn't handle it. That's kind of scary to think. I'd guess these two are maybe a few years younger then Lissa? The girl's hard to tell, but the boy definitely has the tone of voice any aging preteen boy would have.

I turn my back to the center and just stare up at the forest leaves overhead. In a way, I can't help but crack a smile. "Pitfalls, huh? That's what they use?" I close my eyes and rub my left eyelid sleepily. "I think they're kind of overrated but whatever works."

Another laugh escapes, drier and heavier than the last. It brings about a crushing weight of surrealism that leaves my senses suspended on the brink of reality and insanity. What's happening anymore? How did I get to this point? How did we...

We. That's right. The General and I. We were in one place facing death. Now it's as though time sped forward without me and has stranded me in some laugh-track dubbed family sitcom. I don't know how to process this. I press both hands to my cheeks and rub at my face trying to work feeling back into them. I search through the cracks in my fingers for answers in the leaves above.

"What happened?" I breathe out into the air. "One minute we were fighting, and then-" I throw out both hands and wave them out with a defeated flourish. "This."

Wind brushes over my face in a quiet whisper. The rush brings a creeping, familiar cold that raises bumps across my skin. In a moment's blink, the General appears on my side of the grove. He remains on the opposite side of the tree trunk but leans over me blocking everything from sight but him.

I reach my marred hand up to him and point a blackened finger, jabbing into the air. "Did you bring me here? Is this your doing?"

Whatever he may be feeling, he's blocking it off from me. There's nothing but an emptiness between us radiating in the infinite space. All his focus is upon me, and vice versa. His nod is a deliberate one, deep and long enough for my struggling mind to absorb.

"Where did you take me?" I demand, my voice growing stronger. "What happened to the battle?"

My answer is silence.

Though he does not move or respond, just his proximity alone is enough to awaken the repressed emotions deep inside I've carried since waking. How can he be this way? Doesn't he know what I've gone through up until this point? He must! He's been aiding me since Ylisstol! The General knows my position in the army. I'm a Shepherd. I'm their tactician! My job is to ensure the success and safety of tens of thousands of lives. How could he not have an answer for me when my very actions were made in face of saving another!

The Exalt! Emmeryn! Is she alive? Did she make it? And those around her? Oh God! Frederick was so injured! I know the others were fatigued! Libra was in the middle of the action healing everyone despite his own safety! And the others in the fort! What of them? Did they make it out and join the battle?

Lucina! Oh God what is she going to think when she sees me gone! I can't leave her after everything! My poor kid, I can't-

The General's body jerks back slightly, fingers twitching at his sides. His eyes widen, glowing hotter than before. In that moment, the world narrows to just that light, growing almost blindingly white. There's a reverberation between us stronger than that of any Einherjar. A tremor runs through my very soul, enveloping me in an echo of my desperation.

Gods, he...he does feel things too. It works both ways. This emotional telepathy is something in us both. Then if he can feel this, then he must understand!

My bones sing with pain in the abrupt way I twist up into a sitting position. I'm able to leverage my weight in a way to hoist myself up with my support leaning heavily on the trunk. I raise myself up as far as my arms let me and turn my face to his. He pulls back, but not entirely. He remains equally transfixed, yet also guarded.

"Don't play this game with me. You're different. You've been helping me." I break to gasp in more air, words weighted on my tongue. "You understand that things aren't as they appear."

His breathing comes heavier and entirely through the nose causing a crackling from deep in his chest. The General tilts his head up to view me better from under his visor. His red eyes dip toward my feet and travel up my form. They avert from my face and instead follow the black veins toward the damnable source on my hand.

My right hand curls into a painful fist and presses deep against the bark. I swallow a thick lump in my throat, eyes pressing together. My declaration is a strangled mess of denial. "You know I'm not the bad guy. I am not Grima."

His arm raises and the fingers of his gauntlet reach toward the brand atop my hand. It inches closer and then halts in movement shortly above it. His fingers linger in an extended touch, then close up and pull away. I feel him. He radiates indecision, and it hurts. This isn't casual mistrust. I catch a lingering pain that runs deep into the core. A sense of betrayal that makes me want to vomit what little I consumed today in sheer disgust.

The General rises to full height, his arms casting a menacing silhouette. He points to my brand and waits.

"You don't think this bothers me too? I'm mortified. I don't understand what's happening to my body," I cry out. I gesture rapidly over myself, desperation threatening to bring a tear rimmed haze over my eyes. "None of this happened before I came to this world. I was a normal human being." My head spins in a warped echo of my own confusion dancing together with the duality of his own paranoia. My words accusing this place, this 'world' catches him off guard. "Yeah. That's what I said. You do know that," I fire off in accusation. "The other generals took me from my home! You kidnapped me!"

A long pause strangles what little understanding we have. He shuts down and the barren void I'm left in is the loneliest I've ever been. I choke in the middle of my breathes, hitching with unbidden sobs threatening to spill out. I can't loose control here, but I want to. I want to break. To crumble and forget. Anything but this.

Then, finally, he nods. There is no context to why, but the simple gesture is a balm no other could have done. It's an affirmation. Positivity. An understanding to something, if anything. That's all I need.

"What's going on? Please. I'm trying my best but I've run out of options attempting to figure this all out on my own. I need help," I beg from him. My good hand bunches up the material over my chest, grasping tightly in desperation. "I can't save anyone if I don't understand myself!"

Some part of my desperation reaches his dead heart. The General reaches for me. The movement is cautious and oddly hesitant. I'm not threatened by the slow descent of his open palm, only confused. The feeling heightens when they he hovers with the tips of his fingers just shy of my upturned forehead. His red eyes drift to mine searching deep in them, for what I don't know. The Risen almost appears ready to withdraw, then huffs. The cool metal of his gauntlets lay over my sweat-laced skin. The pads press heavily applying a unneeded weight that adds to my recovering headache from earlier. His eyes close, his body tense in concentration.

"What sort of trick do you have n-OW!"

