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...

57. Chapter 57

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

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Chapter 57

"How?" My voice cracks to life, the first words I can utter after the long bout of silence. My eyes drift up from the grass patch I had been lost in for an unidentified amount of time. The General hasn't moved from his vigil, not even a thread out of place. I wonder how I look to him right now. Tired? I feel that way.

"What do you mean?" His voice is a cautious hum that vibrates through my form. He approaches the question with a quiet tone that has me hoping for more patience between us. Perhaps such an earth-shattering revelation has allowed him to cast some pity on me?

My neck muscles stretch and ache with the sharp incline of my face. I have been lost so long in meditation that everything simply locked up. The release of such tension leaves a tinge of exhaustion to the verbal exchange. "They're really Grima's children?"

He offers a solemn nod. There's no need for words. Just that simple act alone is a heavy enough consignment to the facts. My head drops back into my hands, cradled as it shakes back and forth in denial. I feel as if I've been hollowed out and filled with lead. This heavy weight of dread is the worst sense of being I've felt in a long time.

"This is not good," I whisper. I bite hard on my lip, enough to threaten blood flow. My head spins unable to understand, no, fathom this type of information! "Everything I know about Grima paints the dragon as a sociopathic death god bent on destroying the world. No part of that image ever implied domesticity, or familial longing, or...or- "

"You would be right," he says.

Fingers weave through my hair and pull hard at the roots. My eyelids press together, banishing the wandering thoughts plaguing my mind with all the 'what-ifs' this could lead to. "Then why in seven bleeding hells are those children here?"

My outburst rips through the air like a knife. It leaves behind a ragged silence that bleeds out the weight of the unknown between the General and I. It's funny how one sentence has changed everything. We went from strangers to...to...God! I don't know what!

"I'm sorry. Sorry." My palms rub over my cheeks in exasperation. "Yelling won't help."

Leaves crackle and branches snap under his movement. He walks past my curled up form and stands to overlook the frothing river beside us. I hear the rustle of his cape on a sweet smelling breeze that whips up a mixture of pine needles and flowers. "Grima would have done so, along with enacting on the general destruction of any object within reach. Grima may have been considered mature in age by dragon standards, but often exhibited a pouting mentality befitting a child."

I throw a hard look at the back of his armor. My teeth grind through each punctuated syllable. "I. Am. Not. Grima!"

A bone-dry rasp of a chuckle escapes him. The General's helmet grinds to the side to allow one red iris clear vision over his shoulder. "We return to my earlier question from before; what are you then?"

"I am-" Words seize up. My confidence shutters under growing doubts first planted in the gardens of Ylisstol months ago. I drag my branded hand away from my face and turn it over. The monstrous veins are a telling reminder that nothing is as it seems anymore. I swallow the lump in my throat and cast my hand aside, turning my vision in the opposite direction. "I'm Robin. Isn't that enough?"

The General's body shifts weight from one leg to the other. He rests the bend of his arm on the scabbard hanging at his side. He turns in part toward me, though he continues to gaze at the waters. "No, it isn't. I will not trust what I cannot understand." The hardened edge falters. "Not entirely, anyway. If you were as human as you say, you would not feel the children as dragons do, nor would such empathy be shared back."

He pauses, then continues. "You would not have killed your attackers so efficiently and with so little remorse as you did back in our last battle."

"You call me killing that Grimleal priest with a tree trunk efficient?" My laughter is dark and pitiful. I rub at a patch of wetness in the corner of my eye with the back of my hand. "Crafty? Sure. But, I wouldn't call it stylish."

"I do not speak of that death." The comment earns him a confused glance that propels him to gesture to my back with his hand. "I'm speaking of those who gave you that wound."

Muscles stretch with annoyance when I reach around my back. Fingers brush over the material of my shirt to feel the hard nob scabbed over my healing wound. I flinch, the experience a horrific blur my mind fumbles with in understanding.

"You don't remember."

My arm comes back and joins with the other to fold over my chest. I hug myself tightly, counting leaves on the ground. "It's too painful to recall."

"I see." There's a brief respite in the conversation. I feel a lingering hesitation from him, the anxious churn before taking a plunge. "Before I continue, I wish to do something."

I look up to him. "What is it?"

There's a shift in the light. He does his magic and moves through shadows, appearing before me in the blink of an eye. I startle enough to mold myself up against the rock behind me, though that hardly offers any space between us. Tendrils of darkness scatter like dust off his shoulders. Despite the foreboding look, his request is nothing but calm. "Command me to do something."

I blink at him in rapid succession. The air I had been holding in my lungs comes out in a sputtering burst of surprise. He doesn't miss a beat, his tone as even and clear as before in the repetition of his request. "Command me to act. Just as Grima would."

"I fail to see the point in this." I give him a good ten or so seconds of silence just to make sure this wasn't a joke. Realizing it wasn't, my mouth opens and closes several times before my brain can produce the simplest of tasks for his request. "Alright, never mind. Things are already weird, so I'll indulge you. How about, uh, can you touch your toes?"

I don't feel anything, and he continues to remain standing as he was. The red of his eyes slowly extinguishes to the loud, disappointed exhale from under his visor. He stands to full height and adjusts the alignment of his helmet. "I said to issue an order. I can disobey a polite request. Use more authority and deliver an actual command. Be forceful with me in your demands."

"Saucy! Didn't take you for the type of guy to be into that sort of thing." I laugh weakly, my taste in humor making an unfortunate comeback. "Usually I require more time to get to know someone before- "

A hostile force of disapproval rushes up the back of my head like a direct swat from his own hand. "Never mind," I say with a squeak. It takes a moment to regather my strength. I have to puff my chest out and dig deep to authorize him with my booming command. "Okay fine! I- I order you to touch your toes!"

That sends a shock wave through me. An electrifying buzz of energy that holds my voice and carries it through the powers between us. The general makes a pained grunt, eyes shutting tight. His fists ball up at his sides and creak with the efforts he makes to ignore the order. His disobedience is challenged by a massive violet colored rune that sizzles in sparks off his armor. The six eyes woven expertly through the border are a clear signature of the master's work.

It's like puppet strings are attached to the General's body by some divine being. He jerks unnaturally at the waist and bows forward with a comedic droop of the arms. It leaves the rerebraces and vambraces of his armor screeching in protest. The supernatural forces that have a hold on the General don't relent until the tips of both gauntlets reach his feet. Once performed, the sigil on his armor disappears in a flash of blinding light.

His body sags with the release of his possessed joints. I scramble off the ground, kicking up dirt in my trail. I throw my arms around his own left one and lean back with all my weight to anchor his swaying body. He suffers a period of discombobulation, placing a hand over his visor to help shake off the feeling.

"Oh geez! Okay, alrighty. I am so sorry, big guy!" I fumble out my apology between awkward pats to his shoulder pauldron. "I will not do that again."

The hollow ringing through his armor comes to an abrupt halt when his hand jumps up to my wrist. The first squeeze is painful enough to bring tears to my eyes, followed by a muffled yelp of pain blocked only by my tightly pressed lips. The General's searing glare grows into one of wide realization, and his vice-like grip slackens. The General turns his back to me while I nurse my throbbing hand up against my chest. "I... apologize. That was reflex."

"Sure," I say, squinting in mild irritation.

"I do mean that." He allows me a few seconds to shake away the tingling in my fingers. The General's sincerity remains short-lived as his usual distance builds between us with another warning. "Also, know that I mean this as well; that was a one time occurrence. I will not allow you to command me so again in good faith. My point, however, is made."

"I saw the seal," I admit with a grimace. It only drags me down more with the weight of the knowledge adding to the revelations surrounding me. "Grima's magic reacts to my own."

"And I will react to your bidding," he adds bitterly. "I am under your control, as I was Grima."

"That makes me uncomfortable." My hand drops to my side. I turn my face to look back at the empty path towards our camp. I feel nothing from the twins there. They must have left or simply moved further away. Maybe hunting for dinner like I suggested? "This just keeps getting worse and worse. I promise you, I've never once used this kind of magic before. I don't even know what it is! Dark magic?"

"The darkest sort."

"Great. I can't wait to guess what this has to do with what we were talking about earlier." There's another pause from him causing a heavy burst of laughter to erupt from me as I shake my head. "Let me guess, something Grima-ish happened then and I'm not going to like it."

He shifts again, slipping through the seams of the world until he materializes under the long-reaching shadow of an elm. We stand as two lost individuals, so close yet so far in the space between us. Despite the situation, the forest appears alive and unhindered by our drama. The trees break along the river bank allowing an open view of the sky's pristine blue above. No clouds hinder the midday sun allowing sunlight to filter in among the leaves. Fractals catch over the water's surface giving the mirage of diamonds flowing under the surface. Even over the rush of water, the air is alive with the far off chatter of wildlife. The world continues to move on oblivious to our problems. And we do have problems, based off what the General says next.

"You did use that power to your advantage."

