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...

58. Chapter 58

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

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Chapter 58

Robin Anne Carter.

That's my name. My full birth name.

I flip open the purple, floral print wallet rescued from my messenger bag. For what could be the twentieth time today, I look upon the driver's license fit snugly in the plastic protector. I absorb every pigment of color on my driver's license, brushing my fingers over the smooth surface to make sure there's no magic deceiving me. There, overlaying the faded picture of three purple violets in the backdrop, is my personal information. To the left, one embarrassingly clear photo of my squinting face beaming proudly at the camera. Finally, after all these months, I've found truth to my identity!

Not the most impressive of names, it's actually kind of boring. But, it's mine and that's all that matters. The name given to me by my mother. I am Robin Anne Carter, current resident of Blacks Harbour, New Brunswick Canada!

Even now, looking at this license, I feel an overwhelming urge to shed a few tears. One would think I'd have dried myself out with how hard I cried earlier over this. I knew my wallet was in my messenger bag as soon as the twins showed it to me. I wanted to look through it in private though. It was bound to have pieces of history that were dear only to me. With the General's warning of out of character displays of emotion limiting my options, I figured it best to investigate when the twins were away.

My wallet is a treasure chest that did not disappoint. This license helped crack open a missing part of me I was dying to reclaim. But more than that...

I slip two fingers into the space that houses my currency and pull out a single photograph. It's dog-eared and creased through the center, but the color still holds. It's a selfie styled picture taken on a beach with a stumpy white and red lighthouse in the background. Pea Point, I think? The foreground has me on the left holding the camera angled up at my face. My hair is the shortest it ever was in that photo, dark wisps peeking out from under the wool cap I wear. Even then, my preference for the color purple is seen in the heavy down coat and scarf I wear. It's hard to make out any of my face under all the wrappings, but my cheeks are puffed high from the smile I give to the camera.

A second individual cozies up next to me with her arm thrown casually around my shoulders. My best friend, Julliet Sabattis, gives the camera the universal peace sign with her fingerless gloves. The corners of her mouth perk up the rosy glow of her tan skin in the cold winter air. Though fluent in French and all manner of cuisine from her mother's homeland, Julliet favors her father's Wolastoqiyik heritage. We certainly make a pair standing side by side like that.

This picture is a testament of a decade's worth of friendship. I would never have known it then, but this picture carries a worth more than gold in this world. Parts of me wishes she could be here experiencing this alongside me. God knows she's more cut out for this than I was in the beginning. Someday I'll see my friend again, and I'll have so much to tell and show her. Until then, I'll experience all I can in order to do so.

I tuck the photo away with plenty of regret. Time's almost up on the break I was afforded after walking for so long today. It's been two days of journey and almost halfway through the third. It's been a strange time for me with this new family of mine. I say that loosely as I'm not sure I have any right to claim it as such.

I've passed the worst of my injury, and my strength is returning. I've been walking longer stretches without the General having to carry me. He's been a mostly silent companion this trip. The clear lack of presence on the twins' part has left him in a repressed state of worry. It took some cajoling, but the General and I formed a solid bit of reasoning to buy us time. The twins have an utter and absolute trust in Grima. They blithely follow whatever I say, and it pains me to take advantage of that knowing everything I'm doing is with ulterior motives. It had to be done to keep us all safe.

To ensure my integration back into the human world went smoothly, the General and I both thought it best if the twins weren't there. With how suspicious they are of Lucina and the gang, I didn't trust their feelings of jealousy. The twins knew that they had to go check-in with the other generals, but their attitudes were sour about it. I came up with an extra chore for them that would keep them busy while I figured out what to do with all this new knowledge. It certainly made them more willing and motivated knowing I put them on such a "high-priority" mission.

See, the one thing I can't imagine the fell dragon being without is the grimoire that houses all of Grima's magic. As a source of much power and secrets, it was easy to convince the twins that obtaining my...Grima's tome could possibly help influence the return of my memories. Whether naturally or by some sort of spell, there's a good possibility of such being within the pages. I confirmed with them that the grimoire still existed and was kept under the tight supervision of the high priest. Terrifying as that is to know, having Validar possess the grimoire keeps time on our side. It won't be an easy feat to snatch that from his grasp.

Apart from the grimoire, I asked for information on the whereabouts of Plegia's gem, Sable. That's going to be a key piece in the future if we are to revive the power of the Fire Emblem. Of course, the twins don't have to know why. What's most important is that they have been placated. They've got a mission and it will do for now.

The positive side to all this is that the General has helped me strengthen our communication. We can freely interact as need be, whether in the open or privately. That helps guide us both in handling affairs without the children knowing. I still have a habit of speaking out loud to him when in conversation, but we can keep it in a mental realm all between ourselves if need be. The sensation of being so closely tied to someone was disconcerting at first, but I've come to grow used to the grumpy soul accompanying me. If anything, I have more to be grateful for than not. Without him, I would probably be in a worse off state.

That swell of gratitude echoes between us, drawing his gaze from where he's standing watch. My heart skips over a beat thinking I might feel some positive recognition from him. Instead...

"Would you turn the music down from that device of yours. It's bound to draw attention." He crosses his arms over his chest and turns back to his vigil over the road.

My head hangs in defeat, shoulders slumped. Would it kill the guy to offer a little positive reinforcement back? We still have a long way to go in terms of our relationship, not that I blame him. I should appreciate that he's willing to put up with me.

I slide back into a comfortable position and sigh to myself. I tilt my ear in the direction of the mp3 player. I've had it running nonstop, reveling in the nostalgia of my own world. What is playing right now? I got distracted with my thoughts. I catch a bit of a familiar tune. Oh, hold up! Is that the sweet and sensual tunes belonging to my favorite boys AJ, Howie, Nick, Kevin, and Brian? No way am I turning this off just yet!

"Turn that up, you say? I can't say no to that," I cackle, tweaking the volume so I can hear the full melody of the song. I rest my arms behind my head and cushion my neck. I close my eyes and let my right foot sway to the beat of the song. Yep, that's heaven right there. I'm going to embrace this and forget the way the General casts a stink-eye at me. I'm also going to ignore his persistent need to chastise me by humming louder than my own thoughts.

A quick burst of air blasts through his visor, though the General does nothing more in response. Instead, the armored Risen pushes off his lean. He makes obvious gestures to the road; time to go. I wait for the last beats of the song to fade away then put away my mementos, loathe as I am to do so, and help clean up the remains of camp. The General takes the dilapidated bag from me and grumbles while I continue to snicker behind his back. Can you blame me? What should I do when I see a hulking, demonic Risen slinking about with a beat-up anime messenger bag? I should take a photo the next time we rest!

One grumpy Risen and a few minutes later, we're walking along the lightly marked hunting trail toward our final destination: Arcos.

Arcos is a strategic keep in the mountains that is nestled in a valley between the western crags. Rich in timber and iron, a bustling community grew in the shadow of the castle built there. Most of its residents are low income miners and loggers. It's Vaike's hometown and, according to him, full of the hardiest folk around. Arcos also falls in the furthest reaches of Sully's duchy. The man who oversees the lands is Count Thibault, Sully's uncle by the blood of her father, the ruling duke. I don't know much about the man, but it is the closest to civilization I can find out in these parts.

When the twins scouted around the landscape earlier and told me our general location, I knew that Arcos was the destination to take me. As much as I want to see...certain people, I'm still recovering. Morgan could never fly me anywhere without getting noticed by scouts. Walking three weeks in my broken state to the closest base camp the Shepherds could be at is counterproductive. I left my message with Henry's crows to clearly show I was going to be in Arcos. It'll be as easy as meeting up with our people and grabbing a nice pegasus ride back home. It's enough to make me shake with impatience over the anticipation of our reunion. I cannot wait to see their faces!

About an hour or so later, I venture out a status call. "How's our progress?"

"I would say a half day of walking left."

"Ugh," I groan in defeat."I can't wait to stay in a real bed."

"Did you come up with a plan yet?" The General's voice drifts coolly in between my thoughts.

"I'll think of something. I promise. It's just been hard with me still trying to process everything else at the same time." I answer him in our mental form for better practice, though the sensation of hearing my own voice echo back in my ears is strange.I turn my head and look to his hazy form flitting between the shadows beside me. He means if I made up a proper excuse yet to tell everyone about how I went from the battle in the pass to a stronghold leagues away. That's going to be the tricky thing about our reunion. Whatever I come up with, it has to be an airtight lie that convinces everyone.

My eyes drift to the space around us. I'm still expecting one of the kids to jump in with a suggestion or just start a conversation. Their lack of presence reminds me how small and alone I feel in these woods. It's easier to travel in larger companies. "You know, I miss the company of the twins. It still bothers me to have sent them away. Marc and Morgan were so upset about leaving me."

The General materializes out into the physical realm and takes to walking beside me. It says something about our strained, but intact partnership. He would never have dared to keep equal stride with me before this. "Everything they expected to occur did not. You remain without memory, and they are no closer to recovering your alleged power." The rare softness he only displays when speaking of the twins shows through in his next line. "They feel as if they are abandoning you."

"That's hard to hear." I swallow the lump in my throat and tear my gaze from the harsh burn of his eyes. "They're likeable when not talking about mass genocide and war atrocities."

He starts to reply but halts in his tracks. The General throws an arm out to prevent me from moving further.

"What's wrong?" I project, my confusion palpable between us.

He holds a finger to his helmet's mouthpiece, then points to the brush ahead. Straining to listen, I initially hear nothing but the typical sounds of a peaceful forest around us. It takes a few beats of my heart to focus on anything now that I've been put into a state of alertness. Just beyond our sights, I finally hear something shuffling about through the bushes. The General uses his arm to further push me back until he steps in front of me. His eyes narrow in challenge, a single word flashing through my mind. "Risen."

"You're joking," I lose concentration and blather out loud in a heightened whisper between us. "Ferals?"

"We're closer to the main roads. Many Risen chased after their quarry and ended up in isolated groups roaming the paths."

"They don't seem to like me much," I say, pulling my arms around me for warmth. Shivers run through me as I remember the agonized wails of the Risen I faced at the pass.

"These are Tantibus' mistakes recreated for general purposes of mayhem. You taught Tantibus how to experiment with such magics. Some of them may be yours, so it's to be expected that the human souls inside may harbor some grudges," the General explains.