The sharp jolt in my frontal lobe races through the rest of my brain. What starts as an irritating hum blossoms to an all-consuming hum. A presence weasels into my brain and cranks up a metaphorical amplifier that overrides all my thoughts. Radio static buzzes between both ears throwing off all sense of balance and spacial orientation. There's a faint noise underneath the ethereal hum, but the pain is far too much for me to focus. I try to push it away, but the General's fingers dig deeper into my skull. Something gives way. A mental wall of some sort. I can hardly explain something not physically there, but the little resistance I have shatters inward leaving me blindly open to a voice rising up between the crackles of noise.

"You ask for an understanding, but would you accept it in the face that everything you already conceive as the truth is false."

Words bounce off my skull after every syllable gradually dying out after several whispering echoes. It brings a bizarre sense of deja vu. The voice echoing in my mind is a man's, that much I can tell. Yet, it's hard to understand any unique aspect of it. This voice is drowned out behind currents of resistance, the individuality of it lost in the muted realm of communication between us. As if trying to process the signals being traded, my own mind tries to read the words back to me creating a duality of male and female sounds playing over each other. It's as though my own persona is masking the original speaker.

"What is this? Are you," I wince, daring to peek up at the General through one partially cracked eye, "speaking to me?"

The strange haze fizzles out the moment I accept the thought. The imaginary channel of thought running between us lessens in the burden that weighs on me. The bond between us is strange and familiar all at once, like a Einherjar but far more personal. I'm feeling a piece of my own soul in the dead man before me.

In response to my question, the General withdraws his hand. The connection is not severed and remains strong between us, though losing a hint of the clarity now that we've gone to a, uh, form of telepathic wifi. "We are speaking. I was mostly unable to before. Either your power was not strong enough yet, or you were simply too weak to realize the potential."

I should be losing my marbles. I mean, I am! But, it's not scary, I guess? It's odd. This zombified warrior sworn to Grima's name is communicating to me in the most private of fashions, but I'm not afraid. It's almost like a piece I never knew was missing suddenly just fell back into place. A part of me is okay with this. Perhaps because this is not a new sensation, but one I felt already? It took a moment to come back to me, but the reason why this is so familiar is because such a distinct event happened before.

"That night in Ylisstol, during the siege, you rescued me." I look down at my hands, remembering the all consuming darkness that took hold of me after lashing out with the final bits of my magic to give Caeda that entry way to Algidus. I was starting to go under when a voice pulled me back. This one. "That voice I heard was you!"

The General regards me with a curious squint of his eyes. His arm drops to his side and he turns about to face the opposite direction. He strides away with his cloak fluttering behind him. Grima's sigil blinks with gold through the lines of sunlight catching on it. He stop shortly after and tilts his gaze up to the sky. I hear a low rumble of echo out of his armor.

"What you hear is something only Grima and I possess. Empathy is shared between dragons, but the bond between a creator and their puppets exists. A piece of Grima's own soul powers Risen, thus making me an extension of the same being." I hear his gauntlets come together, the harsh screech of metal scraping over itself. He looks back with thin red slits. An overwhelming urge to strangle something makes my own hands flex unbidden to my own will. "Bound by the dragon's dark forces, my existence is tied soul and mind to my maker. You say you don't understand, yet it is I who is most confused. You ask me to trust you, yet you exhibit..."

He grasps at his helmet. More specifically, he means his own mind. My anxiety deepens, marrying itself to a powerful disparity I inherit from the figure before me. It melds together and takes root deep in my soul until it starts to choke the very breath out of me. "We are speaking as master and slave once did. You ask for pity and plead for aid as one human to another."

"However." The general raises his right hand and displays the back of it to me in a symbolic gesture to my own brand. My eyes divert to the offending appendage. "I am no longer human, and you are no such thing yourself. Grima's power is growing again." His projection is bitter and accusing, sending shivers up my spine. "It grows in you."

If this tainted blood trail and recovery from a mortal wound weren't enough to make me agree, then this weird-ass telepathy we have going on is the final nail in the coffin. My fears are confirmed. I don't want to believe it, but I have to. Denying this anymore would be foolish. A detriment to my own chances of getting out of this. Yet...Oh God.

My shoulders begin to shake. I start to cave into myself. My shoulders draw up and I grasp both arms in a vice-like grip. The mild pain is an anchor to prevent me from sinking into an mired pit of denial. I hear my teeth begin to chatter in a desperate attempt to prevent the sobs racking up in my chest. I can't-

The wind flutters around me in a whirlwind before shadows consume me. The General appears before me and makes a harsh grab at my shoulders. His surprising entrance causes me alarm and I trip back into a tree leaving me pinned between him and the trunk for support. The stale reach of his cold breath breezes over me causing my bangs to flutter across my forehead. We stand close in height but the bulk of his armor makes him seem larger than he is. I can't help shrinking away from the overbearing weight of his dark aura.

His armor is full of sharp corners that catch against my skin making his hold harder than intended. "Do not cry. Don't show emotion. You will give them pause to doubt you." His eyes follow mine off to the side where the twins disappeared into the woods. The intermingled voice lows to an ominous pitch. "The children cannot doubt your identity. Swallow it, whatever hopelessness you may feel. The fell dragon does cry."

I rotate my shoulders to wiggle out of his grip. I duck under his arms and turn my back to him. I hold hands up to my chest and rub my hands together to try to bring warmth into my marked hand. It's still as icy as before, afflicting my accusation in the same chilly fashion. "Easy for you say. You're world isn't crashing around you. Everything I thought is turning into a goddamned nightmare!"

Up until this moment, the best I could describe of the General is that he felt guarded. Bits of emotion sneak through, but he's not an open book like I am. Everything I feel pours out of this broken damn he's undone. He's been distant, exhibiting intentions that only hint at his view of the moment. But my words do something to him and that self control breaks. With my back to him, I can't see his physical reaction. What comes between us slithers through the leaking cracks in his walls pouring a toxin of negativity into the channel connecting us.

It hurts.