My mouth goes dry. I stare down at my hands, flexing the fingers open and closed with extreme confusion. My frustration comes out in a desperate plea for clarification. "When? I would never consciously force someone to my bidding. That's just morally twisted."

"You know that assailants attacked you. I could not identify them in the haste of the moment. Your injury triggered the self-defense runes upon my armor. I was compelled to your side to respond to a threat." His gauntlet rests on his chestplate over where the sigil formerly burned. "I handled the male of your attackers."

"There were two. A man and a woman." I try to recall the missing pieces, but they melt away into the murky pond that has also swallowed up much of my past. An unseen force field preventing me from remembering events, traumatizing as they were. The more I press my recollection, the harsher the anxiety. It gets to points where it takes a long time to stop my hands from shaking. It's frustrating, and it causes me to ball up my fists and press them to the sides of my head. "What happened? Why haven't we spoke of it? I just assumed it was some Plegian stealth personnel checking in on the massacre."

I hear his armor move. He glides a short distance away, but remains parallel to me. "They were not dressed like Plegians. Mercenaries, perhaps? But even war bands carry the call signs of their units in some fashion as badges of both pride and allegiance. Those two were in nondescript apparel with unmarked weapons and armor."

My eyes snap open, struggling to understand. "Are you saying they belonged to a third party?"

"I don't know. Perhaps so, perhaps not. That is the least we should worry of though. For after your body sustained that injury, the seals Grima placed on me went into effect. If ever in danger, I am forcibly pulled to Grima's side to dispatch all enemies." The metal around his fingers screech with each flex he makes, as if imagining them tearing through something. The ominous gesture is only intensified by the chilled reveal of his next words. "I charged the male attacker and grabbed hold of him. I pulled and tore until there was no threat left to be dealt with."

I blink again, slower. I can almost taste the bitter death surrounding the General, the burden of the destruction he caused flowing freely between us. Whatever was done, it was a slaughter. Nothing was left behind to be seen. That makes Grima's power all the more frightening in being able to reduce him to such animalistic, or should I say Risen-fueled, instincts.

I press a hand over my mouth, stifling any outbursts of emotions swirling in me. I'm trying, and struggling, to keep a level head about this. Panicking won't help. But faced with such dark powers potentially holding us for ransom, I... It takes a lot to whisper out anything after that. "What of the woman?"

This time the General struggles to answer. He casts his gaze away, conflicted over something. The silence only makes the wait longer. It leaves my stomach in a nauseous state like what follows a good punch to the gut. I feel my knees starting to wobble and I just want to lie down again. After a final, drawn out breath, I see the light behind his visor extinguish. "You killed her."

"She tried to kill me!" I state in my defense. I start to babble faster and faster, an unbroken word stream that is trying to give reason to the madness I just heard. I clasp my branded hand behind the other and press it tight to my chest as if praying this would all go away. "That woman stabbed me in the back. I was bleeding out on the ground. How could I have... I mean, I remember darkness and- and I remember pain then- "

Then what? I can't recall. All the pain and panic slipped away. I was swallowed up in a cold darkness promising me the comfort of silence. I felt-

"Nothing." I whisper out loud the final summation of my thoughts. I grasp my hand tighter. The salty tang of blood slips between my teeth from where it broke the skin on my lips. I turn my begging gaze on the General, a silent plea to be believed. I'm greeted with a dim flare of his eyes. He lets loose a powerful backlash of fear that leaves me reeling.

"I felt the anger," the General says to me. His arm raises to chest level, the deep purple of his cloak slipping off the metal armor and flowing aside to remind me of the weapons he currently carries. Ones that he could very well kill me with right now. A single digit points toward my right hand. "Grima's anger."

The General advances swiftly toward me, but I'm rooted to the ground in petrification. I think he's going to end me here and now, but he stops his advance a hairsbreadth before me. We stand toe to toe and face to face, so close I can smell the musk of decay on his breath. His voice grates against the inside walls of my skull like fingernails raking down the bone.

"When reason returned to me, I went to you. I found your attacker was already dead." He raises both hands and slams the gauntlets together. The metal ringing sends two birds flapping out of the tree overhead. "Your hands were still around her throat, blood freshly pouring through the gore coating your fingers. The woman's neck was crushed through until both your palms had pressed together in full. It was a miserable, painful death she endured."

I choke back a gasp, gaping widely at him. My whole body is nothing but a shaking mess. The General doesn't stop there. He just keeps talking. "You were laughing. The same gods' damned laugh that remains burned inside my mind throughout this afterlife I've been cursed with. Seeing you sitting there laughing with death and blood all around, I felt as if I was in the likeness of Grima."

He extends a hand out, drawing his palm only inches before my face. His fingers splay out and block my view, reaching but never touching. All I can see between the pitch black of his armor is the burning light of his gaze. I remain transfixed to every mind-numbing observation he makes.

"You have the same eyes as Grima. You are different in many ways, but your eyes are the same draconian color I remember so well. All earth dragons have brown shaded eyes, but Grima's amber eyes are different even from them. Almost like a snake's." The pointed tips of each finger on his raised gauntlet curl up as if ready to pluck my eye from my head. "When I looked upon your face, I saw an expression only Grima would wear. It was as if the dragon was once again in front of me. That presence was unmistakeable. Your eyes glowed with the feral glee Grima always wore when upon a kill." He takes a shaky breath, then practically whispers the next part. "I feared you in that moment."

Thinking on these facts makes me remember something. Lucina always did make a habit of staring at me early on in our acquaintance, especially in the eyes. It always puzzled me why she would stare so intently at times. It makes sense now. See, Lucina knew what Grima looked like last cycle. She recognized the similarity and must have been searching for signs of deception in me. Lucina even told me straight out that her mother and I looked alike except in the one difference around the eyes. How was I supposed to know she meant my eyes are the same as the Grima possessed Robin? God, I feel sick.

The General retracts the menacing hand before me, tucking it away to a position of comfort on his sword. He turns away, and the lack of his searing gaze offers me some peace. I struggle to move away. My footsteps lag with a sluggish pace. I shuffle through a haze until I find a mossy patch to collapse into. I fall to my knees and cradle my hand deeper into my clothing. For the first time in a long while, I'm wishing this were a dream to wake up from.

"This disturbs you." His voice floats like a ghost between us, haunting me.

"No shit, genius," my voice snaps with an ugly, defensive sting.

"I... see." Maybe he was expecting some other sort of reaction, because I don't seem to do what he thought. I know he's watching my pathetic meltdown in the corner, nothing but grief pouring out of my soul. It causes his rage to sap away until the heat of his emotions is nothing but a cool bridge between us. He appears to look cautiously down at my slumped form, unsure what actions to take.

"You're anger was so toxic just now," I say, head reeling with denial. Letters rattle together to create ill-formed sentences I can barely utter out loud. "You've threatened me for less already. Why didn't you kill me then when you had a reason to do so?"

"The transformation was brief. As fast as it came, it left. When you realized I was standing there and watching, that anger dissipated as if snatched away. You fell into a comatose state afterward." If the General is capable of holding sympathy or pity for me, I imagine underneath that helmet there might be a flicker of it on his face. He's guarding his mental functions, but failing to withhold all the insecurities of his own. Even as I was before him, he could not find it in him to condemn me. "I felt Grima, but you were also something else. It's not a sensation I could explain well. Too much power for one body to have. The personality of the woman I speak to now was inside, but quelled somehow. Suppressed, but powerful enough to remain. Grima's influence faded under something that felt like the spirit I feel now. It was fighting the darkness back, and then you fainted when the last of that foreign strength dissipated."

Despite it all, I still feel numb. The perfect injection of emotional Novocaine to make my whole body a massive lump of unfeeling. My mind stumbles for anything to say. It whirls around and around for answers to give, sarcasm to lighten the mood, or even anger! I just... I...

"That happened once before. The Einherjar, Marth, said something similar. When he woke on my first summoning of him, he said I felt fuller. My spirit was bigger," I blather mindlessly, as if it would somehow provide the evidence needed to save me from the executioner's block. "But he also said I was still Robin and in no way Grima. That convinced a certain princess enough to not only let me live, but ally with her in this fight."

The General cocks his head, voice reverberating in surprise."The Einherjar said this?"

I wave my hands limply through the air to emphasize the whimsy of the magic I speak of. "Einherjar are bound to my soul and all that. If there's any who would know me to be a charade, it would have been the king of legends himself. He'd have called me out as a masquerading Grima the second I summoned him."

I was going to ask Katarina about Marth's words, but I was always just so busy with everything else in this damn war. It just slipped my mind among all the other pressing issues. God, I wish I could have spoken to her before this. Some clarity would be great right now.

"Is that right?" The General turns away in thought, though I'm not sure if he's perplexed, surprised, or both by the admission. The twins still carry Einherjar, so he knows what they're like. Marth wouldn't lie about this fact. I'm sure this is even more confusing for him than me. I feel like I still need to work my case but...