I hiss between me teeth. "Lovely."

"Tantibus experimented heavily on humans, though Grima oversaw much of the work. Their souls are far more fractured than mine, but the hate remains," The General utters bitterly. "They remember."

I feel a deep need to reach out and comfort the man next to me, even if it were just a shoulder squeeze to take the weight off his spirit. I'm no avid member of the church, but I'm aware of just how sacred the human soul is to the religions of Archanea, both Ylissean and Feroxi.

The General's fists clench tight at his sides and his body is rigid. "The worst fate to befall a human. An utter desecration of their soul. An affront to most religious teachings and a fate worse than death."

I can feel a vein twitch at the corner of my eye with how hard I'm forcing my face to stay placid. How many more twisted atrocities am I going to endure in Grima's name?

As if invoked by our very thoughts, a Risen shambles into the trail ahead. It's definitely a Feral. There's nothing but a low glimmer of red under the Ylissean helmet it wears. It's sinewy form is all bone and it moves with a jagged limp. A longsword drags through the dirt behind it picking up a trail of leaves.

Over the pungent smell of ancient bone dust, I catch a scent more sharp. It isn't like the one of decay that clings to the Risen. No, this has the sting of human properties. Blood and fear. I lift my eyes to the General, voice dipping into a whisper. "Do you smell that?"

"I do." His helmet turns to the side, casting me in the dim glow of his eyes. "Death."

"Should we go around them?" I take a few steps back from the Risen. It has yet to see us and continues its aimless wandering.

"No."

I look up at the General in surprise. His eyes burn hotly, grip so tight over his sword hilt I can hear the metal rubbing against it. "You're going to fight them?"

A brittle rasp of laughter escapes him. His sword clicks out of its scabbard, rising up and resting between the fingers of his gauntlet. "I am going to release the Risen from their misery." Then, he disappears.

The General reappears across the way and cuts out of the shadows beside the Risen. He crosses paths with the undead being. In one fluid arc, he brings his longsword out and through the Risen. The steel is the color of pitch and smokes like fresh tar. Like Marc's spear, the metal is enchanted heavily. The sigils that give it power are connected through a network of veins that all flow together. The deep violet hue flares up and seeps along the etched grooves to create a beautiful, if eerie, tapestry of art over the surface. If I have to give credit to Grima for something, it's that the dragon was a masterful enchanter.

"Stay here," the General's voice rumbles like a thunderstorm through my head. It's not a request, but an order. I raise my hands in surrender and accept my fate. He dashes into the brush beyond and incites a cacophony of Risen shrieks. The collection of groans and clashing of metal goes on for some time. I never sense alarm from the General, so I have to assume all is well. It doesn't stop me from pacing to and fro in a simple line as the fight draws out. Surprising even myself, an anxious tug at my heart signals that in some way, I'm nervous over his condition. Even after the threats and disagreements, I've come to regard the General as a compatriot of the most begrudging fashion. I can't help but worry for his safety just to the slightest degree.

The heavy feeling doesn't leave when the sounds finally die down. It intensifies. Time draws on and I hear nothing from him. The seconds of silence are too much for me to handle. "Hey, you okay?" I call out.

Nothing.

I start to prance in place, twisting the hem of my shirt. "You done over there?"

A burst of dust erupts outward from the space beyond the hedges, forcing me to jump back in surprise. I clutch at my chest even as the General materializes in the center of the whirlwind. Ashen particles dye his black armor with the remains of the Risen. "I am here."

"That's a relief," I breathe out.

The General brushes aside a curtain of hanging ivy that leads into the clearing beyond. A fresh breeze comes from that direction and renews the sweet tang of decay. "Robin." His voice booms through my mind for attention. "Here."

"What do you see?" I approach the ivy, pushing away stray ones from my face. I step into a lush glade that is beautifully framed by the protective arms of the weeping willows around it. The sunlight comes strong through the leaves in a green veil of dust particles. I hold a hand before my face to block an errant ray of light, blinking against it.

The General turns toward me. He speaks to me with the weight of a thousand lifetimes. "Civilians."

My blood freezes in my veins. My jaw clenches tight in restraint, heart hammering against my ribcage. I approach the edge of the clearing, swatting at the first flies to come buzzing in my face.

"Gods preserve them." The General's sorrow is an icepick stabbing deep in-between my bones.

This...this is a sight I've only heard about from the scouts. Tales of the unlucky who crossed paths with Risen in the wild without any sort of armed escort. Stories of whole villages slaughtered overnight. This is the reason why Ylisstol gained so many refugees. Risen kill with no prejudice. There is no chance to bargain or plead with them. You fight a Risen, or flee. If you can't do either...You end up like these people.

Five bodies in various states of decay are sprawled in their last moments of retreat around the clearing. None of the individuals here met a clean end. Every victim can lay claim to multiple entry wounds on both the front and back of their torsos. As none of them wore armor of any sort, the cloth of their apparel did nothing to hamper the attacks. Blood, long dried and crusted to the earth, paints the ground in a sick kaleidoscope of artistic mania only Risen could leave behind.

"Why were there people here?" The General dwells on a good point.

I bury a hand deep into my sleeve and use the length of it to cover my nose and mouth. I approach the central point of what appears to have been their camp. I kneel down beside the circle of stones they used as a pit and assess the environment. The camp, if you can call it that, is a makeshift one. There are barely any of the commodities you would find on a seasoned adventurer. No tents, traps, or fishing gear. The fire pit is badly put together, lacking a proper structure to ensure control over the flames. There's not even a single bedroll around, only makeshift sleeping sites arranged from the natural brush. It's clear to me the individuals who stayed here never actually meant to. There's no proper tools for it. This ramshackle camp was put together as a base of operations for the displaced.

A cloak lies discarded by my feet. I pick it up and turn the thick wool in my hands. The hem is stained deeply from the puddle of blood it once sat in. Dark green in color, a single pin lies nestled in the folds. It appears to be a crest, perhaps that of the lord these people worked for?

"These were shepherds by the looks of it." I turn to see the General standing over one of the victims. He picks up a long piece of wood from the body and tries to shake it loose from the death grip the corpse has on it. After a few tugs, he gives up and just holds it for me to see. What he presents is definitely the signature crook of a herdsman.

"They even killed the animals," I say. I approach him and point into the space beyond just over his shoulder. He turns to look, breathing heavy into the air.

Spread out over the landscape is even more bodies, these of the sheep these shepherds watched over. Carcasses...so many of them. Every single animal here put to the slaughter for no good reason other than the pent up anger these Risen possessed. Young and old, none were spared. Blood turned rusty brown from days in rot weigh down the pure white of their burgeoning wool coats. The sheep died close together, probably huddled in fear at their last moments. Without their protectors, darkness overwhelmed them. The thought is a chilling one that borderlines premonitions of a future too close for comfort within me.

"Listen. Something else lingers in these woods," the General says abruptly.

My head swings around looking over our surroundings in a panic. "More Risen?"

He presses an ear to the wind. "Male voices talking close by. They sound alarmed."

"Let's go check it out. It could be survivors!"

After drifting through shadows for a time, we converge upon a trio of figures. Another sight of massacre greets us. The scattered fragments of human bodies litter the ground alongside two unknown pack animals. These bodies are not even salvageable, if recognizable. I can't even tell how many bodies were originally present.

A trio of armored men move with an air of unrest, discussing matters in hushed tones. The silver plates they wear are standard issue for Ylissean guards, all the way down to the navy blue cloaks with gold trim. Curiously, the crests stitched to their cloaks are not of the royal house, but of some personal coat of arms. Maybe Arcos? I look down at the cloak still grasped in my hand. Observing the pin on it, it does appear to match the crest on their cloaks. If this is true, that's a disrespectful thing to do. All soldiers bare the arms of the Exalt to show their loyalty to her. Declaring loyalty to a sub-par count is a bold thing to declare, especially for the noble himself to let it stand.

"Looks to be guards from Arcos. They're far from home," I say. I lean closer through the brush, eyeing a large mass moving beyond them. Its great wings spread out in a stretch that is timed evenly with the yawn that springs from its long jaw. A wyvern? That can't be right. "I've never heard of Ylissean guards riding wyverns," I murmur to myself, "they aren't a naturally bred species here."

"No," the General echoes in my mind, "they don't."

I turn my attention to the conversation occurring between the men. Of the three, the one leaning against the tree furthest from us sounds more annoyed than anything. "How much longer do we got to keep slogging through these flaming woods? These sheep ain't worth this torture."

"Is he talking about the sheep we found?" I whisper.

The animated one pacing about throws his arms into the air. "Not our call. They are Thibault's property and we do as that count orders."

The last soldier pulls at some belt buckles and ties it around his waist. He checks the weight of his sword against it while speaking. "The lieutenant and our others boys are still missing out there. At least we've given it a go at searchin' for 'em, yeah?"

"True," the lively one says. He no longer stalks about and rubs a hand over his chin.

The one by the tree stretches and steps away. He works his shoulder muscles in a circular motion before stretching it out over the other. "Captain's mad. He and the lieutenant go way back. Probably worried."

My attention drifts away from the men talking and back to the General. "What do you make of them?"

"It appears to be just as you suggested. These guards of Arcos appear to be searching for those shepherds and their flock," the General surmises for both of us.

"Too late, by the looks of it," I say, shaking my head in regret. "That's our destination. Do you think we should maybe make contact? They could help me get to the city without too much hassle. It would free you from babysitting me anyway."

"We should-" The General's head whips to the side and his eyes grow wide. He shrinks back and blinks out of existence before I can say anything, voice piercing through my skull like he took a spear to it. "Behind you! Someone comes!"

What? How could someone possibly have come upon us without him sensing it?

"Ah, there you are!" A male voice rings out in cheerful greeting causing me to leap off the ground. I whirl around just as someone comes up and throws a friendly pat on my shoulder. "I was wondering when you would appear. Perhaps it is good I went looking to save us time."

My body tenses up with the intent to shove the intruder away, but something forces me to pause first and look him over. Something about his voice is too familiar. I do a short rundown of his features. Long, blonde hair. Heavy robes. An ornate walking stick. A large, welcoming smile despite the fact that he's squinting at me. No, wait, his eyes are fully closed.

"It's been a while Robin. Since, Ironhold if I remember correctly," he says.

It all clicks into place. I stumble back, pointing a finger at him. "Asche?"