Oh God, does the pain hit me in a way I've never known. I find myself frozen on the spot, unable to turn and meet him. It's like being swallowed by the darkest hole, falling for an eternity. There's no death to greet you, no hope to have. Everything that was once most precious in the world is long gone and stripped from reach. The life once led ripped away from his arms in the form of the worst betrayals; one of his own mortal mistakes and another from the gods. A shadow always clings to his back whispering lies of the sweetest poison burning away what bits are left him. A whole consuming presence slowly stripping away all that was until-

I yelp in surprise when a rain of leaves scatters around me from the shock wave that travels up its tree. My whole body is shaking. When I dare to look over my shoulder, I find the general a frozen statue befitting any Gothic sculpture of death. His fist has crashed into the tree trunk beside him. Wood splinters out and bark hangs on its last hinges around the small crater made from the force of impact. His eyes burn brighter than they ever have, accusing me in a fashion he has every right to do.

"You know nothing to speak such words!"

For all my misfortunes, he has a point. What do I know compared to someone who has endured Grima's direct reign? My face drops, hanging in shame created by a sense of pity of share for both of us. I feel empty of everything except the will to mourn. And, perhaps, sympathy. Weak and shriveled as it is, the paltry feeling is all I have left after that draining whirlwind of emotions.

"You're right." My voice cracks as I try to amass strength to hold back the sorrow that begs me to wallow in it. "I misspoke."

His fist comes away from the trunk leaving small splinters of wood to fall away. The General twists his gauntlet around to limber up his hand. Finding the armor piece secure, he twists away in a swirl of his cape.

"My world burned down long before this. If there is any who understands immeasurable loss, it is I." His voice is a weak echo compared to before. The wall between us is back leaving us near strangers again in this unusual bond we share. "Grima does not have allies, only victims."

God. I'm so lost. What can I say or even do? I'm gutted, absolutely at a loss for words. I feel small and pathetic in his shadow. Nothing I say or do is going to fix this for us. The guy is complete unknown to me. I don't know what to empathize with or what's appropriate to say. I suppose there's only one thing I can.

"I...I'm sorry."

The General's armor shudders to a grinding halt. He pauses as if to process the tiny squeak I emit. Then, one eye comes up over his shoulder to take me in. A long drawn out exhale of air whistles through the vents in his helmet. With it, his shoulders collapse. He's calmer, maybe even tired. "Grima does not apologize." The General sounds as if he doesn't believe what he's even hearing, or saying. "Nor exhibit sorrow, let alone any particular emotions."

"That's because I'm not..." I'm tired of repeating myself. He must believe that partially true or I think I'd be dead by now. He wouldn't be making an effort to ally himself with me carrying such hatred for Grima. Something in me is redeemable enough for him. "You-"

He holds up a hand to interrupt and I clamp my mouth shut. Extending an ear to the wind, he listens. Over the occasional bird peep and shuttering of leaves, I can hear the heavy crunch of footfalls through the undergrowth."They are coming back."

Ah, the twins. I was wondering how long it would take. I grab hold of my oversized sleeve and slap it over my face like one big towel. I dab at any offending wet spots on my cheeks and play a few bad puns in my head to warm up my smiling muscles. This is gonna be hard to fake, even for me. I give one last epic sniff to suck in the lingering mucus and then exhale what I hope is all the pent up emotions that have just risen up. As I take my first step in the direction of the twins, I find the Risen flitting through shadows in front of me again.

The sudden shift causes me to leap back and bring a hand over my mouth to muffle the embarrassing shriek I emit. Without thinking, I slap the hollow end of my overgrown sleeve on his chest plate. "Stop doing that, you twit!"

The smack leaves a hollow ring to reverberate up his armor and to his helmet where the point of his down turned chin echoes against it. His glowing eyes drop to the spot of impact then rise up in narrowed annoyance. Though unspoken, I can feel the incredulous judgment over my childish actions.

"Gonna give me a heart attack with that stupid trick of yours," I mutter under my breath. "Think you're trying to kill me instead of help."

"This problem did not arise earlier," he echoes. He points to my hand again. "I did not have a cause to fear."

I look away to the ground, fist balled up and hidden behind me back. "Neither did I."

"You're honest, at least." The General looks again to the sounds growing closer to us. His whispers project in an hushed urgency while the connection between us slowly dissolves. "I will tell you this. The forces you allegedly care for have survived. Those you value most are intact. Do not ask more than this of the Ylisseans and their allies for now. To do so would earn the children's attention and I will not allow it. They won't understand." He pauses, then adds in a severe growl. "Do not give them reason to think otherwise. Do not make them betray you."

That's not a request. It's a warning. Between my safety and that of his kids, I'm fairly certain I know where his priorities lie.

"I wouldn't-I mean I couldn't. They don't deserve this," I say, everything coming out a stuttering mess. "I just want to know...I mean, are you sure-"

"We are done."

Marc is the first to bound forward through the woods on a playful step that's clearly flaunting a sense of victory. She steps aside and throws her hands out to frame her brother behind her. "We caught something in one of our traps! So it's not chicken, buuuuut-"

"Ta-da!" Echo withdraws the limp carcass of an avian creature and holds it out in triumph over his head. That is, until it's large brown and copper tail feathers collapse and fall all around his face.

I could recognize that bulbous form anywhere. I've prepared enough in my time for the dinner table, and scared off plenty more from the garden in my backyard. "Wild turkey," I mutter with great disdain.

"I can try to make something soup-y with it. Will that be okay?" Marc says to me as she bustles around the camp equipment for the right cooking gear.

I offer a wordless nod. I can feel their father scrutinizing my moves. Whatever bridged the gap between us is gone. There's nothing but empty air. So many emotions and words flew between us in those moments alone that I could hardly process them. Still, if there's one thing to take from it, it's that I was granted a smidgen of solace. The others are alive. He didn't elaborate, but this trio knows who I run with. I can only take from this that the Shepherds are alive. Aside that, Emmeryn must be. I'm here because I protected her. He would tell me if something happened, right?

Unaware of my own actions, I find myself looking to the General with the same question propelled toward him. He's found a way to perfectly mimic his earlier pose as a watchful guard dog at the edge of camp. To the twins, it would look like he never left the spot. A secret only we share. I've formed a strange dependency on him and we don't know a thing about each other. I don't know his name, or if he even has one!