"Look I- Sorry." The words taper off into what I could barely even call a whisper. The tiny mumble is a delicate echo easily swallowed among nature's sounds. I have no strength to argue, so I resort to the feeling that always seems to plague me when thinks go bad; an overwhelming need to apologize.

The General is close enough to catch it, or some part at least. He turns, eyes shut partially in curiosity. "What?"

"I said I'm sorry." I don't understand where the desperation comes from. It's like the summation of three lifetimes worth of fuck-ups, even if I'm not to blame for two of them. But, someone needs to say it, right? Someone needs to apologize for the lives both ruined and lost by my previous two incarnations. "I'm just- " I gulp in a deep intake of air, my breath shaking. I need to calm down. I can't panic because I fear it may affect the brand somehow. I squeeze my eyes shut and repress the flood of emotions to embrace that previous numbness. "Sorry for it all. I don't know what else to say."

If I hadn't already been through so much, I could easily have curled up in a ball and gone catatonic. It's so easy to fall into that trap. The comfort of oblivion helping to forget about it all. I went through that once before and it didn't help at all. I've built my fortitude since then around a familiar mantra.

Hope will never die.

I've taken Lucina's famous quote and clung to it like a life preserver. If a young woman like Lucina can survive countless cycles as she has by such a philosophy, then so can I. As unbearable and painful as all these truths can be, nothing will ever surmount the pains her, Chrom, and all the Shepherds continue to endure. I can't give in.

I won't give in!

It's then I realize I can feel everything between the General and I. Our connection's floodgates are wide open and he's probably been drowning in waves of my internalized angst. I visibly cringe, turning my face away. My mouth opens to utter an apology when-

"You apologize too much."

Our bond shuts by his own accord, but he's heard, or at least understood, all my thoughts. His reaction is empathetic, as much as he's willing to allow. Even without our shared feelings, the tone he expresses is less chiding and more gentle. Like, a cautious pat to the head of someone you want to comfort but aren't familiar with. Distant, but trying. He's had brief moments before, and I can only assume the parts that want to believe in my humanity are showing through. Unfortunately, it only makes my eyes water harder. Whether he knows or not, that line brings back pangs of familiarity that makes me yearn for familiar faces.

"Someone told me that once," I say while brushing my bangs out of my eyes, a tiny laugh escaping while I do so. I can still remember the incredulous way Chrom exasperated that line, followed by the way we laughed afterward. For his sake, and the future, I'll find a way to stand.

I have to use all my strength, even clawing with my broken fingernails, to climb to my feet again. The General doesn't help, nor does he hinder my efforts. I almost feel like he's appraising my drive to fight with my struggle upward. Well, I'd like to think his intent staring is about that and not about the easiest ways to murder me. I make decent progress and manage to straighten out on my own with minimal cursing. A flicker of a smile appears before collapsing from my tired sigh. It feels like all the energy has been zapped out of me. Even with the boulder for support, I feel myself trembling.

"You are fine now, anyway," I hear the General say. It's a tired conclusion to our affairs today. He's plagued by the worst doubts, I'm sure. The unsureness of his actions taints his conversation. "You feel human enough now. Nothing has returned in such a dire way since. I have been watching for that. Intently."

"Oh, I'm sure you have." My body falls back against the large stone behind me. The sun has warmed its surface and it provides a comfort to my chilled skin. A self-depreciating chuckle slips past my sad smile. "Gods, Grima's got us both right-fucked."

The brutal honesty of my statement causes the General to think a moment before responding with great care. "That is something only time can determine."

It's a relief to hear someone say that, even if neither of us knows the truth. Nothing is definitive yet. Both the good and bad sides still have a chance. The fate of this world is straddling a fine equilibrium that none have claimed to tip in their favor yet. It gives me strength to move on.

"This is dire, I won't lie. But, I'm not giving up. I'm not going to let Grima win. Not like this," I say with a broad stroke of my good hand over the length of my infected arm, "and not in a literal sense either. I'm going to fight this war. Unfortunately, we don't have time. It's working against us. We now have mystery assassins, dragons, cultists, and the fact that I'm allegedly possessed by my own arm."

The General huffs in agreement, lowering his face to the ground in thought. His silence provokes my curiosity, forcing me to voice my concerns. "What about you? You drop the most frightening of revelations and spout promises of not trusting me. So, why don't you tell me for once what to do. You know I want to fight this. How can I help protect this world in a way that's working beside you? What is your plan?"

In a surprising turn, I feel our bond open up fully. The nerve-biting sting of uncertainty brings an unbidden sweat to my brow. Logic tips back and forth on a void of uncertainty, with one slip ending it all. The General lifts his eyes to mine, and I feel the desperation clawing up my skin. "I don't know what to do."

"Then that makes two of us." I rest my weight on my shoulder and draw the edge of my right boot back and forth through a deepening furrow in the dirt. "Well, let's start with the most immediate predicament; the twins. I need to know what to do with them. There were stories about the Robin's children where I come from. Speculation mostly, but Robin was known to have had a child or possibly more. There was definitive knowledge that one of them was at least named Morgan."

"My son," the General says. A warm swell engulfs my chest, akin to the one that I remember fondly when looking to my own mother.

"Wait, really? The boy told me his name was Echo." That admission takes me by surprise. So there is a clear distinction between the twins? The brother does the get unique moniker. Interesting. "Why would he say that? I doubt he would dare lie to Grima."

The General exhibits the first shred of good humor since our conversation started. I can hear the smile restrained tightly behind his words. "No, he is Morgan. The lad grew to no longer care for his birth name. It wasn't fearsome enough for a dragon, he said. It did not invoke the image he had for his future legends. He choose to carry a new one instead."

"That must be a joke," I sputter.

"Have I cause for jest?" The General appears sincere, especially in the way he sighs afterward with a shrug of the shoulders. He walks away from me again and to the river once more.

So Echo is actually Morgan? All that hid the fact from me was a boyish fit of egoism? The idea seems absurd, but still perfectly believable for a kid like him. I shake my head, withholding my own urge to laugh. "Right, then. That's actually still accurate. Morgan is my s... so... " My breath catches in my throat as I stumble over the word. Still not use to it, or not ready. This does leave me curious about the other twin though, and I have to ask. "What of his sister? Is Marc harboring a secret name?"

The fondness in him grows to a pleasant warmth. This is the most gentle I've heard the General speak since knowing him. He may be a dark bundle of undead rage, but he's still nothing but genuine in how he feels about his children. "Still Marc. Always is, always shall be." The General glances out over the hedges and into the wilderness to wherever the twins may be. The light of his eyes is a small, warm fire that reminds me of a baker's hearth. "They have a poetic homage behind their declared titles. He is the echo of Grima's fearsome roar. She is the destructive mark of Grima's power left upon the earth. They embody the fell dragon's greatest weapons."

I find myself spelling out both names with the edge of my big toe as if seeing the names physically would help somehow. While I stare intently at the two names, the edge of the General's spear comes into view. The metallic knob on the end smears the dirt and erases out the rune that stand for this world's alphabetical 'K' in the girl's name. In one fluid curve, he replaces it with a rune for the equivalent of 'C.'

"Oh, different spelling," I remark with casual interest. Honest mistake.

"Marc chose her name to be spelled that way. She's adamant about the correct spelling of it." The General says in a firm defense. "As am I."

"Right. Noted for the future," I say, raising up both hands in surrender to acquiesce his sudden delicate sensibilities. Oddly specific, but whatever. I know nothing of his origins or culture, so it might make sense to him. Perhaps this is a good way to try and inquire about that? "If you don't mind me asking, why those names? It's just that Marc's got a masculine name, where I come from anyway."

The General's form goes rigid. His shoulders square off forcing his armor to lock up and squeak in the rustiest parts. "I thought them both to be boys until she grew. They were indistinguishable to me. Wild, unkempt. Barely in clothes that weren't marred with grime and the wears of time. Youth is deceptive." His voice grows darker, matching the aura that drenches him in shadows despite standing in the most direct rays of the sun. "They wanted to be like Grima. They admired the strategies and guile Grima used. While Grima was a destructive force, many of the moves enacted against enemy forces were calculated. I suggested names for them after great strategists. Perhaps an ill tactic given that it only helped foster love for Grima."

"A love Grima clearly didn't share," I murmur in thought.

"No," he says point blank with no emotion.

I can't help but wonder over his initial explanation. The General wasn't aware his own children were a boy and girl at birth? I know some people are oblivious to the most obvious of things, but he went for years not knowing? Grima never admitted anything? That just can't be. Something isn't right about this. This is just too confusing. I still don't understand much about this screwed up family, Grima most of all. The very idea of the twins' conception and rearing just befuddles me. What was Grima's angle in even having Morgan and Marc?