He holds to the walking staff dug firmly into the soil. He bends at the waist and offers a sweeping bow with his free hand. "Indeed, your friendly village skuld here!"

I was puzzled before, but now I'm just shocked when another voice continues after him. The voice deadpans in a low, female alto. "You're the only skuld around."

A figure emerges from the shadows behind him. It's a young woman close to, or the same age, as Asche. She's got the lean, muscular build that athletic runners carry. Contrasting Asche's almost platinum blonde, her dark brown hair is just a few shades shy of black. She contrasts the monotone darkness by winding it all in a mess of braids decorated with assortments of beads and ribbons. Feroxi often decorate their hair with ornaments to invoke charms or declare trophies, but hers is borderline obnoxious. It certainly stands out with the eclectic colors, drawing in your gaze and making you focus on her.

Despite her sharper chin and smaller eyes, I can see a clear resemblance in both of their features. Asche only confirms my suspicion of relations with a good-humored laugh to her reaction. "Right you are, lovely sister of mine! Makes it easier for me to be recognized!"

"Robin, who are they?" the General says.

"Allies," I communicate silently between us. I stare at the newcomers completely unable to believe what I'm seeing! "I sure as all hells don't know how or why they're here!"

Asche turns his attention back to me. "Ah, before I run out of time, let me introduce my sister here. I mentioned her before, I believe?" He tilts his head in thought, then shakes it. "Well, I'm sure I did. With that being said, Sigrún, say hello."

"We're on borrowed time. We don't have the luxury of nice talk," Sigrún huffs and brushes past him. The look of flat annoyance she carries is eerily familiar. Sigrún stops before me and points to the area where those three soldiers are standing. She speaks in a hushed whisper. "Listen, those soldiers over there are about to stumble on this place. You tell them you're a shepherd, like us. We all got separated when Risen attacked our herd, got it?"

"I...what?" I stumble in surprise at her demand.

Sigrún rolls her eyes to the side and speaks slower, as if I were a distracted toddler. "You. Common shepherd." She pokes me once in the chest then points at her own. "Us. Friends."

"I got that far," I mumble, clutching at the spot on my shirt where she jabbed me.

"Ancestors," Sigrún says into the depths of one hand. "Just let us talk you out of this. Explanations can come later. And put that cloak on, it will help us out. There's enough missing bodies that we can use their identities."

E-excuse me? I'm body-snatching what now?

The stained cloak in my hands matches the ones she and Asche both wear. Like mine, they are crusted heavily with gore and the muck of battle. Sigrún turns away from me and offers a showing of the impressive long bow nestled snugly in a holster on her back. Asche offers a sympathetic nod at me, gripping both hands over his walking stick as he leans into it. "This is most assuredly bizarre to you, even after all you have endured, I wager. I would just ask you trust us in this moment. You've strayed quite far from the path, and we're here to help align your steps back to the right one."

Something isn't right about this. It's not that I doubt their intentions. My intuition says that everything about these two rings true. I'm convinced they are here the help. The question is why? And, further more, how?

Asche picks up his staff and turns the head of it toward the shadows over my shoulder. I peek back and am startled to see his aim is directly on mark with where I can feel the General concealing himself. "It would be best if your friend steps further away. There are some magic sensitives among the troop there who may detect a trace of his spell work."

Alarm and suspicion invade my thoughts and leave me disoriented thanks to the force of the General's outburst. "He knows I'm here?"

"Y-you see him?" I blink, startled in my own right.

Asche carries on, oblivious to my words. "In a sense. I can see his life essence. Masked beautifully, if I may say. It's near invisible even to me, and I carry the sister affinity naturally in tune with such dark magics." He leans forward and breathes in. His brow furrows. "A little alarming even, I must say."

There's a swell of aggression from my undead counterpart. The General bristles with a negativity that's making me feel ill. "Robin, we should abandon this right now. I trust none of this. This convenient encounter of ours is far to unbelievable to accept."

"Asche is a skuld. He probably foresaw this," I say out loud, lapsing into old practice.

"Foresaw? Are you suggesting he...predicted we would meet? Here? Now?"

Asche leans on his toes so he can peer over my shoulder. He actually raises a hand and offers the incorporeal form behind me a small wave. "Oh, you are on speaking terms?"

I try not to laugh at the absurdity of the gesture. The General is just bursting with conflicting emotions. "Don't mind him. He's cranky. And confused, much like myself."

"Ah," Asche nods, settling back down. "Understandable, though I will beg your pardon. I must be brief at this moment. As I said before, I was guided here for the purpose of leading you back to where you are needed. I saw the possibility in the stones and took initiative. You're turning out to be a very intriguing character in the grand tapestry of it all. Also, you are very hard to track down. May I suggest getting lost in a smaller zone of interest next time?"

So he did foresee it! I guess this skuld thing isn't just nonsense. I mean, how else would a blind cleric be able to find me in the middle of an uninhabited forest after missing for more than a month? And how did he just appear out of the blue with no detection from the General, the literal king of shadows himself?

"Do not refer to me as such," the General butts into my thoughts. Gods, I hate when he does that. I slam the proverbial door shut between us and sever the bond as best I can accomplish.

Before I can say anything more, Sigrún gestures madly for us to cease our conversation. She makes several large strides away from her vantage point and joins her brother and I just as an unknown figure enters the scene. It's one of those three guards. He slams his visor up to display a sneer of impatience. "What's going on here? What's all the noise you two? I thought I ordered you to keep looking!"

Sigrún steps in front of me with her back to the soldier. She mouths out for me to play along. I tilt my head just enough to show my cooperation, and watch Asche greet him.

The soldier's visor falls again and he gives it a good slam back into place. The amount of force he uses betrays a reoccurring problem for him. His sunken eyes dart over our faces. He growls between yellow teeth, waiting for a response.

"And lucky day for you, we proved to be useful today!' Asche banters undeterred by the man. I'm beginning to doubt anything could shake his attitude. It's night and day compared to his no-nonsense sister.

The soldier takes a rag out of his pouch and dabs at his face with it, glaring at the sun above. "Oh yeah? Better be good then."

"I'm happy to say we found another missing shepherd." His pleasant demeanor slips causing him to clear his throat and start again. "Only one."

"What?" The soldier does a double-take in my direction, finally recognizing I'm a new face. "You there! Are you what he's talking about?"

Sigrún raises both brows at me, waiting. Time to act! I press both palms to my chest and swoon in the soldier's direction, voice dripping in desperation. "Oh! Oh yes! Praise Naga! Are you here to save me?"

The soldier brushes past Sigrún and grabs me roughly by the shoulders. I startle in surprise over the sudden movement. He shakes me once, the stench of his ale-ridden breath washing over my face. "Where's the sheep?" All that comes out of me is a confused garble, so he shakes me again. "Where's Thibault's herd?"

I raise a shaking finger in the direction of the bodies behind us. I exchange a glance with Sigrún saying flatly just between us, "I'm possibly bleeding out and he asks about the flock?"

"Our lives seem to hold less weight than the sheep." She blows a loose braid out her eyes by the corner of her mouth. "Thibault is a pathetic man if he weighs the price of gold against his own people."

"Luckily, we aren't. So no hard feelings, eh?" Asche grins.

A decent chunk of time passes before we hear the soldier crashing back through the woods. He lets out a stream of cuss words, stomping with thunderous steps. When he emerges, he throws a finger to me then back over his shoulder. "That's it?"

Way to hide that disappointment! Never mind five people died in a horrific fashion miles from home. Let's ignore these poor sheep and their fluffy faces. Ass.

"I'm all that's left." I put on my best disguise. Pulling with a demure meekness at the end of my sleeves, I look up at the man through my eyelashes. My voice breaks with emotions of fatigue and horror. "Back there is where the Risen caught up to us. I barely managed to slip away. I've been surviving on my own since then."

The soldier leers at the three of us. His scowl grows so great his lips peel back from his teeth all the way to the gum line. "Oh, fuck all."

"What's the matter?" One of the soldier's buddies pops his head in and takes a look around. He stares in my direction, then stumbles and points. "Ho! There's another one!"

"Yeah." I feel someone grab up my shirt and give a harsh push toward the man. The angry one growls behind me. "Take this one back to the captain. The woman here can deliver the news, cause I sure won't."

The second soldier loses his friendly demeanor, shoulders sagging with the dread of unknown news. "Not good, huh?"

"Yeah, dumb twits up and offed themselves days ago. Took the whole herd with 'em." I hear the one behind me retreat, mumbling all the way. "Damn it all. That's going to piss all over our afternoon. Nuthin' to eat but jerky for dinner now."

"I highly doubt-" My protesting of the man's callous attitude is quelled by gentle touch to the arm by Asche. He shakes his head to mean that now is not the time. But, why are these guards being like this?

The newcomer appears a bit more sympathetic, but not much. "He's right. Captain's in a bad mood. Best to keep moving, yeah?" That's the last thing he says to us. The soldier waves over a friend who corrals us together. Whomever it is they want to me to speak to is away for the time being, so the guards leave us alone in the corner while conversing by themselves elsewhere. The whole situation is downright bizarre. I would think I should feel safe and relieved having been lucky enough to find guards of Arcos on my route there. However, nothing about this feels right. These guards are acting far from helpful, as if aiding me was a chore. There is a severe lack of concern over my well-being. Hell, the guards didn't even care enough to investigate my identity. The very mission itself is an inconvenience to them. And then there's these two siblings here! Looks like I've been absorbed into some facade of theirs, now I've passed the point of no return. I'm in this little ploy of Asche's whatever it may be. Speaking of...

"Asche?" I step up beside him, whispering under my breathe.

"Not the most ideal location to discuss matters, yes?" he responds.

"Normally I would agree, but I'm incredibly lost at the moment," I confess. "How are you even here?"

"Ah, we were displaced during the last battle. Those Risen swarmed the back lines and fell quickly upon our countrymen, sending us moving for cover. Luckily some of us have a knowledge of the woods to get by, isn't that right Sigrún?" he says, elbowing his sister.

Sigrún makes a "tsk" sound in the back of her throat and carries on with working on the maintenance of her bow.

Asche speaks on unfazed by her. "Fate has a funny way of working things out as they should. The stones said you would be in need of a timely intervention. I knew not how I could render aid, but the divine led us here. For example, your steps led you to the perfect alibi. Discovering those shepherds, as we did in another area, gives foundation to our story. All the others are dead so none can dispute our identities. I had thought we may have to convince them more, but their interests lie elsewhere."