The Risen is true to his word in that we have no communication after that. I'm left to fend for myself with muted responses to their otherwise extra chippy conversing. The twins don't even care that I hardly respond. They would talk themselves to sleep so long as I was just listening. On and on they go through the cooking and serving of food. They don't make a bowl for themselves, the first taste for my honor only. Marc presents the crafted brew to me in the largest bowl they have. The red pottery has a crack forming from the base to lip with a large chip fished out the impact point. Inside, the meat of the bird floats in a broth alongside decent sized chunks of veggies. She holds out the offering in both hands to me while bowing slightly. She backs away when it falls to my grasp and sits down beside her brother. Her eyes are practically shining under her mask as watches me sip straight from the bowl. I'm sorry but I trust none of those spoons!

I wasn't expecting much given they have no spices to flavor up the broth, but it's not bad. Just bland. She allowed Echo to prepare a portion of the breast for consumption and he cooked it thoroughly. The wild veggies add enough extra flavor to the mix. I can't say it's a complete disaster. Marc actually did okay with what she had on hand. My inner critique gives it a three out of five, bonus points for effort.

Just my actions aren't enough. I can feel her searching for some sort of vindication for her work. After one especially long slurp, I lick my lips and lower the bowl down in my lap. "Not bad."

I can sense Marc is just beaming. She claps her hands together while the heels of her feet stamp through the dirt in glee. She lays her elbow deep into Echo's side and ribs him, humming in a triumphant gloat of victory. He must be glaring in annoyance as a second later he slides his hold body to the left. Echo uses the bulk of his weight to slam into Marc and send her sprawling of the side of the trunk.

"So," I say, watching Marc flail in the tangles of her cloak to get upright. "Looks like you two saved me again."

Marc's hands slap down on the tree trunk at the same time pulling her upper torso into view. She re-adjusts her mask to fit the form of her face revealing just a bit of the pale skin beneath. "Yep!" she cheers. "You really need to watch out for yourself, Master. Remember," she taps her chest, "squishy."

"Yeah, sure," I mutter into the depths of the chipped bowl I hold. My very human reflection looks back at me in the ripples of broth created by my shaking hands.

Marc edges across the makeshift bench to her neighbor and speaks out of the corner of her mouth. "She's not saying much. Did we do something wrong?"

Echo's whisper is even louder than her's and just as easy to hear despite him hiding behind a cupped hand. "I don't know."

I set the bowl aside. I wipe off some of the remnants of the greasy broth on the top of my trousers leaving a dark stain behind. "It's not you." I explain as gently as I'm able, trying not to draw too much attention like their father warned. "I'm just trying to get my bearings, that's all. This is all so strange for me."

"Understandable. You were healing a long time," Echo nods. His sister does the same continuing the strange mimicry both twins exhibit constantly.

Truly, my grasp of time and space has been lost in all this. The least I can do is figure out the when and where. This can give me a time frame of the army's movements and how long the battle ran after I blacked out. "Define a long time."

Marc starts to count fingers onto her second hand, stops, then shrugs it all off. "Over a week at least, probably two."

Okay, time to panic.

"What?!" I shout out in the still air. The magnitude of my outburst is enough to cause the twins to jump from their seats. The General's silent vigil is interrupted with the brief glint of his narrowed red eyes shifting to the side. His hand is quick to glide in one swift motion toward the closest weapon at hand, pausing only when he sees the source of his disturbance is me.

I've risen part way before my back reaches a limit that transcends uncomfortable to searing pain. I crumple forward with a stifled groan that's bit back behind clenched teeth. My hands collapse to my knees and leave me suspended in motion until my limbs stop shaking from the sharp stabbing accosting all my nerves.

Both kids leap to their feet and take a respective arm in support. They ease me down, babbling in panic beyond the reddened haze flooding my vision.

"Careful, you might injure your human self again!" Echo says to me in warning. He lingers at my side while Marc moves to get me some water. I take the metal cup in gratitude. I wait for my breaths to slow and color to return to the world before taking a sip. The boiled river water has cooled to a comfortable lukewarm that helps loosen my tongue.

"I was unconscious this whole time?" I utter numbly, the dread now a familiar sinking feeling in my gut. I don't miss the irony in this moment allowing a hollow laugh to slip out. "Great, now everyone I know thinks I'm dead."

"Yeah, pretty much," Marc chirps. Echo's head swivels to side to glare at her, then promptly smacks her arm with the back of his hand to illicit a weak yelp of protest from her. "Ow!"

"You fainted from blood loss after that battle. We did what any good servants would do and took you somewhere safe to recover!" Echo says. He stops and looks back at his father. "Well, he did the work. We just picked the spot."

"And, boy, did you really need to! Your squishy shell took a nasty beating." Marc folds her hands behind her back and rocks back and forth on her heels, her head falling to her shoulder in thought. "How terrible to be stuck in something so fragile."

"There was blood everywhere." Echo says with a sweep of his hand over ground. He then brings it up and pinches shut both nostrils so his voice comes out in a muted nasal tone. "You reeked of human. Plegians stink really bad, especially the priests. All dead and stuff."

I can't help giving a long, obvious eye roll. What a shock I smell like a human! Maybe... it's because I am one?! Oh no!

"Where are we?" I ask them. It's the next most obvious question to ask, if not the safest.

Marc's gaze wanders into the air to visualize the local geography. Her finger races and follows an invisible line through several zigzags and curving bends. "Edge of the border crags, maybe five leagues south of the pass?"

"Wha-" I end up sputtering like a fool again. "Why would you take me here?"

The twins both look to their father then cast a side glance to each other. Echo is one who chooses to elaborate. "Tantibus' spies don't patrol down here. He doesn't because there's nothing of interest for him. Even the wild Risen numbers are low here since there is little to draw them in. It's safe to take you here without the others interfering."

Ylisstol painted a rather sour camaraderie between the children and adults, Pravitus especially. I didn't think it would actually be so bad they would go to such lengths for Grima. The attention they crave from me is motivated by more than loyalty. There's a selfish need to be close to their master in a similar way to Pravitus' rather lustful attentions. Though, the twins are far more innocent in that their desire is more of a childish validation and praise.

"Don't you work together with them? I mean, aren't you supposed to be," I stumble in my sentence over the absurdity I'm about to utter, "my generals?"

My fingers tingle with an itch of sudden agitation. I frown and internally quash the urge, glancing sharply at the General. He's ignoring me with focus elsewhere, but I know that was a projection from him. Listen, big guy! I don't like it any more than you.