"Grima abused them in ways that are so morally wrong, but the twins still hold Grima with nothing but affection. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. It's not how the stories I know happened. Nothing I thought makes any sense." I stare into my branded hand and trace the paths of the dark veins with my eyes. I feel the pulse of it humming, alive and fluid under the skin. Each throb in tune with my heart. One not twisted but still wholly human and swelling with a building rage that makes me seethe. The twins make it sound like Grima held no regard for them. Grima didn't even use their formal names. So then...

My confusion tumbles out of my mouth before I realize it. "How did this happen?"

"What do you mean?" he replies, equally tired.

The General has always been the greatest of mysteries. He's one of the enemy, a fabled warrior and Grima's favorite. Now, I find out he carries the title of Grima's own partner, if such a thing was even possible for a being like that. For all the evil he should possess, the General has proven anything but that. He actively despises the dragon and advocates for means to prevent Grima's ascension. Everything about his story has perplexed Lucina and I. We don't know where he could have come from or what his role in Grima's history could have been. Our best guesses always fell short. Grima hates humans, so there is no possible way he could be one. He should be a dragon, but he's pro-human. That eliminates all clans but divine! Divine dragons never fought with Grima, only against thanks to Naga. Everything he is and does is a paradox of morals!

"I just don't understand why... " I trail off unsure if I should proceed. There's no kind way of asking him any of this. But...

"Ask now before this festers into something worse," he says to me.

"I don't get why someone as decent a being as you would bring children into this world with someone like Grima." I take a few steps forward, freshly strewn twigs from the wind-filled canopy above snapping underfoot. A foolish courage for the desire of the truth helps me stand my ground. I feel small compared to the being before me, whose cape is billowing out with all six eyes behind him. The spirits of two dangerous parents watching me question their intentions. "Why would you subjugate the twins to a life with a creature like that? You had to have known that living with Grima would allow them to grow up in such a way that utterly warped their basic perceptions of life. You actually have an understanding of familial bonds, so knowing how Grima is- "

"Stop." The abrupt command renders me silent. He doesn't fight back as I thought he would. The General only addresses me with a stern, yet exhausted, reproach. "You know nothing of Grima and I's relationship. You don't have a right to question me in regards to my children."

"Therein lies the problem. Like you, I don't know what kind of person I'm working with. A general of Grima? You're supposed to be my enemy. You won't divulge anything about yourself, so I'm not sure what to expect."

Several hollow breaths pour out of his armor. His shoulders sag dropping the rich fabric of his stained cloak over them. The General's body disappears into the folds, then his entire body to the shadow below him. He puts distance between us and reappears behind a far off elm. His hunched form is camouflaged well with his surroundings. He's filled with negativity, giving me the feeling he's brooding. After a fair amount of silence, the General opens up again. "You're turning this conversation around on me."

"Shouldn't I?" I shuffle about in no specific pattern watching the leaves rustle overhead, their lazy whispers filling the midday air. Perhaps I sound more patronizing than I mean to, but it doesn't change how I feel.

"You're crossing a line in speaking things you don't understand." The General sounds sad. Defeated. It makes me alarmed, but all the more desperate to know.

"Then help me understand! I don't know anything. I'd tell you all my secrets if I could! You, however, know infinitely more than I do. I'm trying to understand Grima's motives. The children could be part of that. Maybe Grima had planned to use- "

"The children mean nothing to Grima," he swiftly interrupts.

My feet grind to a halt. I reach for the support of a thin looking birch tree nearby. I press my forehead to it, eyes screwing shut. "What makes you so confident? You're just as confusing as everything else. You care about them. Hells! You care about humanity. Yet, you're a general under Grima and the alleged favorite above all others. Humanity fell in the past cycle because of your efforts. By definition, we're both enemies, yet found ourselves allies instead. Can't you explain something to me?"

A solitary, lone syllable follows. "No."

"Why not?" I yell out. My fist balls up and slams into the bark.

"What right do you have to demand anything of our lives?"

My eyes fly open, startled by the truth of his question. My face moves in a slow turn toward him, words unable to form a response.

The General passes through shadows again, emerging on the opposite side of the birch tree I stand by. He moves briskly past and stops with his body angled just enough to face me. One arm reaches out from the depths of his cloak and points to my branded hand. "I move with extreme caution because of the past. You know nothing of what we had to endure, and I find it nigh impossible to explain such pain in detail when the very source of our grief is looking back upon me."

I freeze in place. It's a valid point. One I can't answer without sounding selfish. I don't know anything about what happened to him, other than whatever did is now causing waves of emotionally strong negativity to leak through his typically airtight emotional connection. If anything, it feels like his soul is swollen and... and aching. So, so terribly.

Then, it hits me. It's a cruel, biting realization, the kind that twists and skewers your gut like a rusted shiv. A powerful shiver racks through my body, forcing me to grab hold of my elbows and pull myself closer together for warmth. I suck in air between my teeth, cursing myself for acting like a fool. The root of his pain comes to me unbidden through our connection. The General might not have meant to think it, but it comes. I meet his eyes and I know it's true before I say it. There's only one source behind all this. "Grima betrayed you."

He emits a short snort of air, self-depreciating in nature. The hilt of his blade scratches against the restraint of its scabbard as his gauntlet twists against it. "Betrayal is not a strong enough word. Deception and murder are only parts of a greater tragedy that mocked me and everyone- "

The General's tirade chokes up in a physically strangled gasp for air. He grasps at the side of his head and lowers it to the forest floor. His other arm supports his body against the large stone formation beside him. He's rocking on his heels, metal joints rattling. Whatever happened, it broke this proud warrior long ago and continues to linger even with its source long gone.

"You're correct, its not right for me to just expect an answer over something so complex. I let my feelings get the best of me." My jaw has been held together so tightly that it begins to ache fierce. I rub my chin, feeling nothing but disgust over Grima. "This isn't fair," I seethe between clenched teeth.

The hand the General has resting on the boulder beside him lets loose a portion of his fury. The tips of his armor peel through the aged rock drawing white, jagged lines down the face of it. "Nothing has been fair since Grima came to be. I am doing all I can to make sure the past does not repeat itself. That requires levels of trust we do not share." The grinding comes to a halt and his hand falls limply to his side. "However, it is as you said. We do not have time to build that trust."

I start to reach out in comfort but pull back. Instead, I force my palms together. I begin to pull at my fingertips in distress, unsure what I could even say to help. "Y- you're in pain. I can't ask you to open up if you aren't able to. I'm not a monster. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to. What you're feeling is terrible."

He holds up a hand to pause my babbling. I watch his shoulders rise and fall with heavy breaths. They come out as low growls that almost sound more like a Risen than a living being. I wonder if he shaking from the repressed pain, rage, or both. I wait in a tentative silence that slowly starts to drive me crazy. It feels like hours have passed before his distorted voice crawls back into my mind. "Tell me something."

"Whatever you need," I say.

One eye appears from around the creased bunches of his cowl that has gathered over his hunched shoulders. "Do you not wish to return to your home?"

"Excuse me?" I say in surprise. That's not what I was expecting.

"No one asked you to save this world, but you carry on that mission regardless." The General does not ask in a mean way. He's genuinely curious, even if he does sound intensely tired.

Once the shock passes, I find myself quick to answer as if nothing else were more natural to say. "Lucina did, even if she never outright stated it."

The General says."You speak of her so freely."

"The princess. Grima's greatest enemy." The General says."You speak of her so freely."

"Right, sorry. You don't know her like that. I did mean her, the one fighting Grima." I press my back to the tree behind me and settle into a comfortable position. A warmer breeze falls across the clearing and rustles my hair. A soft smile full of fondness falls unbidden to my lips. "Of course I speak of her like that, she's my greatest ally."

"The young woman is who she claims to be? A time traveler? A carrier of Naga's blood?" He seems at a loss for words, trying to figure out the mystery behind Lucina. In fact, he almost sounds afraid to address the fact. "The figure you consider the world's last hope?"

"She is." Perhaps the idea that there is someone out there who could save the world from Grima is overwhelming for him to hear, let alone understand. I haven't been doing a good job of guarding myself against him, and he's been getting an open window into everything I know and feel. My feelings for her are explored thoroughly and returned by a desperate and perplexed confusion of his own.

I hear him move, the heavy weight of his steps putting him right behind me. "If she is chosen by Naga to save the future, how can you be so sure she needs you, of all people, when you are a potential source to all this madness?"

Memories playback like a movie in my mind throwing the brightest of our encounters across the back of my closed eyelids. I see her wary frown back in Regna Ferox when she first chose to believe me. The fear in her voice when a collapsed roof parted us in the Ylissean castle. The rage in her eyes about my brand and the influence Grima still had over her. The tears shared over the truth of her brother and mother in Ironhold. The bare hint of a smile afterward when she said:

---

"You give yourself too little credit," she says, finally reaching her point. "Like this little bird, there is more to your worth than you seem to realize. If... if you are destined to become someone's mother someday, regardless of who they may be, the child will be lucky indeed."

---

Goddammit, kid. There was no way I could leave you after hearing that.