"Do you expect me to believe that's real?" I say.

"We could ask the same of you." Sigrún's challenge is a surprise I wasn't expecting. It leaves me more perplexed than before, wondering what these two could be up to.

"You must forgive Sigrún, even if she speaks the truth for us both. We do not mean to invoke suspicions on your part," Asche says, attempting to diffuse the the frigid air between us. He uses the support of his staff to settle into a comfortable position beneath a nearby elm tree. "We simply find ourselves just as perplexed over how the prospect of yourself could be real. You are behind many events that have been happening. Ones that had not come to pass in our recollection. Time seems to simply blend around you. But then again, we have been attempting to move time in a path favorable to us as well. One can hardly judge when in undesirable positions such as ours."

I take a step back, the explanation he offers wrought with information no common soul should have. The first raw tendrils of fear begin to rise up. My alarm spreads to the Risen beyond me. He bursts with the rising intent of battle, one wrong word away from interfering. "What are you saying?" I speak in careful measure, watching both siblings for any sign of foul play.

"You haven't realized yet?" Asche cocks his head to the side in a thoughtful sincerity, oblivious to my negative reception. "We are the same as you. Time travelers from a bygone future."

The bowstring of Sigrún's weapon snaps in my direction, an nonexistent arrow released into the center of my hammering heart. The ranger lowers her bow and glares me through, her words more accusing than informative. "Maybe you've heard of our parents? Raimi, Khan of the East and former Grand General? Her husband is lesser known. Kellam of Watcher's Way, formerly of the Shepherds?

"K- Kellam?" My eyes sweep back and forth over the two siblings. I memorize each bit of their faces and outlines to compare to the profiles of the two figures they just named. One a brunette, the other blonde. Clear Feroxi heritage. One bearing Kellam's soft positivity and the other Raimi's steel-wrought sincerity. The more I look, the more I can't deny resemblances. Like Lucina, Owain, Nah, and Laurent, these two carry the clear genetic markers of those whom they call their parents.

The General's voice buzzes with a hectic desire for knowledge. "Robin? What is that girl saying?"

"They're...they're children of the Shepherds. Just like the ones that follow Princess Lucina." I ignore any further pestering he makes, too consumed by my own shock to listen. Most of this comes from the knowledge Lucina imparted to me about her world. By her accounts, this is all wrong! "How in the hells... I was told Kellam died!"

Sigrún's face darkens. She turns her head to the east, braids falling in a curtain around her face to conceal it. "During a clash between Ylissean soldiers and Grima's forces, Father was left for dead during a landslide that seized the company he was in. Feroxi survivors found him and nursed him to health in the eastern mountains. That's where he met mother among the Feroxi rebellion."

Asche nods at his sister's words to confirm the truth. "Father has an unfortunate curse in place, as you've noticed. When he went missing, it took a great deal of time for his compatriots to notice. Without means of proper communication and the ill state of the world, it was an obvious outcome for all that he had simply perished. A fact Sigrún cannot seem to forgive."

Sigrún just remains silent.

"C- curse?" I babble. "How?"

Asche chuckles lightly. He runs his hands over the grooves of his walking staff, a faint light of something magical inside appearing in a trail behind his fingertips. "Ah, well, that's a story for another date. We are short on time, so this explanation should suffice for now. Luckily, I have been fixing that issue. Take heart that a charm he now wears is doing wonders until I can unravel it." He sets the staff over his lap and rest both hands on it before settling against the tree. "But back on point, yes? Your gods aren't the only ones troubled at the world's events. Grima has broken some laws even the gods abide by. We're warriors of a different faction, but of the same cause. Sigrún and I are from a more recent past than your friends, but that does not diminish our plight any less."

"Your gods?" I ask him. "Do you mean the Feroxi gods?"

"Valm's are as well, though their champion is unknown to me." Asche shrugs with one shoulder. "Valm's dual gods have taken a silent approach to affairs in the last centuries, much like the Feroxi. Their times have passed and they slumber, but they linger on never truly gone. They are tied far too much to these lands to let go completely, and the human who carries the burden of their legacy is at play."

"Valm's..." I gasp. I know I must sound stupid, but I'm having the hardest time grasping what's happening. "What is going on?"

"The end of our world," Sigrún says, mouth set in a terse line.

"Your friend Anna didn't explain? I'm aware they sent an enforcer from their own ranks to help settle this." My lingering silence is enough confirmation for Asche. "No matter, I can explain what I know later."

"I'd rather it be now," I press insistently on him.

"While fair of you to ask, I would prefer to be out of earshot of these men here. In case you have not noticed," Asche pauses to point at the guards beyond us, "something about them is not right."

Sigrún rests the bow against her shoulder and glares at the men. "There's something not right about the whole of Arcos. We went there first and found the gates shut tight to outsiders."

My heart drops at the news. That makes no sense! "That's impossible! All the keeps are ordered by the Exalt to accept refugees, or to accommodate them for travel elsewhere."

Sigrún snorts and rolls her eyes. "Not this one."

"Hence this lovely scheme of ours. The execution is dishonest, yes. Adopting the persona of the departed is reprehensible, but necessary in this case. I fear a way into the city would be barred to us otherwise," Asche says.

I find myself staggering under the weight of my plans blowing up so magnificently in my face. I take a seat on the ground, groaning into my hands. "We can't just tell them who we are? I'm sure the gates will open for a ranked military officer like myself."

"It would be ill-advised," Asche answers me with a sad smile. "I did not foresee honesty as a fork in time ending in our favor. The air of the guards, both here and at Arcos is full of suspicion. They don't seem to like Ylisseans, but abide Arcos' citizens by word of the Count."

"We might as well just go with it. These men are either too stupid, or too heartless to care about us. All that matters is the profit they lost in those animals. For now, let's just get to the city." Sigrún peers into the depths of the woods around us. "Those two kids aren't around, are they?"

"The twins?" I ask, unsure who else she could mean.

"Yes."

Then, the General and I both startle in fear. How in the hell does she know about them now? Did these two just stalk us all the way from the pass? He reels at their mention, and grows with power again. I look in his direction and shake my head before answering Sigrún. "No. They're on reconnaissance for me."

Before I can ask, Sigrún sighs and begins to put her bow away. "Good. We have a history."

"Tried to kill our young Exalt and her friends," Asche elaborates. "Our timely intervention once upon an eve stopped a premature end to this cycle, and further."

They...Marc and Morgan did what? I turn towards where the General is faded from view. I narrow my eyes to a dangerous glare that only adds to impact of the mental accusation I throw at him. "Did you know about this?"

"I..." He bubbles with genuine confusion. The frothing chaos between us intensifies to a cold rush of realization that does not leave me doubting his innocence, whatever it was. "No. It does explain an event though I had questioned."

The approaching of voices ends our brief, if not shocking, exchange. Before I know it, the rude soldier from before drags me forward by the arm to stand before his captain. The tall man I encounter is busy fussing with the wyvern he rides. He spends more attention on it than the lame sob story I spin for him. Only when I mention the unfortunate demise of all their quarry does he finally look at me. I catch a glimpse of roughly-hewn features under course-sandy hair. A dark scowl crosses over his sharp features.

"Well ain't that fuckin' peachy." That's all he says before turning back to his wyvern. No concern for my state of being. No remorse over the lost souls. Just a bland disappointment in failing the mission. He shakes his wrist as if to wave me away, grumbling hotly under his breath.

I'm eventually herded back to Asche and Sigrún. We huddle together and exchange only a few whisperd words since the soldiers are so close. I see a few men pitch up some posts and dig out a fire pit. It's while they are putting up the poles for the spit that the first of the bodies arrive. The departed civilians are recovered one after another, wrapped up in bolts of white cloth that are stained with death. The process goes on as one after another is loaded onto a wooden cart hitched to the roadside. After the humans are recovered, the sheep bodies come. I'm aghast to see that the animal corpses are thrown so casually atop the human ones. It's extremely disrespectful to treat bodies like this. Regardless of the church's teachings, it's just common sense not to mix bodies in such a way. Just who the hell are these people?

My "rescuers" alert us sometime afterward that we'll reach the city by nightfall. Before that, they were going to prepare a small meal before blitzing us all the way to the finish line. Fine by me as my stomach turned into a raging black hole some time back. Camp is pitched off the side of the road with a single big pot used to whip up a meager stew. It's become very evident that there is a division of interests in the party. Those considered civilians like myself are promptly ignored with the only hint of acknowledgment being a wooden bowl thrown at my face. Their captain immediately detaches himself to tend to his wyvern. The rest of the group huddle around the fire in a scene of bawdy jokes and camaraderie that leaves me yearning for the Shepherds.

Well, almost everyone has joined the inner folds of the group. A select trio of individuals in hooded cloaks sit away from the rest under the shade of the trees nearby. Ostracized further from them is a woman all by her lonesome with a book in her lap.

There is sparse conversation between the Feroxi siblings and I. Asche carries most of the conversation with his sister who throws out an occasional grunt of affirmation while stringing up her bow. I try to pay attention, but I always find my gaze wandering back to the woman at the edge of camp. I can't help but feel sorry for her. Time passes and I'm about halfway through my soup when my fifth stolen peek in her direction garners my interest further.

Instead of reading, the woman appears to be returning for a second helping of food. The loner moves with a fluid ease over the debris-strewn grounds. Though a full length mage's garb hangs over her whole body, it seems to cling perfectly to the basic shape of her form. There's just enough sway of her hips under the folds of cloth to leave the imagination something. She has an aura of mystery around her that leaves me wanting to see the face sheltered by the depths of her hood.

She approaches the pot hanging over the fire for that second helping. Her arrival does not go unnoticed and grabs more than just my attention. She doesn't receive any friendly salutations from her cohorts. The others just snicker with jeers among themselves. It must be a common occurrence because she glides past them without a glance of acknowledgment.

One of the men elbows his buddy and jerks a thumb at her. I watch as he pulls one leg over the log he sits on to join the other. Just as the woman is about to pass, he gets up in haste. He steps right in front of her and brushes past with a clear intent to catch his elbow against her bowl. The force of his intrusion knocks the wares from her hand and sends it rolling away. Her hood drops and follows the bowl's path until it ends its course behind her. The woman doesn't utter a word. She just looks back at the man who meets her eyes with a lob-sided grin of stained teeth.