The twins remain oblivious to the exchange. Marc is staring down at her toes knocking the tips back and forth. Echo, meanwhile, avoids my eyes by snatching up my food bowl and whisking it away.

"Master, we're faithful to you in every way," he says. "But, we don't have any loyalty to them. We only put up with them because they're useful to making your goal a reality."

"And because you threatened to flay us alive if we didn't get along with them," Marc adds in quickly before ducking her head back down again.

"So you stole me away to recover in these unsanitary woods?" I laugh dimly.

"You're healing too, remember?" Echo continues, dropping the remaining broth in the community pit before discarding my bowl in the dirty pile. "The Ylisseans didn't like what they saw last time. I think the captain of the guard wanted to kill you straight away. She had to be convinced you were suffering from a curse of dark magic."

My brows come together enough to earn a mild headache. What do they mean? I stretch through the fog of my memories searching for an instance this may have happened before.

I gasp to myself, eyes shifting to the empty space beyond the fire's reach. Lucina's words singe a red hot brand into my mind running my blood cold. "The night of the assassination," I whisper.

Lucina told me she saw that the brand had activated in my fight with Letum. In doing so, she thought I had shown myself as the actual Grima since that's what happened when the dragon powers activated. That same night, I sustained some pretty nasty burns from collapsing in the same fountain that injured Letum. Did those marks activate to heal me then too? No one but Lucina mentioned the marks. I assume that meant only she saw them. But, Captain Nethys didn't reach me until after the royal siblings reunited with the future kids and myself. I was already fished out of the fountain and being healed by Lissa. So if Nethys saw then that means...

Suddenly Libra's inconvenient lack of understanding over my condition makes sense. He avoided my pleas for help in regards to my amnesia. Curiously, he had strange words of advice to offer.

---

"I am truly sorry to see this is afflicting you in such a way. It appears to be causing you much stress. So I wish to ask, has anyone mentioned their own thoughts on the matter regarding your condition?"

"Sort of. Why?"

He continues to fuss with his basket even as he advises me. "Perhaps you should try asking about once again. I feel like you may receive the help you need if you try a bit harder. Two heads together are much stronger than one. After all, if you do not know yourself well enough, why not the ones closest to you?"

"I sort of doubt that," I mumble like a depressed child.

"Yet, I feel as though it would do you some good to try."

---

Oh my God. They...they know, don't they? He knows!

Marc blathers on beyond the grainy haze of my crumbling thoughts. "Yep, totally freaked them out. Of course they didn't know it was just your natural healing function, but what else can you expect from humans?"

"If some of the other soldiers found you, it would cause problems," Echo says. "I doubt they would have looked at you and ignored it."

"Master Grima, I hate to say it," Marc concludes for them both, "but it's best if the Ylisseans don't know who you are until you're strong enough again. If they figure out your human shell is protecting your true soul, things may get ugly."

Echo is quick to add, a dim golden light flickering up in his eyes under the mask. "Not that we wouldn't intervene right away, but one of them may get a lucky shot in on you. Some of those humans are proving to be more skilled than we give them credit for. Nothing like the warriors we fought in the past." He pauses in thought, then corrects himself. "I mean the future. Hm, that's all weird now, isn't it?"

"Master did a really good job killing off the best fighters in the first months. No one left really put up a challenge." Marc rubs the visible bottom of her chin with one hand. She speaks with a hint of appraisal. "But, that bald guy from the north was okay."

Echo, however suppresses a shudder and presses both hands to each opposite arm. "The Khan? He almost took my wing off. It's a good thing you used that pink-haired lady to distract him or I'd be one lame dragon."

"Literally," Marc snickers into her hand.

They laugh together, but I can only blink in mortification. Are they...are they talking about Basilio and Olivia? My fears elevate to a point of being unable to breathe, transfixed by such a horrible image. These kids are that capable of using life in heinous ways like that? I feel ill. My head is swimming.

"Are you feeling okay?" Echo asks, extending a hand in concern towards me. He stifles the action, freezing up. He yanks his hand back and hides it deep under his cloak as if ashamed. "I know you're always strong and everything, you are the Fell Dragon. But-" He trails off, perhaps biting his lip in wonder whether to point out my condition. Grima clearly hated to be painted weak. He's actually afraid. God, what a moral complex this is. What do I do? This makes no sense. Grima treats them like garbage but they still care so much despite the abuse and fear?

"You...you care a lot about my well-being." It's a blunt statement, devoid of emotion aside from the cold hard truth. Yet, they aren't perturbed in the least.

"Of course we do," Marc sings in praise. "You're our master! Avenger of our kind! The voice of dragons everywhere."

"And we would know our master anywhere," Echo responds in equal fervor. "Even if you don't remember, we do."

"Then you're the first people I've met who seem so sure of this predicament I'm in." I laugh harshly, a bitter sound of resentment I feel vibrating in the ache of my ribs. I don't get it. Why such extreme devotion? What did a creature so vile as Grima do to deserve their undying loyalty?

Marc leans in at the waist and pinches her finger together just shy of together to emphasize her question. "You still don't remember anything at all? Not even a little?" I shake my head in blatant refusal. Nothing has changed, at least in regards to their view of Grima. It hardly deters her enthusiasm as she addresses her sibling accomplice in reaffirming their mission. "We'll have to work twice as hard to help Master Grima then."

"That's another reason we brought you so far out. We want you to remember what you were meant to do," Echo explains. "Avenging dragon-kind and all that we stood for."

Ah. Crap. That's right. They want to kill everyone.

Marc sort of stumbles from her imaginary podium. Her brother's words are not what she was thinking based on the short void of silence and long stare that follows. She attempts to cover up her surprise with a quick laugh and overly forced conjecture. "Um...yeah. That too. That's... that's totally sort of a big thing."

Echo comes and stands before me. Eagerness radiates off of him. He wants to be even closer, but holds himself stiffly at a distance, hands wringing together in a plea to be heard. "I know you've been with the humans and that's probably confused you, but you have to trust us."