My voice shakes with the raw strength of emotions messing around in my head. "I'm the closest person that's come to understanding her plight in lifetimes. Even her friends don't know what's happening. Only she's immune to the time travel going on, thanks to Naga and her blood. Lucina has suffered so much without family and... " My voice cracks sharply, forcing me to clear my throat and start over. "I see it in her eyes whenever she looks at me nowadays. A pure, raw hope for an end she's long been chasing. I'll be damned if I let her down on that."

The forest's natural sounds are all that answer. A frog croaks deeply, followed by a cheerful splash against the slow lapping of the puddle's rippling waters. It forces a pause in the chirping of the crickets among the reeds. Their brief intermission ends and their music resumes, joining more of the bird songs above. The sunlight appears just a tad stronger, and warms whatever chills I had until they slide away with the weighty fears formerly possessing me. I feel strangely at ease with that last admission, like something deep in my soul was finally able to let go. I breathe free of weight I never knew I had.

When I open my eyes once more, I see the General has migrated around and stands beside me. He mirrors my position, facing the canopy with a thoughtful silence. We don't share much while he thinks, not even a glance. He's earned his right to think about my words, and I refuse to push him further on any subject. I wait patiently until I hear the joints of his armor relax.

"You're right. You lack knowledge, as do I. I don't know everything, and I need to." A mighty expulsion of air leaves his mouth like his soul rising out of his decayed body. "I sound hypocritical."

"Don't worry about it. You're entitled to your worries." I lift my sleeve and expose the blackened extent of my veins. "I admit, this does look really bad."

"Robin." The use of my name causes me to jump. My sleeve falls from my grasp and I can't help but gawk a little at how...calm he sounded using my actual name. "Despite my feelings and all I've said, would you tell me everything right now in this moment if I asked you to? All the knowledge and secrets you know laid bare with nothing hidden?"

That's the easiest thing he could have asked me. It's almost enough to make me laugh out loud. "Yes. I have nothing to hide from you."

This earns a harsh rasp from his throat, like rock scraping against metal. "You carry a shred of humanity my Risen side has since taken from me."

"Grima fucked up your life, and the lives of your children. I wouldn't be keen to trust me either."

He emits a grunt of acknowledgment, then asks a new question. This one is not as forthcoming as the last, hesitant in the way the General approaches it."That princess." The Generals' words struggle to reach me, almost as if he were afraid to say anything at all. "Lucina. Your other self, the original Robin, bore her at least once in a past lifetime if what I heard was correct."

That...causes my stomach to curl in an anxious way. I feel my brow scrunch up, unsure where his intentions may be going."Yes?"

"Do you care for her in a similar fashion? Would you accept her if she ever came to call you such? Mother, that is."

I stumble over my words. "Why- "

"No." The General interjects swiftly, countering my own question. "Just... answer my question."

I don't know why he's asking such a question. Is he afraid I may put her ahead of the twins if such a predicament were to occur? I hope such an encounter never does happen. But that's beside the point.

I stare down at the top of my hand and trace the black curves of Grima's mark. I'm thinking, but more so feeling. Whatever soul searching I'm doing in this moment isn't fueled by logic. The answer lies in the heart. It's not about legacies and responsibilities. The burdens of mistakes made in the past mean nothing to me, because I'm not at the center of those. The Robin I am has lived one life, and that single one is all I have to rely on. I remember my own losses and loneliness. The wretched feeling of knowing how alone I was in the world without my mother. Total loss of family and identity. Only staying afloat by the thin lifesaving threads tied to your friends around you. Long nights of waking up to a dream of the past and wishing you could just touch that magical time once more where everything was whole and right with the world.

"I've never been a parent. I've never been a sister or cousin for that matter. My family was only myself and my mother." I fold my hand up and tuck it away under my sleeve. "It's hard to say I love someone in a context I've never known."

"But, maybe...Yeah, yeah I think I do. Or, it's close to it. We've been through a lot and I- I know what it's like to lose your whole world. When my mother passed, she was all I had. I was barely an adult. It was... It's no where near as bad as Lucina's situation, but I want to give her back what the world stole from her. I'd take down anything to do so if given the chance."

I take a deep breath and steady myself. Then with a solid grin, I punch out my branded fist and declare loudly to the world, "Even a god!"

The General blinks in a slow fashion. I see him trace the length of my arm up to my face. He stands there studying me without the usual hateful burn. "You are sincere in this. You would fight the very thing you were made to be."

"Hells yeah," I smile brightly.

"Even as this tale grows more dark and twisted, you continue to persist. There is something heroic enough in the purity of your conviction. It makes me want to believe in you, despite what I've seen," the General admits in a way that seems hard for himself to say.

The fact that he has finally believed me in some regard, even if it's just my conviction, raises my spirits. I give him a thumbs up with my outstretched hand before retreating it back to my side. "If it makes you feel any better, then I give you full permission to take me out if I ever get all evil and Grima-y again. Naga knows I don't want to become some creepy-ass dragon like that. I'd rather be dead."

"I would have done the act regardless of your permission."

My confidence falters, as does my grin. "You scare the skin right off me sometimes."

Perhaps realizing the ominous edge to his tone, the aggression slackens. The General addresses me in a gentler manner, or as gentle as one may be willing to believe given our tenuous relationship. "I am asking you grant me patience, at the very least. I trusted before and... " He falters in continuing and chooses to end with the simplest of requests. "Please."

"A polite response? That's a step in the right direction," I say in a mock display of surprise.

Before he can get prickly with me, there's a loud noise in the brush beyond us. The concussive burst of magic greets us first, followed by a shock wave that blows around trees and carries the scent of charred leaves. Black smoke billows into the sky shortly after.

"What was that?" We both look towards the camp. Alarm floods my mind, identifying the sounds to the likes of rune traps I've seen mages leave. We have proximity runes around camp to warn us of trespassers, but none actually explode! My thoughts go to the twins, a sentiment the General shares with me.

"Go check on that. I won't be fast enough with the injuries," I tell him, waving him on.

"I'm not leaving the vessel of Grima alone if we are being attacked!" Without asking permission, I find myself hoisted up over the General's shoulder in a blur of motions. My disgruntled protests are lost in a garbled mess when he dashes into the shadows with me. I cling to whatever armor I can find to keep myself from the blackness crushing the space around us. My eyeballs are still swiveling in their sockets when we burst into the center clearing of our camp.

The General lets out a low, worried rumble from deep in his throat. It's a worried rasp of a call for the twins to answer to. Grasping my head, I find myself calling out in a panic as well. And by that, I mean by their actual names.

"Marc? Morgan?"

In the middle of our camp, next to the fire pit, both of the twins stand with their backs to us. Hearing my call, they turn in unison, the boy actually leaping in place.

"W- what?" Echo, er Morgan, stammers.

"Was that- ?" The spear in Marc's hands clatters at her feet. She looks to her brother, but he remains rooted to the spot. She shakes her head as if to clear it and fixes where her mask goes askew. "I mean, welcome back Master Grima!"

She stops and looks at the Risen carrying me. Marc starts to say something, but is unable to finish it. I suspect she wants to greet her father, but still has reservations about doing so despite what I said earlier.

It doesn't bother the General at all. I don't think he even notices with his attention elsewhere. His grip slackens and I start to slide off his shoulder in a flailing heap of limbs. I'm dropped like a bag of garbage behind him. The impact rattles through my ribcage and causes me to wheeze. Leaves sputter out of my mouth and face while I brush them away.

"Why are they covered in blood?" The General's voice booms through my hollow feeling brain. I roll off my stomach and onto my knees despite the screaming of every nerve in my back. Adrenaline eases off the worst of it in my panic to see to the twins.

The General is kneeling before Morgan and has the boy held at both shoulders. His helmet switches between siblings. The edges of both their cloaks are gnarled with brambles and dried leaves. The left sleeve of Morgan's outer shirt is soaked up to the elbow in a dark fluid. Marc is even worse off with the whole front of her tunic smeared from neck to waist in visible gore.

The General's demand rips through my mind again. "Ask!"

I stumble off my knees and manage a few steps before collapsing again. "What happened to you both? You're splattered in blood!"

Marc picks at her shirt and pulls it away from her chest. It snaps out of her pinched fingers and slaps wet against her skin. "Oh, this?" she says with little interest. "Lunch."

She steps aside and reveals a large body behind her. The buzzing of flies grows more obvious now that the throbbing in my skull is receding. The fallen corpse of a mid-sized griffon lays gnarled up in a pile outside our living space. It bears the wounds of battle. It didn't go down without a fight, that's for sure.

"We got dinner, just like you wanted," she explains. "We got our exercise in while doing it."

"Exer...cise?" I whisper in the highest octave my voice can squeak at. These kids wrestle fully matured wild griffons for fun?

The General's grasp on Morgan's shoulders eases up. His chin falls to rest on his chest and he oozes relief. "They're fine."