His pal from earlier slaps the back of his forearm and laments the situation with metaphorical crocodile tears. "Now look whatcha did, Cob. You gone and messed up her lunch."

"Oops. Clumsy me," the offender says with his smile never diminishing. He jerk his head at the bowl and winks at the woman. "Gonna have to pick that up. Don't want to go hungry, eh?"

Ah, I see. Looking to get an eyeful when she bends over to pick it up, maybe even a hand at that. That's the game you want to play? Oh buddy, do we have a problem here. Forced objectification is not a very nice thing to do.

"Dirty ol' buck," Sigrún says. She spits out of the side of her mouth into the dirt and rubs it in with her foot, a Feroxi folk tradition that supposedly helps stain the target's reputation with the ancestors.

Asche looks up from his own meal and tilts his head up in thought. "Something amiss in camp?"

"Nope," I say in a sweet fashion that's all but a miracle given how tightly my teeth grind together in annoyance. "Not in the least."

Sigrún watches me with one raised brow as I put my bowl aside and brush my hands off. When I rise with purpose and an the intent of intervention, she purses her mouth in satisfaction and nods with approval. On the opposite spectrum, a cold block of rejection staggers my footsteps. My mental bond flares in activation with the General's voice booming out.

"Robin." He's conflicted. The General doesn't approve of the situation either, but he doesn't want to draw attention. This is wrong, but I shouldn't cause potential difficulty when surrounded by a bunch of strangers who don't give a damn about my overall welfare. Normally, I would agree with him. There's could be some risk in earning their ire. But still...I really don't fucking like this guy right now.

"Robin, no."

I flash the General a conspiratory grin worthy of Grima. Robin, yes!

He resonates with exasperation but does not fight me on the intervention, choosing to just withdraw in defeat.

I've crossed the distance between us in a few good strides. I ignore the tinge of pain in my back and scoop up the bowl with ease. I stand there behind her silently and wait until their little exchange is over. When the woman turns back for her lost possession, I'm already standing in front her with it held out to take. It's easy to say that I've stolen the man's dumb grin for my own seeing how fast his slips off and mine comes on.

"Looks like you dropped this." I speak with sickeningly sweet innocence and push the bowl further toward her, my gaze never leaving the man's. "Here you go."

His eyes bulge out just a little, lips going thin and white from the repressed urge to yell out something for foiling his efforts. His posse of friends deflate, a few waving their hands at us in disappointment before turning back to their meals with the fun now over. Having been caught and with no way to recover, the man retreats with a hearty string of grumbles toward me.

The cloaked woman stares at the bowl in my extended hands. Dark eyes peer out from the shadows of her equally dark hair framing the contours of her face. The curtain falls away with the tilt of her heart-shaped chin to reveal contrasting pale skin. The sultry rasp of her voice is offset by the annoyance she harbors. "You didn't need to do that."

I chuckle lightly, hoping I didn't harm her pride too bad for swooping in like that. "Maybe not. But that man didn't need to do what he did ei...ther..." My speech trails off when I look back at the jerk responsible for all this.

The man is growling in frustration while stomping out the remains of his own dinnerware in the sand. The bowl, food, and all the utensils have all spontaneously combusted, much to the horror of his neighbors. The man continues to kick dirt over the flaming husks of his dinner causing thick plumes of smoke to rise. There's a glitter of light reflecting off small arcane particles in the smoke that warns the source of the disaster is magic-related.

Sure enough, when my attentions return to the woman before me, I see one pale hand drawing back under her cloak. Her sullen reply follows. "I can handle myself."

"You did that?" I snicker, shaking my head at the ridiculous scene. I extend her own bowl again and repeat my offer. "Here's yours."

Her eyes narrow from under her bangs and scan over my face for signs of deception. I remain still in my position to maintain the innocence of my intents. After a short period of deliberation, she reaches for the bowl. I expect her to extract it quickly from my grasp given her acerbic nature, but the smooth undersides of her palm remain over mine. She leans up on her toes and inclines her face closer to examine my own. It provides a clearer view of her high cheek bones and the full lips she is now biting at the corner in concentration.

She's...she's really attractive. No wonder the idiot behind us was looking for eyeful. I'd comment further but the mage robes she wears are the summer standards. Between a neckline that plunges just enough and a corset that offers immense support, this woman has done wonders in enhancing her body's...natural character.

And speaking of that idiot from earlier, he's now shouting and waving at the two of us. I'm actually thankful for the emergence of the company's leader as it breaks the woman's scrutiny of me. I'm really starting to flush from the attention.

She yanks the bowl from me and hugs it to her chest, withering up like a flower in winter. The captain's scowl is on par with his wyvern's glare, both annoyed for the interruption in the cleaning of the beast's nails. "Why are you wasting my time now?"

Cob, or whatever his name is, throws a thick finger under my nose to point at the woman beside me. "She used her shitty magic to burn my food!"

I sneer in disgust and knock away his hand. The captain before us parts his mouth as if to say something, but remains lost for words. The scrutiny he casts on us shows full and well that he thinks he's in the presence of nothing but a bunch of dumb asses. He rubs a hand from his forehead all the way down over his chin, then squints at the mage. "Tharja?"

What?

Thank God all the attention is currently on her because my heart literally just stopped with my face frozen in a sheer moment of shock. The woman – Tharja – turns her head away from the commanding officer. She shrinks into her shoulders and mumbles something into the folds of her hood. Nothing kind, I reckon.

The captain shakes his head once again. In a surprising twist, he turns to me. "You, shepherd. You tell me what happened."

If my heart stopped beating before, it shatters here completely. My breath is stolen from me in a panic over calling me a Shepherd. Then, a calming wave takes over and I let out the breath I had been holding. It's a cold, sharp exhale. I'm forgetting that he doesn't mean my title, but the role I'm masquerading in. It takes all my strength to unhinge my hanging jaw and get it to function again. I look at …Tharja and try not to ogle. Not from anything sexual. Just the shock of meeting her here, of all places!

"That one," I say with a clear poke toward Cob's chest, "intentionally dropped her bowl on purpose and wanted her to pick it up. You know, give them a view." To emphasize, I turn to the side and pat my hip region.

The captain's heated glare burns us all in the fiery sweep that rolls over us. He squints hardest at the fellow named Cob, causing the latter to shrink back. His head droops and allows his fingers to climb up and massage his furrowed temples. He mumbles under his breath. "...fuck's sake."

Cob raises up two sweaty fists in protest. "Cap'n I didn't-"

Cob chokes into a gasp of alarm as his collar comes up under his Adam's apple. He struggles to pull the tight neckline away from his airway, a rough thing to do with how hard his captain has it in his fist. He pulls the man close, sneering."I know you well enough Cob. You're an embarrassment to your mother. Stop dicking around and have some dignity. You can find all the whores you want back at Arcos, but you leave your comrades alone."

"But Captain, she ain't- " Cob is jerked again so hard he swallows both his words and tongue.

The captain throws Cob back with enough force to send the other man toppling backward over the log they use as a bench. "How many times have I told you- " He stops and sweeps a hand over all his men while raising his voice, " - all of you, that we're kinsmen here? We treat each other right, or not at all."

Most of the company nod their heads in agreement with casual looks of annoyance at the trio who started the immature stint. The wrong-doers in question bury their heads, minus Cob who continues to swim through leaves trying to rise to his feet over his tangled limbs.

The captain isn't done there. His tone is not as harsh, but the firm strike of his order is not one to be ignored. "Tharja. We don't use magic in front of civilians." He points at me. "Combat etiquette."

Tharja rolls her eyes, but says nothing.

Finally, he grabs me by the arm and pulls me away from Tharja. I expect to be jostled back, but he hesitates. His stone gray eyes bare a hint of conflict. He assesses me with a brief flick of his eyes from head to toe. Then, as if realizing something, he clucks his tongue and pushes me back. "Move along. We don't need you mixing up in our affairs."

I raise both hands in surrender and turn around without a fight. My work is done. I can't help one spare glance at Tharja on my way back. Her eyes meet my from the side, but she remains neutral in her expression.

"That was reckless," the General says to me while I walk back to Asche and Sigrún.

"My actions are last thing we should be worried about." With the high of the confrontation now fading, the alarm over Tharja causes a string of cuss words to run through my thoughts. "This is not good! This is really bad."

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"I know who that woman is," I tell him. My heart feels ready to explode from my chest. If she's here, and she's with these people...then that means... "That woman is a Grimleal mage. Why is a Grimleal employed in the guards of Arcos?"

He doesn't respond, but the ill feelings of alarm are all I need to know that we share the same fears. A weighted ball drops into my stomach. I return to the siblings and offer a tired nod in greeting. I fall to the ground like a sack of bricks. The logs we sit on offer no comfort, the bark feeling extra bumpy somehow.

"You two, we need to talk," I say immediately upon recovering my speech. While Asche offers me a curious look, Sigrún puts down her spoon and points behind me. I hear leaves crunching and then they stop a short distance behind me. I turn my head to look back. My heart leaps up into my throat. Shiiiiiit.

Tharja, dark mage extraordinaire, has joined the party.

Well, sort of. She's just standing awkwardly outside our circle. With all the attention cast on her, the woman clams up, glancing off to the side with a gloomy look.

"Do not give away your fears, Robin," the General chides in my head.

"Can you please shut up? You're making this worse!" I yell, er, project loudly at him before shutting down the conversation. I turn my attention back on our newcomer trying to look as natural as a rattled individual like myself can.

"Uh, hello Tharja," I say, trying to sound calm. My heart is hammering though from the shock of this meeting. Apart from the fact of what the implications of her being here could mean, I'm not exactly sure what to expect from her as a person. It's something I've occasionally dwelt on. I mean, Tharja in the game is kind of, uh, what's a nice word? Attentive to Robin? While I enjoy getting doted on like anyone else, the pixelated version of the dark mage has interests that are...excessive. The thought of meeting someone so fixated on me is both alarming and disconcerting. Here I am facing that prospect with no warning or preparation. Boy, this is going to be a test.

Tharja steals a peek at me, then raises her chin and walks past us. She finds a tree with a far-reaching shade to protect her from the worst of the heat. She folds her long legs beneath her and sits comfortably into the elevated roots around it. She pulls a book from the depths of her sleeves and props it open on her lap. Without looking at us, she utters with disinterest, "It's quieter here. Less idiots to distract me. Don't think this means anything."