The more the twins talk, the more I can feel each word stab into my gut. Or, is it their father's? It seems he finds it harder and harder to prevent strong feelings from leaking out, and they're only making me feel more overwhelmed in the face of these two. His children are utterly brainwashed.

"They're evil. Nefarious. Manipulative. All-consuming," Echo preaches from his soap box, pacing across the central space in irritation. "And they're just destructive. All they do is argue and kill each other. Nothing ever gets done."

"Plus they hate anything that isn't like them. All of us dragons," Marc pipes up from over his shoulder.

Echo stops next to a mess of personal belongings. He reaches down to retrieve a book from the top of it. He brushes off the weathered cover and brings it to me. He holds it in offering for me to take.

The cover is faded of almost all design save for the deeply etched letters on the cover. The gold letters have flaked away to only the grooves in a flourished calligraphy unknown to me. There's a sense of familiarity the more I stare, but the words don't fit to a proper memory. It shares a similarity to early Archaenean though.

Echo places a hand on the corner and opens the cover to the ancient pages within. The cream white has long discolored among foreign stains and fresh tears. Inside, the text scrawls in great lengths with illustrations of beautifully etched dragons between the passages.

"Our legacy is gone," Echo laments with a fond stoke over the brittle pages. "Our empire is nothing but dust and rubble. We even tried to coexist in a world with humans and the creatures that call kin to nature. Even then, humans came and destroyed it all. The people like that Taguel the Ylisseans foster are all but gone. We dragons are reduced to...to nothing! They stole the world from everyone not like them for the selfish goals they have!"

Marc skips up behind Echo and slings an arm over his shoulder, snickering in his ear. "Echo is very passionate about our history."

"Marc, stop," he whines, pushing her away. "We aren't supposed to be...you know..." He tips his head toward me, warning her under a hushed breath.

Marc freezes and leaps back as if she had touched a hot oven top. "O-oh. Right. Sorry, Master. That wasn't us bonding or anything. I was getting ready to, uh, punch him in the gut to test his awareness. Like you always said, we should be alert to the surroundings at all times."

Are they really that afraid of showing affection in front of me? What in the actual hell Grima? They're siblings! I am so over this. I drop my head into my hands, massaging my temples. "So this goes beyond healing. Sounds like the primary motive is to get me away from the humans."

"We have no alternative motives against you, Master, only to help!" Marc says in a dramatic outburst. "And maaaybe that involved getting away from them for a little bit."

Okay. Alright, this is not what I expected. I mean, I never presumed a tidy little round up of all these answers. I just didn't expect...No I did understand this was an alternative. My sympathy for the twins' plight blinded me to Lucina's warnings. I can't continue this without thought put into it. I share a gaze with their father, his cold glare adding only further warning to what I already know. I need a plan.

"I think I need to go back to sleep again," I utter, stretching in exaggeration to exhibit my sudden tiredness.

"You do?" There's an exaggerated pause in Marc's speech as if she's waiting for me to change my mind. She eventually slumps down, head hanging. "I guess so. You do have to recover."

Echo seems mindful of my condition and agrees more heartily than his sister. "Until this goes away, your body will continue to repair itself. Rest is important."

I look down at my palm and stretch out my pitch colored digits. I would rather see this go away now, but what can I do?

"After you get up again and feel better, we can do something about your memories, help you remember," Marc says, hands pressing together in exclamation.

Marc's enthusiasm spreads and Echo appears just as assertive in his goal as she."We're going to do whatever it takes to help, Master Grima! You're in the best of hands. We'll make sure you get back to normal in no time."

The best of hands you say? I, uh, don't know about that. I guess time will tell. But honestly, I think I'd rather take my chances elsewhere. I sink far behind the barricade separating me from the trio on the other side. Even here, I can feel the weight of the General pressing down on me. I'm not sure what I fear most: the twins, their father, or my own damn hand. Gods save me, this is going to be a long recovery.

---

A/N: It's NaNoWriMo, my friends. Send some well wishes to all your writing acquaintances out there! Good luck to all!

---

Reader Reviews:

ElementUchihaMaster- Thanks! Infrequent updates are probably to blame for deja vu. I can't even remember when I last update sometimes! Glad you enjoyed the chapter though!

Raging Berserker - Theories! Yes! I was hoping to get a little reaction from everyone. Stir things up and ignite the plot again. With Valm now scheming, it adds a new layer to the tension. Exciting!

Xoraan – I knew when I first started planning this story that the Valmese war, if anything, would have to change. The butterfly effect at play is too strong for that. As for what I planned to happen, you'll all see eventually. Grima may still be the overarching fear plaguing everyone in the future, but the road to the final boss has been ripped up in favor of a detour. Rewriting an entire portion of the game was tricky, but I planned a lot. Seriously, tons of graph charts.

Guest/Animeseris – No matter what language the review was in, it still made me smile! I'm glad the mystery interlude got you so excited. Lots of new information to process and apply to theories you may have. Things are always changing! I promise more information is on the way. Given who Robin is with now, there's ample opportunity for her to learn more. I hope it doesn't disappoint!

Thanks again for the reviews! Even as a native English speaker I fail at grammar, so no worries. It's always a pleasure to read your reviews!

3liManning – Everyone has their own theories about this interlude. I love it and am reveling in the chaos. All I can continue to say is that the story still has a lot left to unveil. It's a tricky plot so expect everything and nothing. Quite a bit should be coming out soon so maybe that will help settle things for you. Or maybe it will make it worse, ha ha!

Thanks for sticking around all these years! Crazy to say but it's the truth. Now, the real fun in the plot begins!

drmonicblood – Mystery POV does have some strong, rather warped opinions, doesn't she? Not the sort of enemy you'd like to have. Time will tell what will happen and what she may be planning next ;)

Thanks for reading!

SuperVegitoFAN – Oh gravy, all seven books make up the one million word count? Suddenly I'm very glad this did not turn into a multiple entry saga like initially planned!

As for your question, the answer will come soon.

Cdiz – I guess we'll have to see what happens when all the respective parties meet. I will agree though that mystery guest will be a force to be reckoned with. Valm will not be an easy opponent if things come to blows.

Thank you. I'm excited to start bringing the pieces together. This chapter is just the start of things falling into place!