While I'm glad to hear they're safe, it doesn't alleviate the anxious tug reminding me of the earlier noises. "What was that explosion? We heard it from the riverside," I say with a gesture to the exit beyond our camp.

The twins exchange a glance that I would guess is sheepish in nature given how small of a reply Marc offers right after. "A scouting Risen came across one of our traps."

Morgan is slow to start speaking. He's been staring at me wordless since the General and I first appeared. There's a clear lingering of hesitance as he recollects his thoughts. "It didn't see us. We were blended well with the treeline when it happened. We set a few runes up to catch this griffon stalking around the camp area. The ones closest remained active since we drew the griffon away from base camp to fight. The Risen stumbled over one before we could get back. The Risen probably rushed into the trap after it tripped a proximity rune in surprise. Certain Risen panic easily when startled."

"Boom." Marc imitates the sound of sparks fizzling, gesturing imaginary debris falling with the downward sweep of her arms.

The General rises to his feet, eyes narrowed in anger at the treeline. "Tantibus' Risen. He is the eyes and ears of the others. His Risen were made solely for the talents of espionage."

"Tantibus?" I rack my memories for intimate knowledge of that general. He's the most secretive of the lot and one I have yet to truly meet. "I don't remember much of him."

Morgan nods at the mention of the name. "It was definitely one under his control, but the explosion would have killed it before it could have relayed the approximate coordinates of its death. The spell erupted too soon for it to comprehend."

I fold my arms over my chest, frowning. "I thought you said there shouldn't be any Risen out this way?"

The twins react with a simultaneous recoil that has them shrinking back from me. They stiffen as if to brace themselves from an incoming blow. In another life, that may have been the case. Grima would have easily lashed out and harmed them somehow. If I ever get my hands on that dragon's neck I swear...

The General is clearly disturbed by the news in the way he stalks toward our camp borders. The electric charge of his anger tingles my skin and brings a flush of agitation to my own self. "I knew this would happen. We've run out of time."

I run my hands up and down the length of both sleeves hoping the friction would dispel the goosebumps on my arms created by his ominous statement. "Time? What do you mean we ran out of it?"

"We also run infiltration missions for the others. The twins deliver reports to the remaining generals on the allied forces' battle strategies and movements. However, they've held back in favor of nursing you back to health."

The twins watch the two of us in wonder, and I've forgotten that I'm the only one who can hear him. I relay what he's said to them and finish with my own conclusion. "You two haven't joined the others since retrieving me from battle? Essentially, you've disappeared from their sights and I've disappeared from the humans' care. That's can't look good."

"Not exactly!" Marc jumps forward with a desperate shout to dispel my ill favor. "A lot of the human warriors were dispersed in a panic after the surprise attack that was launched on the rear. Some of the soldiers are still returning after scattering for refuge in the mountains."

"You're a valuable asset to the army intelligence," Morgan says. "They've been holding out hope you're in one of the parties still out there still."

Marc holds out the edges of her cloak and twirls around with it billowing like a noblewoman's skirt. "We tried to get your coat back, but we found the Ylisseans got to the old battle site before we could. They retrieved it and found it to be evidence you were still alive."

I remember discarding my tactician coat after the acid spray the Grimleal priest doused me in began to soak through to my skin. The Shepherds and Emmeryn would have lost sight of me after the Risen gave me a toss over the magical barrier. Discovering my coat so far from the battle zone would have been a clear sign I not only survived but engaged in further battle afterward. This fact creates a deep-rooted yearning I desperately want to quell. Just imagining the likes of one of the Shepherds finding it and bringing it back to camp would...would..."It would give them hope," I whisper.

"I told you not to fear about the predicament and your comrades." The General's kind words of support come from nowhere, forcing me to do a double take in his direction. His sentiments are genuine and I find myself smiling in gratitude for it. My appreciation appears to cause him some discomfort, and he swiftly looks away with our connection closing down.

I sigh, disheartened by the awkwardness that continues to exist between us. Perhaps it's for the best as logic takes over where my emotions once were. The truth of the situation has been made easier for us, but not indefinitely. "Even the humans can't hold out hope forever. I'm always at the forefront somewhere as one of the lead strategists. My disappearance from the royal family's side can only be covered so long. If I don't show up, the humans will actually announce me dead. That won't be good with the Grimleal watching my steps so keenly. The other generals will think you're with me, and they won't trust your motives for doing so."

"Just like we don't trust them."Marc says. She picks up her bloody spear from where it is propped at a rest on a nearby tree. She carves the tip of it through the air and points it toward the fire. The motion causes bits of gristle to fly off and slop to the forest floor. She stares down the shaft with one eye shut and appraises the length of it for any irregularities. From the aggression in her tone, she's probably imagining the point of it in the very generals she speaks of. "Even if we go back, we don't have a proper excuse to back up our lack of appearance, or yours."

"Well this sucks," I grumble into the canopy above.

The General huffs at my language, but is in agreement."The situation is not an ideal one to be in."

I'm about to respond when I notice Morgan outright gawking at the two of us. Marc is doing her best to look preoccupied with the cleaning of her weapon, but she's definitely watching us from the corner of her eye. I call them out on the behavior which causes Morgan to bury his mask deeper into his hood.

"It's simply odd seeing you two talking again," Morgan says shyly, peeking out from the folds of cloth surrounding his face.

Marc blows out a stream of air, nearly hopping in glee. "It's pretty great actually," she giggles. "Something is finally returning to our master!"

"Yeah, well, it's a thing now," I say, sharing a glance with the Risen ahead of me. "So how long have you failed to check in with the other generals?"

Marc stops brushing the rag she had pulled from her belongings mid-stroke across her spear. She stares at me, then to her brother in an obvious way that states she wasn't going to be the one to deliver the bad news.

Morgans' shoulders slump into his hunched form when he plops down on the makeshift bench beside the fire pit. "It's been about a month."

"To be fair," Marc adds, waving the stained rag around and all the gore with it, "we thought you'd be better now! We wouldn't have to play up to the other generals anymore once you had recovered."

But, that never happened! Not that it could have given the fact that I'm not who they think I am. That's beside the point though! "It won't be hard for them to put their suspicions together.," I say to them.

"Our two factions never saw eye-to-eye in regards to Grima's recovery. The children believe you are Grima suffering from amnesia," the General says to me. "The others believe you're still of human conscience and absolutely disposable."

My voices raises several octaves, cracking in alarm. "Disposable? What does that mean?"

"They believe the spirit of the human vessel arose again and took back control of the body, suppressing Grima," he states in a matter-of-fact way that doesn't stop me from internally screaming in alarm.

"Oh, hell no. I am the one and original!" Seeing the starry-eyed glances both the twins' give me, I can't help but lift my nose and announce myself with greater arrogance. "Original Grima, that is."

"Clearly," the General deadpans.

The air deflates out of my chest leaving me sagging with exhaustion over, well, everything. I hobble to the second overturned tree trunk and sit parallel to Morgan. "Can't you just tell them I'm the real thing so they lay off?"

Morgan waves a hand through the air and conjures a wisp from it. He lets the spell run up his arm and over his hands. Tiny flames lick around his fingertips, slipping between them like an ember-laden serpent. "Letum is not to be trusted."

"We don't trust any of them," Marc adds in correction to her brother's statement. She wipes the last gristle of the tip of her spear blade and lifts the dirty rag to her nose. She gives it one whiff before making a noise of disgust. She throws the soiled material into the fire pit. "The other generals are all moving with their own agendas."

"We don't know that," Morgan argues with her. He is hesitant to continue with pressing his point. Instead, he flicks his wrist out and lets his spell lose. Flames erupt over the logs adding fuel to the dying light. The red glow flickers off the smooth surface of his mask making it look more fearsome than before. "What we do know is that even if we did bring you back, they would abuse your situation. Pravitus and Letum would most definitely try to influence your lack of memories by filling you with false information."

"Time on their own has loosened their loyalty and reinstalled selfish goals. They would use your weakened state for their own gains," Marc says, setting her spear to the side.

"They don't respect me anymore," I conclude from all that I've just learned.

"They don't fear you," Marc corrects me.

"Either way, they're pissing me off. The way the other generals are handling this situation and my welfare is atrocious. No one loyal enough to me would have risked shoving me through a portal to chance the effects without preparing me," I announce in my best Grima impression.

"It's like they don't care," Marc utters into the interlocked hands she rests her chin upon. She tilts her face to mine speaking in a low whisper that promises the darkness of conspiracies. "Or, they wanted it to happen."

Morgan gives Marc, to the best of what I can guess, a wary glance. Just from his stiff body language, it appears the twins aren't fully in agreement to some part of that statement. However, they are both in agreement over my general well-being based on what he says next. "It's true, we won't be able to do this much longer. Your body has healed, but your memory is still recuperating, Master Grima. If we do lose our place among the other generals, then we won't be able to protect you as we have been."

"If we only had more time, I'm sure eventually we could... " Marc's line of thought trickles off into unspoken possibilities she can no longer access.