"We didn't," Sigrún deadpans.

"How do you know her? This is different than just a fear of an enemy." The General continues to tickle my conscious with curiosity.

I project to him, still reeling. "It's one of the future Shepherds."

"She...is?" There's a long pause of uncertainty, followed by a straining of thought that leaves me with a dull headache. It's as though I'm trying to remember something for him even though it's impossible.

"She's a Grimleal that converts to our side during a grand battle," I explain, "or that's what is supposed to happen."

There's another long pause, followed but a shock wave of force that stiffens the muscles of my lower neck. "What is going on?" he emotes with great alarm.

"That's what I would like to know. Looks like there's a mystery cooking up in Arcos. One I'm not keen on discovering," I frown.

I snap out of our conversation when the feeling of someone watching me grows too great to ignore. Probably a good thing as I might start looking like a loon staring so intently into my bowl of stew. Turning my head, I see Tharja drop her gaze back into her book. She pulls it up further to block the lower part of her face that is inclined downward.

Normally, I would be a bit adverse to striking up a conversation so readily with someone who looks like they want to be alone. But given what I know about her, I think it would be wise to build a bit of rapport with her. That's the logical thing to do, right? Or, maybe not? Gods, I don't know what to do right now. I finally settle on just exchanging some small banter to break the ice. I have to do something. She's important to the future. I need to create a bridge between us somehow, weird as it would be if this were any other person.

Let's see, what to say...Should I comment on her looks? No, too personal. Make light of the situation we were just in? Nope, that just lacks tact on my part. Not exactly funny. Hm. My eyes settle on the object in her hands. Okay, reading interests. That's good. Casual, not too invasive.

I finally point to the tome in her lap with my spoon, striking up a thin smile. "What's that?"

Tharja looks at me flatly. "A book."

Alright, I walked into that one. I do love all humor, and her dry sense is just as appealing. I find myself laughing at my own expense, much to her surprise given how high her eyebrows go up under her bangs. I lean forward and read over the title on the cover. "The Corpse Annuls. Sounds philosophical."

Tharja covers the title with most of her hand and angles it away from me. "It's a romance."

"Oh?" I give Asche a poke in the ribs with my elbow so he can appreciate the next part. "I bet the story is a real heart-stopper."

"Aha!" A low set of chuckles escapes from the skuld as he claps his hands together. "Ah, I get it! A witty play on words. Good show, Robin!"

That's all the appreciation I get. Sigrún looks like she's been eating spoiled stew the way her mouth hangs open and the spoon falls free from her grasp. Tharja is more cryptic given how hard it is to read her. She doesn't really react so much as continue to stare in her own signature way.

Tough crowd.

"You're an odd one, aren't you?" Tharja asks me.

I think back on all the threats of cleaning punishments Frederick issued to Henry and I over our worst pun battles and sigh in longing. "I take that as a compliment."

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing." Tharja tips her head in thought and sets her book aside. She uses both hands to brush back her hair behind her ears before allowing her chin to rest between her interlocked fingers. Tharja continues to speak as if it were an afterthought, spoken almost in a whisper. "For once."

Asche, ever the friendly neighbor, extends his interest toward her. "I didn't catch the newcomer's name. Tharja, was it?"

What little sense of positivity Tharja possesses crumbles under her withdrawn shell of suspicion. I can practically see hackles rising off her back in the way shes hisses at him. "Why?"

"Well, I would certainly like address you proper if you intend to join us for this humble meal." His sunshine disposition never wavers under her looming thundercloud.

"I wouldn't be afraid of us. We're just shepherds. If anything we should be thanking you," Sigrún announces out of the blue. Her efforts to diffuse the situation appear shallow in the disinterest she exhibits. But, perhaps the fact that the food in Sigrún's bowl seems more important than Tharja is meant to help ease the other woman's paranoia in that she's not under such scrutiny. "We ran one the lord's flocks before, well..."

Sigrún puts the bowl aside and picks up her bow. She raises it and pulls on the tightened string. She angles it toward the woods beyond and pulls it back with one eye closed. At the apex of its resistance, she lets it loose with resounding vibrations I can feel humming in my bones. "Risen," she utters in distaste.

"Sigrún's bow can only protect so many people," I say. I put my bowl aside feeling less hungry all of the sudden.

Tharja blanches, quickly fumbling with the ties of her hood to pull it close around her. "Oh. I..." She stumbles over the words to say. In the end, she chooses the simplest way to express herself; silence.

"We didn't know each other well, but it was a loss all the same," Asche sighs. He's a good actor. His despondent slump is telling enough of sorrow towards the loss of a fellow human being. "We're alive, though. That's enough to rejoice in."

The conversation ends there, no one willing to speak much longer on such a somber point. The moments pass to the sound of spoons clinking against bowls. The weighty silence continues to grow and grow until I feel it getting hard to breath. It's a looming darkness I would rather do without. Mustering up some courage, I try again at making friendly conversation with the mage.

"How long have you served Lord Thibault,Tharja? Your group must have a lot of experience in fighting if they're allowed to traverse these dangerous lands."

"Long enough. I don't remember." Tharja avoids the question with an indirect answer. It could be she honestly doesn't know, or that she hasn't been together with this squadron long enough. The mixture of mages and soldiers is only seen in drills and on the actual battlefield. I feel like this company was thrown together in haste for a purpose. Now, whether the others know who Tharja is remains a question on my mind. Is she a lone Plegian on a spying mission? Has she fled the ranks as Henry did? Or, is she just one of many Plegians stationed in Arcos?

"That long that you can't remember? Lord Thibault is a worthy man to work for, I muster," I say.

"I wouldn't know. He doesn't meet with lowly soldiers," she says. I notice Tharja can hold a conversation with me straight on. With everyone else, her eyes tend to dart away or focus elsewhere.

"Same for us. We just tend to the flocks." I flinch, then correct myself. "Or we did, anyhow."

A masculine shout catches us off guard, causing me to jerk and spill some of my soup. "Break time's over. Haul your pasty asses back over here!" he shrieks.

"Already? My, how time flies over good company," Asche muses.

"Tharja!" another voice rings out. This belongs to one of the other three mages. They wave with insistence toward the woman, the urgency born from the itch of annoyance.

Tharja shows no love for the summons, snapping her book shut with a sigh of disinterest. She rises off the ground with ease, bending over to brush off the leaves from the hem of her robes. Tucking her novel under one arm, she passes by us with a drag in her step. She pauses next to me and stares into my face. She fights an internal battle of some sort, then jerks her chin away.

"Goodbye," she lets the word hang before turning.

To be courteous, or as much as Tharja can be, she looks to Asche and Sigrún. She offers the barest hint of a mumble and skulks off, throwing looks back at me the whole way. I feel my cheeks heat up realizing that this is going to be the start of a very long...Well, it's going to be something. I don't know what yet, but it will be very confusing. Tharja was never a character I gave much thought to since she didn't fall into my range of tastes. Having the five dimensional flesh and blood version of her is going to be a trip, that's for sure. I sincerely hope she won't actually sneak into my tent and watch me sleep at night.

"I take it you know who that is?" Sigrún asks me. I figured the question was coming as soon as Tharja followed me over.

"Yes," I say, bewildered. "Do you?"

Asche picks up his staff and wraps his arms around it. Digging it into the dirt, he pushes all his weight into it to rise off the stump he sits on. "Of sorts. She has a glow about her that bears a mark of greatness. A similar aura is cast upon all those Naga deems important to her cause. That is part of why we engaged her. We are helping nature take its course."

Glow? Auras? Who is this kid?

For all the questions I still have, they have to wait. Another announcement from the guards comes by signaling that lunch is over and that our journey is to resume. Considering these men and women get to go home, you would think there to be more cheer in the air. It's puzzling that the loss of their own people have left them with no impression. If Tharja had not been revealed to me, I would have been perplexed as to the ambivalence of it all. But, now I'm beginning to suspect that we're not in the presence of true Ylisseans. The twins did say that Plegia is working through the inner machinations of our country thanks to Pravitus. Could this be a branching of his influence? Did he manage to get spies in the ranks of own?

Is Arcos, what I had previously thought to be the point of salvation and return, just another snake's den? Is it only a small majority, or a full invasion? More importantly, has the Count been compromised? I wouldn't like to think so. Sully's own uncle, a traitor? Gods, I thought this was going to be cut and dry. I was going to Arcos and I would continue to heal up until-

Oh fuck!

The message I left with Henry's crows! I said to meet me in Arcos! Could I have unintentionally lured whomever is coming to a trap? I need to find another carrier bird as fast as possible!

Our trek, wholly wordless to spare any sort of suspicion, passes in a nerve-racking manner. Every step I take is dogged with more fears about what I could be walking into. I run scheme after scheme over in my mind trying to fathom just how deep in trouble I could be. My sole bit of reassurance in this is that Asche and Sigrún would not be throwing themselves into impassable danger if that were the case. According to his readings, Asche would have totally avoided Arcos if it meant certain death.

We eventually reach Arcos by dusk. The staggering feet and mumbling of their failed mission leaves the troop sour. The soldiers barely look at us as they skulk by with weapons already slung over their backs in retreat. Not one offers us a sympathetic nod. The sheep were the prize where we humans were just a burden.

The full profile of Arcos is shown in all its splendor as we reach the crest of the hill we ascend. Arcos is an impressive stronghold build into the rolling hills that blend into the mountain landscape around it. The fading light of the day casts a shadow over the three great walls that protect the main castle nestled at the furthest reaches of the city. The lowest dregs are build up against the mines and forest borders for ease of the workers and the transportation of goods. Beyond the lower class are the cluttered streets bursting with homes belonging to artisans and merchants. Above them all on the most grand wall, whose gate shines with an inlay of the gold known from this region, is a few noble mansions and the castle itself. Arcos is a strictly hierarchical society, but from here all the lights from the homes make it look like one glittering jewel.

The final trek moves faster with every step of those eager to return to the safety of the walls. I say I would be just as excited for civilization if not for the fact that I'm buzzing with conspiracy theories. The trip finishes through the large gatehouse. The structure itself is not of interest, but the activity around it. There's are several lines before the closed grating. On one side, the likes of travelers and merchants wrap around a large clearing in the woods. Makeshift fires and campsites have been set up in which the occupants cling to in the cool breeze of the late summer air. The few soldiers tending to them have the people assembled at what looks like a checkpoint.