QuoteMyFoot – Yes, the plot is a bit more tighter in regards to the speed of the overarching themes. Though I think this last interlude gives a good hint that the story's time frame will be different to Awakening's. Events are not going to play out as similarly as one might imagine. It should be a fun ride! The break helped me realize that and the restructuring a much needed chore to be done. I believe this will work out for everyone in the end. I can't wait to get to the next big scenes!

MechaKingGhidorah100 – I got more bombs coming, so hold on to your butts. The twins are here and they have a lot to say if Robin asks the right questions! I love reading your theories and excitement over all the little things coming to light. I'd comment more, but I'll let you reviewers see how everything plays out naturally. There's a few more twist and turns to this little tragedy. Whether our current Robin can turn it around is the major concern.

Happy reading!

Nix98 – Aw, thank you! It's reviews like this which remind me why I love writing! This chapter certainly wakes up some interesting implications, doesn't it? Plenty more to come, too! The story is finally shifting the plot toward answers and a few more surprises! Hope the story continues to impress!

MakaMaka – Oh no, please feel free to rant away! Aside from getting it off your chest, it shows I've made some success in creating good villains. I don't apologize for any of them. They're all flawed and human, so the choices they make leave them at risk to whatever justice may find suitable for them. Mystery POV is no different. Her past sins haunt her and perhaps her own brand of redemption isn't even that great. Time will tell what revelations and actions may occur, but I hope you readers remain satisfied with the end result when it does. I enjoyed your review. It was passionate and well thought out! You're probably validated in your anger too. Though I won't say anymore and let you find out as the story unfolds!

I watched Black Butler a very long time ago so the plot is rather fuzzy for me. I know the ending left me feeling very unsettled, in a good way. I do remember loving the arc with Ciel's aunt. I'll have to go back and re-watch it someday. I'd love to see the parallels between them.

Forgotmylogin – Ha, ha. Mission accomplished :)

Just wait, there's plenty more to come! Enjoy!

ImReallyShort – I would guess, if following Awakening's plot, that Grima would probably have been stopped at least temporarily if Validar and Aversa were defeated by Valm. Excellus could easily have identified them as the biggest threats. Without someone to identify Robin as the vessel, the brand could have died out with Robin until a new super baby was bred. As for this world and Valm...you'll have to see. Actually, that's true for any answers regarding this chapter ;) Though to clarify, Morgan is the boy and Marc is the girl in this realm.

Thanks for the review! Hope you enjoy these upcoming chapters!

Rationalism – Ha, ha, I was hoping for a good reaction like that. Either excitement, confusion, or a mixture of both. Whatever is coming, it will an epic confrontation of powers.

Rileva – Hi there, welcome to the story! Thanks for giving it a read despite the daunting word count! I wish I knew who put in such a lovely suggestion! I don't get to read fanfics as much as I used to so I don't know who they are, but I offer up a heartfelt thanks for doing so!

I see you've reviewed a few chapters so I'll try to cover whatever I can across all of them!

As you've discovered, I've introduced a lot of characters earlier on. I think it's a bit unfair that the kids are relegated to the second half of the game. I wanted them to get as much exposure as the other main cast. And I agree that Lucina having to trail-blaze alone was just too sad. It wouldn't make sense either that after all these cycles she would not have gone after her friends now that she knows where they emerge in the time traveling shenanigans. She's working against something larger than life, she needs all the help she can! You'll encounter others like Libra as well for the same reasons. Robin's routine is changed from the original plot so she'll cross paths with other characters at different times and learn more about them than the game allowed. Makes for fun new scenes to read.

As for the other characters, you'll have found out about Marc and Echo by now. As for the other siblings, they are a mystery for another day!

Miriel, and all the Shepherds for that matter, will get some screen time with Robin. They all have their own arcs to achieve something close to their end game slides as the story goes. I have a special love for Miriel though so she does tend to get some great scenes, ha ha.

Spooky bits are spooky. There's a lot of horror themes that pop up thanks to the Risen and general state of Grimleal magic, so be prepared. I'm a sucker for horror tropes so they sneak in a lot :D

That coat is swaggin, isn't it? Another small, but subtle touch to showing that our Robin is much different than the last. One of my reviewers actually created a visual design of the coat a while back. It's floating around on my tumblr and their deviant art. Same one who did my user profile picture if you want to see. Giving Robin her own iconic coat felt like the right thing to do in proving she's her own character, you know?

Let's see...I'm happy to see you're enjoying the lesser elements of the story. Bits like magic mechanics or side stories like the cooking chapters have no influence on the overall plot. But, it makes for an integral addition to the world building. Characters grow more complex and the world seems more alive with the new interactions going on. Even the Einherjar have their own system. The ones you come across will act as voices for past lore and as guides to helping the characters. They won't overtake the plot but act as further aids in enhancing the characters already in the spotlight. I've got a system of checks and balances on them so they won't be overpowered. Have no fear!

Frederick the Homie. I like it. That gave me a good chuckle. The two have a strange sibling-ish relationship and it will only get better from here. If you caught up to this part, then two chapters ago provided my favorite of their exchanges. They're polar opposites yet still managed to create a wonderful camaraderie. I've tried to have Robin exhibit a good relationship with all the Shepherds. From her better friends like Virion and Sumia, to lesser like Sully and Vaike, she's gotten time to bond with all of them. The Shepherds are a diversified bunch whose different outlooks helped mold Robin along the way and strengthen her.

Anyway, that's the bulk of it I think. Feel free to comment or leave questions, if not. I'll answer what I can without invoking spoilers. I appreciate the reviews and dedication to writing them. I hope all is well on your side of the world. Don't feel forced to write for the sake of writing. Enjoy the story and review when the muse moves you!

QuantumObserver - Greetings for the first time and also welcome back! It has been a journey, hasn't it? For both the characters and myself, plenty has changed. I think we've all matured and grown a lot in our respective skills. It's been a pleasure to have gone through this adventure together and I'm excited for all the plot to finally start coming to fruition!