"If ignorant both of your enemy and yourself, you are certain to be in peril." I quote the famous Soon'Tzu who, coincidentally, is known for the exact same line as the namesake from my world. I'm wondering if there's any copyright infringement going on with the Annas. Can that happen? It is different worlds, but are they different people? Is copying oneself from one world to another actually plagiarism? But, I digress! I was making a point, wasn't I?

"I won't be of much use to myself or anyone if I'm still without my memories," I continue. "I can't prove my identity to the other generals with assurance. I can't protect myself against our enemies without my powers. I certainly can't finish my goals without knowing what they were."

Marc sulks deeper."Then, what do we do?"

"I need more time to adjust and heal. With you now helping me, things can get better faster." I can feel the General pressing on me to start convincing them to do the obvious; they need to let me go. "It can't be done here though."

"We have to go back." Morgan's astute perception picks up easily on my meaning. He's a smart kid and he knows what's being said. It doesn't stop his answer from swelling with despondence over the truth. "And, so does Master Grima."

Marc's hands slap down into the bark and propel her to lean forward in desperation. "But, we just reunited!"

The General forms from the ethereal wisp he once was and appears behind Marc. He steps up to her and places a hand upon her shoulder. She cranes her head back and sees her father offering the support. It eases her nerves and she retracts the hand that went grasping for her spear nearby.

"There's no other way. We have to convince them to return you. You can't stay here like this," he echoes throughout my mind.

It's a fact I know all too well. I've dwelled for days on what I could say to the twins to make them let me go. Up until this point, I had been stumped. With what I know now, and seeing the General standing there like so with his children... I think I finally know a way.

"I know how frustrating it must be to have to hear this, but I was going to have to go back even if the other generals weren't bound to look for me. I still have some unfinished business there that takes precedence over everything." The twins follow me as I rise from my seat. My gait is a cheerful bounce all the way to the General's side. I slap my good hand down on his shoulder pauldron and lean against him for both kids to see.

The General squints at me from under his helmet. His armor locks in protest to my touch. It's taking a lot of discipline to stop himself from ripping my hand away."What are you doing?" his whisper scratches hard against my brain.

I grin up at him in a sickeningly sweet way that warns him not to mess this up for me. "Sounds to me like I haven't even recruited my greatest ally yet." I give his armor a good, friendly wallop that causes tremors up and down his armor. "How am I going to accomplish great things if I haven't even got your father on my side to enact the very plans we aim to pursue? Seems he's a major part of my future success, no?"

I'm sure the General is ready to murder me for using him against his own children, but Marc's outburst saves me from any punishment he might dole on me. She jumps from her position with both hands waving above her head in celebration. "He told you?"

The General moves his helmet back and forth in a negative motion, and I clarify. "He didn't tell me everything. No identity was divulged. Something about not wanting to ruin the relationship before forming, which makes sense. Can't force what isn't there yet, am I right?"

Marc deflates, sinking back down to the trunk. She tucks her hands between her knees and drops her head. "I suppose you're right. That is something we were worried about."

"And there is nothing there between you two yet." Morgan laughs just a little. "None at all."

"Hey, don't make it sound worse than it is," Marc says, chastising Morgan with a wag of her finger. Settling down again, she leans and back stares up at her father and I. "You make an excellent point though, Master Grima. It would be vital to get our greatest asset to our side before we make any further moves. It's beneficial for lots of reasons."

"Like your very existence," I remind her.

Marc shrinks down into her shoulders. I'm thinking she's turned a bright shade of pink by the tiny "Um," she manages to utter before burying her gaze.

Morgan looks up after stirring the embers in the fire for more strength. He raises the stick he had been using and points the searing hot tip at the General. "That's a very valuable reason."

"Not just that," Marc says. "Father has always been most important to Grima."

The General startles at Marc's use of the "F-bomb," and I'm not talking about the swearing one. The use of such an intimate family term as been long forbidden in Grima's circle until I came around. Marc throwing it out there so soon after I allowed them to is a good sign, and one the General is not expecting.

"They..." His shocked sputtering ends with a quiet sense of wonder that prevents him from finishing. He stares at me with the silent question hanging between us. I just shrug and slap his armor again.

"I don't give a damn what they call you, Pops. All I care about is progress, isn't that right?" I say while turning to the twins. To Grima, it's all about achieving the mission. Some mission. One I'll... figure out later.

Morgan claps twice in good humor. Marc unleashes a great holler and throws both hands into a waving frenzy over her head. I can't say they lack spirit, that's for sure.

"You might have some work cut out for you though," Morgan warns me in a vague fashion that peaks my utmost curiosity.

"What does that mean? Don't tell me I have to travel oceans and mountains to find him first," I say.

He shrugs a shoulder in apology. "It's better if we don't say anything unless really necessary."

"Don't want to mess up the natural order of things," Marc adds, "like you said."

"They made a pact not to divulge our identities until the situation was right. Given the circumstances though, they've allowed as much to be seen," the General explains to me. "I doubt they will say anymore in risking our 'relationship,' or their future conception."

I tap both my cheeks in reference to the twins' headgear. "That why they have these little masks on? Can't let me see any telltale inherited traits?"

"Yes," Marc says in honesty.

"No," Morgan says at the same time. The twins look at each other then quickly reverse their answers to match what the other said, effectively canceling each other out once more.

"Maybe?" They both conclude in unison. If they are trying to deter my curiosity, it's not working.

"Fine, fine. I won't push it," I chuckle. Their little oddity is starting to grow on me. Still, I wonder if they'll indulge me just a little even. I take a chance to pry out whatever I can. "I have to ask, do either of you look like me?"

Morgan did look very much like Robin in the game, though the hair color was dependent on the other parent. Nah and Owain have both proven that genetics aren't as true to the game as I know given Nah has Nowi's hair color and Owain is a healthy mixture of Chon'sin and Ylissean features. Maybe the Morgans are too?

The twins both point to each other and answer with just enough to be vague but to fulfill my question.

"Marc has you hair and nose," the brother describes of his sibling.

"He has your eyes and facial structure," Marc answers back.

God, that is kind of cute. I can almost consider these two to be adorable when they're not being creepy murder machines. It takes a lot to resist the urge to ruffle up their hair, or what I can with their hoods in the way. Grima being affectionate with them would be as much a culture shock to them as it would be against Grima's personality. If I am supposed to be the old dragon emerging into my true form, I doubt it would help to act beyond what even they could deem as acceptable.

So, I just sit back and nod. "I know one of you has my impressive dragon form from what I've seen." I look to the girl. "When will I see yours, Marc?"

"Someday," Marc says. An icy chill rolls over the clearing as everyone goes quiet. The spark in Marc's personality fizzles out to a dull, leaden weight. She rubs her left thumb over the top of her right hand for comfort, an action she does whenever she's upset. Marc is doing her best to hide that fact, even if her voice comes out strained. "When it comes..."

Wait, is Marc saying she can't transform into her manakete self? I've never heard of that. What dragon can't access their own natural form?

The General rumbles with a low growl of disapproval. He throws me a warning glance and cuts through the air with one hand before him in a sign for me to end the conversation there. "That is a sore topic for Marc. Now is not be the best time to ask about it."

"Alright, well," I say, slapping me hands together in an overly cheery attempt to get things back in order. "Things are not quite where we want them to be, but it's not the worst. Setbacks are nothing for a genius like me." Too prove my point, I drop another wise adage by some long dead strategist that the twins might appreciate. I clear my throat in a theatrical manner and announce, "Adapt and adjust. Victory does not come to the impatient action-taker, but the meticulous planner."

Morgan's head snaps up, as does his hand in a waving gesture for attention. "Kronikus the Great Flame! The most famous general of the Fire Clan!"

"Morgan knows his stuff. I'm impressed," I say. And like before, this twin also withers away. It appears I killed off the second of the duo's feelings unknowingly. The General is fully glaring at this point to remind me that I just keep putting my foot in my mouth. I'm left scratching my head over what I might have uttered now when I get a mental reminder from their father about his name. This causes me to kick myself internally.

"Ah, right. You prefer Echo," I say.

I have to admit that I stand with the General on this point. I meet Robin's fabled son and he... doesn't want to be called by his birth name? I'm used to Echo, so I guess it's no big deal. But, something about it still leaves me a little sad.

Morgan's face is toward the ground where he watches his toes shuffling against each other. His hands are lost in the overly large sleeves of his coat. Only his fingertips peek out from the depths along the hem where they knead at the edges in a nervous aggression. "It just... sounds better."

Marc clucks her tongue in annoyance. "You're wasting a good name! The whole thing just sounds stupid."

Morgan throws his hands out and stomps a foot into the ground. With a fire lit in his belly, he shouts at his sister. "Not as stupid as plain, human-sounding Marc."

"No it isn't." Marc then utters under her breath. "Naga licker."

Morgan bristles like a porcupine. He stalks up to her with an earth-shaking gravity and goes nose to nose with her. "Yes it is, Naga kisser."