The other line we pass is three carriages long. These individuals appear to have the privilege that the others don't. These posh carriages denote massive prestige. One, the largest, carries the banner of one of the eastern dukes. A strange sight to see out this far west. The carriage is surrounded by a massive entourage of personal knights. This duke made a long trek here for some reason. I wonder why?

Things grow more puzzling after we gain clearance to enter Arcos. The captain of this battalion is noticed immediately thanks to his wyvern. A few passing calls are made and our people travel freely under the cranking gears that rise and give us access through the gate house. Jealous eyes watch us from the line of commoners.

"There are festive banners above," Sigrún says beside me.

I look up overhead and see the arms of the Ylissean royal house fluttering between those of Arcos'. Flower garlands line the rafters and mix with scented braziers dyed a hue of colors by different alchemy dusts.

Emerging through the city itself is nothing short of a flurry of activity. There's no space on the side of the road that is unused. I feel as if I've emerged on the docks with how many supplies move through and about the crowds of workers shifting around. There are carts full of food to impressive pyramids of exotic spices. These are just one of the many things I see hoarded in the keep.

"There's quite a bit of activity around here. A festival, perhaps?" Sigrún asks me.

"Not that I'm aware of," I say, wracking my brain to some sort of holiday I may have missed.

"Whatever it may be, this is the converging of paths I saw. Some grand occasion is about to occur," Asche says, looking about without actually seeing.

"Is something going to happen?" I ask, raising a brow in interest.

Asche leans in close to me so we are shoulder to shoulder. "Of course, Robin. It's why we diverted our course and threw our cover so soon."

"What did you see?" I whisper back to him.

Asche laughs as if recounting an old joke, even waving it off with a flick of his free hand. "All the doom and gloom I'm afraid. It will be a regular bloodbath, whatever is to happen."

I reel back from him, breathing in sharply through my nose. "Excuse me? You're disturbingly calm about this, despite uttering something that's causing me no amount of worry."

"I detect death everyday, Robin. Consider me desensitized from the notion." My quiet must have given him some hint toward my disagreement with his excuse. He loses his jovial edge, a more thoughtful one taking over. "My apologies for such a cavalier attitude. That must seem crass. An unfortunate side-effect from years of divining, if not the environment I grew up in. Death had become more natural for us than life, you see."

I could whine about finding myself surrounded by the weirdest sorts this last month, but I've got my own issues to deal with, so who am I to complain?

To our surprise, or maybe not given our treatment, the conclusion of our outing ended with little fanfare. A superior of some sort came out to meet the company captain. They stayed well away from us. There were a few gestures some raised voices, but nothing much. The superior came over himself just to look us over. He made a few disinterested comments about the events, but seemed to write us off as soon as Risen were mentioned. He didn't bother with names, like we were less than worthy of his him. I suppose it helped that Asche started to intentionally annoy the man with useless banter which seemed to get him away from us as fast as he could. I won't lie that my heart was hammering the whole time. I figured someone was going to recognize that we weren't the shepherds who left. But, these cloaks were good enough. The sheep were really all that mattered. Us survivors were just useless mouths to feed with no value, unlike the count's flock.

We weren't even offered medical care. The superior shooed us off like a parent to his children, eager to be free of us and the responsibility. No words of condolences. If we really were part of those that were deceased, I could not imagine the anger and humiliation this could have caused. I hear stories of the nobles who mistreat the common folk, but this is taken to a new level.

"That woman, Tharja, is still looking at us," Sigrún whispers as we scamper away like good little scarred survivors. "I suggest losing her for now. And the others."

For now, it's best. I would normally hesitate to turn my back on one of our recruits, but I'm in no safe place to be offering Tharja a job. Unveiling any history I have with the Ylissean army is dangerous until I know for sure how far the influence of Plegian activity goes here. For now, I'll just take comfort in knowing I've made my impression. I doubt I'll be forgotten so easy, knowing Tharja. And, let's be fair. I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. I'm where I need to be for now. We got through unscathed and undetected by anyone yet. All I can do is regroup and start to plan again.

"We'll need to find shelter. I can taste the night on the air. It would be unwise to linger on roads covered in darkness," Asche comments as we walk away.

Sigrún points down the road to a point of interest I can't make out. "I saw the sign of an inn while we were entering. You need to come along, Asche. I need your blind sympathy for bartering us a room."

"Very good, sister. I'll be along in a moment. I would just like a word with Robin," her brother says, waving her along. She stalks off a short distance and waits with an impatient glare and arms crossed tightly over her chest.

I feel my insides shrivel under her dark eyes, the same piercing stab that Raimi carries. "Now that I know about you two, I can say for certainty that Sigrún's her mother's daughter."

Asche chuckles behind his hand before using it to brush back his long hair from his face. "My sister and I grew up in a world where we were never sure if we would see the coming sun. Every breath was met with the anticipation it could be our last. You must forgive her. She has raised her walls to protect herself from..."

His tongue catches on a sudden flicker of emotion that stops up his throat. Asche clears it and searches to continue, but I stop him. "That's alright Asche. I know enough from the others like you that what you've endured is nothing short of walking the hells themselves."

"You are...kinder than I imagined," he admits with a thoughtful smile. The vulnerable softness in his face is wiped away and replaced by his usual candor. He uses his staff to mark the ground as he turns in place. Reaching his satisfied direction, he points the end of it toward the small circle of stalls pushed against back walls. "May I suggest hanging about that stall there. You appear fatigued from the sun. I think the awning above would offer some respite while we are away. Perhaps the contents of it will provide a distraction for you."

"Maybe," I shrug.

He reaches out a hand and places it on my shoulder with surprising accuracy. "Assuredly," he corrects.

Well, I guess there's no arguing with him on this point. I'm going to the stall, simple as that. No reason not to trust the guy who can supposedly read the future.

Asche withdraws his hand and peers around. "Will you be safe? I presume your escort us nearby?"

I close my eyes and feel the spike of the General's energy from behind me. "Hiding, but close."

"You will be fine then. Sigrún will return to you when we secure a place of privacy. Though," Asche pauses from his retreat mid-turn and points at me with a knowing smirk, "I have a feeling you will be much more successful than us in regards to lodgings."

With that, he turns and shuffles toward where Sigrún retreated. She meets him halfway and takes him by the arm. Soon, brother and sister are swallowed by the crowd leaving me alone again.

"I have never been more confused before than I have been this past month," I mutter into my hands.

"You would not be the only one to share such a sentiment," the General utters in agreement.

With nowhere to go but on Asche's suggestion, I start to make my way over. I can feel a sudden shift of magic. The General moves with my shadow, one long stretch of darkness cast by the torches beside me. It's oddly comforting to have someone so close in all this madness, even if he's threatened to kill me one too many times for my tastes. Despite that, I feel like I can trust him as much as my own Shepherds. There's an honesty in the way he moves. His motivations are pure, nothing to misinterpret. The General is the one sure thing I can understand in all this. I'm not sure if he feels the same way, but he can count on me.

On my way I find myself passing by an extension of the barracks situated nearby. The stables spread out over a vast area, the furthest reaches ending to my left. It's mostly horses that fill the barren spaces, but several creatures stand out. Five wyverns are located in the furthest stalls. Given the wild and greedy nature wyverns have, their riders have them stationed as far from the other horses to dampen temptation for beasts. Four of the five are tied down, almost in a brutal fashion, to keep them from flying away. Tightly wound muzzles are wrapped around their maws, muffling their angry screeches. Their clawed hind legs tear through the dirt creating deep furrows from hours of scratching. The wing muscles flex in futile against their binds, trying to get free. It's a sad state to see the wyverns in.

And then, there's the fifth one.

This wyvern is large even among his kind. Unlike his fellow creatures, this one bears an air of understanding. His rider has so much faith in his manners that the wyvern remains tied to his post with nothing but a simple knot. The bronze colored wyvern freely eats out of an open trough. The contents appear to be full slabs of meat. This is opposed to the lesser scraps offered to the others; throwaway butcher meats unfit for human consumption. The wyvern gorges himself on the feast with little regard for the viscera and bloody droplets that splatter about, much to the annoyance of other riders present. One woman has to sidestep flying debris from his mouth with open disgust, gagging when one lands in a splatter over her boot. The squelch of unknown meat soars in my own direction causing me to leap back to avoid it. The sudden movement ensnares the beast's attention. He blinks copper eyes at me, pupils dilated from the pleasure of his feeding frenzy. The neck slowly uncoils as it stretches out. I process too slow that he's coming right for me. I choke in surprise when his long, sleek head hovers before mine. He cocks his head to the side to allow an eye to blink at me. Then, the wyvern turns his snout. His nostrils flare in a great snort of air that sends my hair whipping back.

I step away in a combination of fear and shock. I'm met with a hard wall of resistance and an equally loud curse in my ear. I stumble through a full twist with arms waving and apologies flowing out. "Sorry, I didn't mean it. I was just avoiding the- "

"Meat blizzard. Yeah, I know. Needle's got shit manners, but what do you expect out of a wyvern?" The man says. He steadies himself easily and looks me over. "You shouldn't be standing so close to the- Oh. It's you."

I blink in surprise at the sudden switch to the animosity he's now displaying upon recognizing me. I finally get myself straightened out and get a good look at him, only to understand why. I barely withhold an onset of panic knowing I've gone pale. The captain of the rescue squadron from earlier is standing before me with a weighty glare of disinterest.

"You must know something about animals, right? Ma never taught you that wyverns eat little maids like you?" He brushes past me and enters the gated pen. Needle raises his head from the contents of his trough, red blood dripping off his snout. The muscles around his maw recede in a horrific smile displaying rows of gore soaked teeth. The man pats Needle on the bridge of his nose which draws a soft rumble from Needle's chest, like a crocodile's treble.

"I'm hardly little," I protest stubbornly. Not necessarily a smart thing since I shouldn't be drawing attention to myself. I walk over to the farthest reach of the pen. "Besides, I doubt there's anything scarier than the Risen I just encountered. This guy here is a kitten compared to those things out there."