Lucina has been a test in writing perseverance over the course of the story. Developing her from severe mistrust to the quiet admiration she developed for Robin has been a slow and subtle thing. It's taken a long time for her to heal. She has lifetimes of distrust and I've had a heavy task of showing the shift in allegiance while Lucina learns to differentiate between the mother that broke her heart and the foreign yet identical figure now in that place. If there is one character who has exhibited the core strengths of humanity, it's her. Lucina's arc is all about finding herself. She never gave up her mission, but lost herself in it. Watching her recover and slowly rediscover herself over time has been a delicate, but rewarding arc to create. And, of course, her relationship with Robin is one of my favorites thanks to that complexity.

Overall, thanks for the lovely compliments. I'm so glad you reignited an interest in it and hope not disappoint!

Crusader Jerome – Hi there! Thanks for taking the time to stop by and read the story! Really, I applaud you. I wish I had time to binge like that anymore. I'm lucky getting a chapter read between my lunch breaks. I bow to your reading prowess! Also, welcome to writing scene! It's a great community to jump into so best of luck on your works!

I'm happy to hear the story has given some inspiration to push your boundaries in writing. Write to the point of your own comfort. While I have a general outline of how I'd like certain chapters to go, I'm more of a free flow writer that's keeps going until I stop. That's why some chapters are so long. I start expanding and adding as I go with finer details not included in the broader summaries I write up per chapter. Nothing is wrong with scene breaks here and there, nor is there for natural transitions between. Go with whatever works. Don't force transitions cause that how you work up writer's block or stray off course. Hope that helps some for you!

As for the help you offered, thanks much! I'm glad you pointed that out. As you noticed, some earlier laws of grammar I broke got corrected by reviewers pointing them out to me, though I tend to slip on occasion. It's nice to have it pointed out since we fanfiction writers don't come usually come equipped with editors. I'll keep an eye on that in the future!

Thanks for the great review and good luck with the story! Sounds like an interesting crossover. The Einherjar already open the door for a similar system in the games so adapting the two series together should be easier than some, and full of possibilities!

Fianna's Lover – Ah, sorry about that. The chapter is meant to be a curve ball and intentionally vague. Basically there is a new enemy on the field and she's tied to Valm. I leave it up to the readers to guess who. I'm not revealing anything else yet, this was just a taste of what's to come. Some of the other reviewers have their own good breakdowns of what they thought if you want to give them a look! Thank you for reading! I'm fired up for the next few chapters and ready to go!

KP1234 – I think the main theme of the story is, "Why are there so many questions?" This story is a complex beast! I promise that some good bits are coming soon!

I agree that it's always a gamble to change the POV on a reader, especially to an unknown one. Every interlude I've had, with the exception of Lucina's, leaves me pondering the state of its clarity. I typically like to utilize them as views into the villains' side to show their next moves and motivations, usually ending in a more dramatic fashion. This last interlude is modeled like the after credit scenes in movies where you have five seconds to watch, analyze, and understand a cliffhanger. I intended for it to be ambiguous and stir up some frantic thoughts. Of course, I didn't want to make it too obscure and out there is would be a jarring to the reader, as you stated. I can breathe a sign of relief it wasn't a terrible risk to take.

Mystery POV had a lot of good lines last chapter, but I did enjoy writing that one myself. One of her most poignant lines and certainly shapes up a vital point of her character.

Guest – Well hello there if we haven't spoken before! Thanks for sticking around so long! It's had some ups and downs, but the story is starting to finally come out in full! Prepare for plenty more twists! The last chapter was just a taste of how dramatically things may shift in the future.

Thank you! I'm sure Robin would appreciate the compliment too. I think one of the things I wanted to do to make the story "crisp and fresh," like you suggested, was alter up the very POV that players take hold of in the game. Awakening's Robin is very sound of mind and adjusts instantly to being thrown in a war at the same time of coping with traumatic amnesia. To really grasp the severity of Awakening's plot, and the new parts added to this story, I needed a different persona. How would things be different if Robin were an everyday Joe handling the scenario? Instead of charisma and genius, our Robin gets along with empathy and a sharp wit. Similar, but different. A dash of humor in all these dark plots certainly helps!

Well, if you liked the twins, here you are! It's their time to shine! I didn't forget about them, they just needed a bit of their own growth before crossing paths to where they are now!

Oh geez, well I wish you the best of luck on the rest of the year! I went to school for programming so academically intense degree choices can really bog you down. I didn't think I would ever make it through my degree, but just persevere. That's a reason I'm still at this story. I don't give up because on the day I finish this, the feeling of accomplishment will be like no other. It might be tough now, but I guarantee that if you believe you can see a task through to the end then reaching the final product will be worth it. Just embracing your own sense of self-worth and accomplishment is the best reward. Keep on working toward the end goal you most want to carry through, even if it's just your school year!

And, wow, thank you for that final compliment. I think everyone knows about Invisible Ties. It's one of the most prodigious fanfictions in the Fire Emblem community. They're fundamentally different pieces, but to be considered on the same tier is an honor. No matter how or when, I do plan on finishing this to an end. That being said, I'll see you at the finish line!

DD360 – Hi there! I know you're reviewing on Chapter 11 so hopefully you make it to this review response someday, ha, ha! I see you caught on to one of my little mechanics twists. I tried to convert several of the elements from the physical game into the story. Robin's map and roster are a nod to the player's UI. The ability for the player to "reset" mistakes is integrated with the original Robin's time traveling shenanigans. You'll encounter other game aspects as well later on. I think the fusion of the game bits did pretty well and made the story have an interesting development to it!

Toxicant – It's my pleasure! If someone takes the time to offer up an opinion or critique, it's only fair to respond in kind! But, by all means, have no worries about reviewing! Sometimes there's reason to comment on a chapter, and sometimes it's fine to just sit back and enjoy the manuscript for what it is. As long as the read was an enjoyable one for you, that's all I need know! I do appreciate the observations you commented on this chapter! I had an extra amount of time dedicated to scrutinizing the tone and verbiage of the speaker to reflect a seasoned, yet embittered veteran of warfare.

Anyway, best of luck on your exams!

xSwissChrisx – There's still a good chunk of plot left so definitely plenty left to happen, even more things still unconfirmed! That's the fun part of having a story with so many layers, you never know what may happen next! Keep on guessing! Even the most obvious of points might have another twist behind it!