Marc reaches back one hand and then delivers a heavy shove to her brother's chest that sends him staggering backward. "Naga lover!"

Morgan gasps in revulsion. "That's blasphemous to say in front of Master Grima!"

I can see the wick burning out overhead, the tension ready to ignite any moment. When they both start to growl in protest, I see their father drop his head in his hand.

"Here we go again," I drawl watching the first handfuls of clothing get grabbed from both sides. The tumbleweed of sibling rivalry rolls about in a cloud of ash and dirt shouting nasty accusations at each other. I watch them wrestle past my feet, forcing me to leap back out of their swings. "You want to break them up, or should I?"

The weight of the General's own exhaustion settles on my shoulders. "I'll do it."

The General pauses mid-step and stares at me for a long moment, considering how strangely normal that short exchange felt. Almost whole, but not like it was meant to be. It's like mismatched pieces were shoved into each other until they did fit, regardless of what sticks out. Not perfect, but it might work for now. Then, he shakes his head and walks toward them.

While he takes his time untangling the twins, and it will take a while given how glued they are to each other, I take a moment to breath and ingest everything that just happened. I step beyond the hedges so I'm just out of view. Even if I get a single minute, it will be worth it.

I huddle under the shade of an ancient Dorm tree. These monstrous trees grow only along this mountain range. Their ashen bark grows twisted in a growing spiral until it splits in two vertical trunks. Thinner branches sprout around the wishbone shape and fan out in a thick mane of red, star-shaped leaves. When in full season, the trees look like a rising dragon. Local myth claims these are the souls of the Earth dragons who perished in these crags attempting to rise back into the sky from their cthonic graves. Youngsters pull a lot of supernatural stunts around them based on that, but I've never encountered anything strange. I like how easy it is to settle into the nooks of the bark.

The leaves are thin and vein-ridden, given them the leathery texture of a dragon's wing. Peering up at the sun through them is fascinating. With the wind moving them about, it's like watching the inner workings a living being above me. It's hypnotic. Everything melts away and I just-

Breathe.

I press both hands over my face and lose myself behind my closed eyes. A darkness tinged in the red warmth of the sun overwhelms my vision. I lure my attention to the steady rhythm of my own breathing until I lose myself to all outside stimuli but the tune of my own life stream.

I feel as though I haven't done that in eons. Healthy, clean breaths of air. Not the toxic-laden gulps I had previously taken that left my lungs coated in the rusty tang of regrets and despair. No, these are refreshing doses of liberation. I've slowly been asphyxiating myself since the morning, and this brief respite has undone the vice on my throat.

The dark shadows of negativity keeps pounding on the window between me and the mental sanctuary I bury myself in. Yes, responsibility, I know you're there. Let me rest a moment before you sock me over the face with anxiety-fueled fears. Leave me to just-

"Caw!"

What the- ?

I part my fingers and open one eye to the branches above. A shadow moves freely among the leaves. It hops along branches and creates a disturbance among the unhindered light above.

"Caw!"

It's a bird. A loud one at that. It's getting closer too.

"CAW!"

I yelp, toppling over myself in horror at the loud screech that erupts in my ear. I go feet up into the air and land on my back with a resounding thump that sends leaves flying up around me. I groan in pain as shocks of it run up and down the tender muscles of my back. A few stray leaves settle on my face, and I wipe my hand over them to knock them off.

There's a light tickle on my bent knee. It comes and goes in small bursts. Cracking open an eye, I see a black haze hopping up and down on my pant leg. I rub both of my eyes now and focus.

"You're a crow?" I mumble in my semi-delirious state. Did I really just suffer such an astounding fright from the mere presence of a crow?

"Buddy, you are cackling at the wrong person." My head thumps back against the dirt. I throw my arm over my eyes. "I am not in the mood to play fairytale princess with the local wildlife."

"CAW!" the obnoxious little bastard trills at me. It throws its wings out and hops again before folding them back under once more.

I jiggle my knee to try and get him to fly off. "C'mon. Shoo. Go find a frolicking elf or something to sing with. Better yet, I can give you the name of a friend I have who really likes your kind."

Instead of losing the crow. I gain another. The circling shadow above me glides down and lands on my other knee. The second bird cuddles right up to the other and makes itself comfy. This one opens a beak to also screech.

Out comes a grotesque sound. Immediately, a foul stench overwhelms me and causes me to hold my breath or risking gagging. My nose crinkles up in disgust and I recoil back from the source of the odor. It's coming from the newcomer, a scraggly looking avian disaster that's caught a bad case of molting. There's patchy bare spots all over the greasy looking feathers that coat the crow. It looks downright terrible compared to the healthy looking companion this crow is paired with. The crooked beak looks like a child glued it on its face. I'd almost deem it road-kill if the light in its red eyes wasn't so bright.

Wait.

I squint harder at the bird, causing both crows to tilt their heads in opposite directions.

I swallow a scream, unable to tear my eyes away from the monstrosity perched contently on my knee. This bird is undead. I think... I think it's a Risen!

A goddamn Risen crow!

My mouth opens and I suck in the largest amount of oxygen I can get to follow what I'm about to scream. At the apex of my inhale, the dawning of the most bizarre idea I can fathom conjures up. Born of my insane desires for companionship and the desperate need to escape this madness I've ended up in, I swallow the massive air bubble. It comes back up in a tiny hiccup of sound that I can't even believe I'm uttering. It's insane, but I want to believe so desperately that such madness would not only be feasible, but expected from the likes of my friends. I mean, the evidence is in the support conversations. It's totally possible, right?

"Pip?"

The zombified bird bobs up and down, unleashing another guttural call that is anything but a crow's. The healthy crow beside appears unperturbed by the display. As far as I'm aware, most of Henry's crows are paired in a traditional mating duo. Pip was no exception with his other half affectionately being called Ginger. Upon uttering the name for further validation, I find that Ginger does respond to her own name in the same fashion. All of Henry's familiars have above-average intelligence and know their unique names.

"You are Henry's crows!" I laugh in an almost hysterical shudder of disbelief. "You're looking for me, aren't you?"

I fall onto my back and press my fingers to my blurry eyes. The laughs become intermingled with sobs as I let the tears flow down my cheeks. They're looking! The Shepherds are really searching for me! God, I've never felt so good about something in my life!

Amidst my flux of emotions, a foreign presence creeps in. The General's subconscious prods at my mental state currently being thrown around in a blender of mixed thoughts.

My eyes fly open. "Shit! The others!"

I rise up by the waist in a flurry of movement that sends the two crows flapping into the air. I roll onto my knees and make a mad grab toward them through the feathers whipping around. "No, no! Wait!"

The two crows circle around my head and follow a downward draft until they land peacefully on a mushroom-laden stump. Undergrowth swirls around me as I dive toward their landing site. I send a big mental negative to the General. "Don't let the twins over where I am just yet. Tell them I'm handling toilet business or something. It's important they don't come over here!" I say into the open air.

I'm not sure if speaking out loud also carries through my mind in the same way he can with me, but the acceptance I get from him seems to imply he understands my need for solitude at the moment. I hope he can feel my gratitude because I can't let this moment pass!

I settle into a comfortable kneel before the birds. I drape one arm over the top of an exposed root and try to maintain the look of someone who hasn't gone to near insanity and back these last twelve hours.

"Hey, you two! Pip and Ginger, right?" I greet them with the sing-song manner one does a toddler. Ginger plugs her beak into the wood and pecks through the cracks. Pip tilts his balding head at me and exposes the dry, leathery skin to listen. He smells like the decayed raccoon I found behind the dumpster of my bakery one fine summer morning. A putrid sweetness of boiled muscles and rotting fat. I manage to swallow my first gag in a way I hope isn't noticeable. God, you know I'm hitting rock bottom when I'm afraid of hurting a dead crow's feelings.

"Listen you two, I'm the one you're looking for. Henry told you to look for someone named Robin, yeah?" They don't respond. Of course they don't. They're birds. I don't know why I'm waiting like this for an answer. I swipe my hand over my face and start over.

"Pip, Ginger. I need you two to deliver a message home for me. Can you do that?"

The duo flaps their wings as if a clear confirmation of my request. Jeez, I need to find some paper, quick! I need to let the Shepherds know. I want them to know, even if I have to sneak it out!

I'm alive, everyone! Just be patient a little longer!

I'm coming home.

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A/N: Hey all, not much to report here. Happy Pride Month to my followers celebrating. Love patiently and be kind to your neighbors. The world's been a weird place lately. We gotta stick together, yeah? Anyway, peace out my friends! Final Fantasy Online is bribing me with a fat chocobo mount to come back and play, which I'm inclined to do.

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Review Responses: On hiatus for the moment. My broke ass lives in a broke-ass city inside an even more broke-ass state with high costs of living. Gotta work harder and longer to feed my cat. Maybe myself if there's anything left afterward. Sorry for the inconvenience.