"Needle can still reach you," the man calls out without looking at me. To demonstrate his point, he digs through the feed and picks up a large chunk of raw flesh. The captain winds back and unleashes the piece high into the air at me. I shuffle away in with a peep of disgust and watch the gore explode in a sloppy mess over the post I just stood beside.

Needle's long neck twists around and sniffs the air. The rancid scent guides his snout to the meat. His thin, purple tongue slithers out from between his teeth and wraps around the meat covered post. He does a fair job cleaning up the mess. His head is so close I can see the milky texture of his nictitating membrane slide under his normal eyelid. He sniffs me again and stray flecks of gristle hit my face.

The captain lets out a harsh rasp of laughter. "I think he likes you. Odd." He steps around, laughing even harder while I peel ... something off my cheek. I hold it at length and gag before chucking it away. He watches this unfold with an infuriating grin, petting the wyvern the whole time. "Consider yourself lucky. He bites easy, and takes a lot with."

"He's a graceful eater," I say with flat sarcasm. The wyvern just looks back at me with a slow, lazy blink that makes it look less than intelligent.

The laughter dies down leaving the man as cold and distant as before. He carries this invisible chip on his shoulder that mars the otherwise handsome contours of his face. I might have even given him a second glance if things were different. He carries the rugged outdoors look well. He leaves the fence post and walks around me to the gate of the pen to unlatch it. "Don't you have other places to be?"

I swallow a peep of surprise and think quick to cover my own bum. I gesture out to the crowd talking as innocent and unassuming as I can. "Waiting for my people. I don't know my way around that well in the dark. Believe me, I need a change of clothes and a tankard to wash this experience away. I've been living off berries and roots for days. I don't even want to step foot out of my house again. The experience was- " I stop my ramblings, the man's attentions already gone on to something else.

This guy really doesn't give a shit, does he? I'm not even pulling off the traumatized survivor card that well, but it doesn't seem to matter. I was considering trying to pry a bit deeper for information from him, maybe find out about whether he's a real guard or actually tied to Tharja and Plegia somehow. But if I can't get anything out of him, I may as well save my efforts for something more promising.

The captain slams the gate shut behind him and turns back to me. He leans on one arm and takes a minute to look me over. There's a spark of interest in his previously dull gaze. He rubs a hand over the bristles lining the underside of his chin, then flicks his pointer finger at me. "Your accent's thick. You don't sound like the others around here. From the north?"

"From Regna Ferox? No. I grew up in Canada." I chuckle at the truly perplexed stare he offers me. "Don't worry, it's a long way from here. Oceans away. Most don't know it."

"Huh." He gets comfortable, cocking his head to the side. "Surprised to see a foreigner running around with...the folk around these parts."

"We're all just refugees and victims with these monsters running around. These folks," I say with a enough sass to counter the weight of disgust he exhibited on his part, "saved my life. In times of a crisis, nationalities and religion don't mean much to me. I lost friends out there, regardless of where they came from, to those Risen."

He laughs, a dark grin splitting over his face. "Rare mindset to have around these parts. Religion and nationalism are all tied up in one pretty bag of xenophobia here. Neighbors aren't as kind as you think when they find out you might not be like them," he says, tapping at the side of his head. "Word of advice, sweetheart. Don't trust anyone, and get yourself on the first boat back to where you came from. This part of the world's gone to hell in a hand basket, if you haven't noticed."

"Not a very kind thing to say about the people you protect," I point out. I'm starting to wonder if I'm seeing Plegian loyalty coming out and coloring his view. "We lost good people out there in the woods. Those shepherds I worked with have families. You didn't offer one lick of sympathy for us at all."

His humor falls away, replaced by a sharp look of warning. "You're chastising me? Your mother never taught you to respect those in uniform, cause you got a lip about you I'm not appreciating."

"My mother was a solider," I find myself lashing out from the bitter sting of the accusation. "And a much better one than you were today. She actually gave a damn about people and gave respect to the dead when it was due!"

The man goes to open his mouth, then he shuts it. His jawline works, muscles twitching as he battles with something inside his mind. Eventually, he hisses in disappointment and turns away from me. He heads deeper into the stall. Needle's head follows and dips down to meet him. The man slaps his hand over the wyvern's muzzle and gives him a sturdy pat.

I press a hand over my mouth and breath out through my nose. I...let the best of my emotions get to me. Damn it. All that pent up emotion, plus the raw anger at the mention of my mother, just fueled a hot burst of anger. I better leave before I really get out of line. I pull the borrowed cloak closer, ignoring the metallic scents of death still clinging to it. I turn to step away when-

"Hey, miss Canada." The man calls out to me in a gruff fashion. I look back at him expectantly. "Listen, you- "

Before he can continue, another soldier bursts in between us waving a scroll in his hands. He skids to a halt before the fence and bows low, arm stretched out. "Captain Vasto, a word with you! I have orders from the count!"

…...Vasto? That's his name?

The captain who I now know as Vasto stalks up to the fencing and reaches over to snatch the directive from the other man's hand. He shakes his head, snarling. "Gods be damned. You want to yell any louder? You'll send the wyverns into a frenzy. You know the sensitivity of their hearing."

The other man looks at the unmuzzled wyvern above him. Its lip line recedes back and delivers him a smile that gleams daggers in the moonlight. If I were a betting woman, I'd say the soldier pissed himself from the way his knees are knocking.

Realizing that I got my answers, and more, I try to discretely back away from the duo. But, Vasto is still able to catch a glance of me retreating from the corner of his eye. He pulls his gaze away from the paper he unrolls and gives me a cautious side-glance. I find myself pausing, waiting for him to speak. He decides not to, so I continue on my way. Even then, I can feel him watching me until I turn out of sight.

Free of him, I take the moment to rest in the shadow of two buildings. I press a hand to my chest and try to even my breathing. There are Plegians here. Well done, Robin. Out of the frying pan, into the fire!

The General materializes out of the darkness beyond, though he remains just shy of the boundary that touches the torchlight. The faint glow of his eyes gives him a ghoulish look. "That interrogation led to nothing."

I lean my head against the stone wall behind me and stare up at the cloud filled sky, a watery, thin smile spreading over my face. "On the contrary, good sir. I just learned exactly what I needed to."

The metal of his armor jangles with the movement of his arms as they cross over his chest. "How so?"

"That man. He was called Vasto." I close my eyes tightly, remembering all the words of fondness Henry had about the man. How he was a friendly sort who took Henry under his wing and treated him like a real person, not a magical weapon. "That's the name of a high ranking captain in the aerial branch of Plegia's military. His physical description matches everything I know of him."

The General's voice is a chilled whisper that prickles at my skin. "Are you certain? If you claim he is a Plegian, then that implicates the count under severe pretenses."

"I know. Trust me, I don't want to believe it either. But, Tharja is also here. I know from history that she's a Grimleal who flipped sides and worked closely with Ylisse. I told you! She becomes a Shepherd, I swear on it."

"No Shepherd that I am aware of," the General states in supreme confusion.

"In another time."

"Another cycle, you mean?"

I flinch. "Yeah."

I am going to have a lot to talk about with Asche and Sigrún. Oh, right! Speaking of them, I need to get to that stall. I hope I didn't miss whatever fate has in store for us!

I reach the stall Asche had pointed out earlier. I would have thought to have gotten some bad looks from those shopping around me with my less than stellar outfit, but I just appear to blend right in. Calling this the lower class is an understatement. This is downright the slums. I pull back my foot from the broken cobblestone below as a rat crosses by with spoiled garbage in its mouth. It disappears through the sandal-clad feet of those running by, all who appear worse off than I. Clothing ranges from fashionably altered potato sacks to Frankenstein dresses fused together by the seams. There's a lingering stench of onions and body odor that never seems to leave the air. The people wear dirt on their cheeks and straw in their hair, going about life as usual.

It's not only heartening to see, but also a relief. No one here appears to be acting out of the norm. I doubt an oppressed Ylissean populace under a Plegian thumb would be shopping so freely on this night. Whatever is brewing, it has yet to form properly.

There's not much for me to look at. On the contrary to what Asche said, there's nothing interesting here at all. It's a food stand, and meager wares at that. Apart from some flaking onions and other root vegetables I'm unfamiliar with, it's empty. Two women peruse the merchandise and talk shop with the owner, but I fail to see anything I might consider intriguing. Well, he might be wrong about the stall, but he did have a point about resting. I wouldn't mind just sitting for a while after all that walking. The strain on my back is dizzying at times. Some reprieve would be much appreciated. There's a perfect little crate discarded and unloved in that corner I could make use of.

As I turn around, I found myself rotating one too many times before stumbling completely back. The support beam of the stall beside me is all the keeps me from falling backward after a sudden collision. Regaining my senses, I see a second body sprawled out at my feet. The girl wiggles around and does her best to roll onto her back. She whines a little, small hands grabbing at her head while she lets out a word far too mature for someone her age. Feeling a sense of panic over the fallen child, I lean down and balance on my heels over her. "You okay there, kiddo?"

The girl blinks her large blue eyes at me, still getting over the fall. She makes a nonsensical sound having the wind knocked out of her after colliding head first with me.

"Let's get you out of the dirt, okay? Take my hand," I say, holding out my own for her to grasp. She mumbles something and continues to hold her head with one hand while using her other to hold mine. She's easy to lift, barely feels like she weighs a thing. From the way her clothes hang off her frame, I wouldn't say she's eating to the best of her health.

The girl wobbles on her feet and braces herself by holding tightly to my arm. I let her ride out the wave of dizziness for as long as she needs to. While she recovers, a woman's voice grows closer and closer. Through the crowd, I see a stout, motherly persona waving a hand over the flow of bodies she fights against.

"Val!" She catches up to us and collapses to her knees beside the girl. The girl's mother gathers up the hem of her apron and begins wiping dirt smears off her daughter's cheeks. "Goodness. When I said to run and get me some onions, I did not mean to run like the fell dragon was nipping at your heels."

The woman inclines her head up at me, lips forming a disappointed frown. "I apologize, did my daughter collide with you? Oh, please forgive her. You know how little ones are, yes?"

"It's no..." My breath hitches in surprise. My mind fumbles over recognition. The woman's deep, natural tan is offset by a coiled bun of straw colored hair. The sharp incline of her nose is offset by round cheeks and a full mouth. It's like... looking at a female Vaike. I shake my head of the notion and barely finish my sentence."...not a problem."

"Well, still. No excuse for the lack of common courtesy." The woman finishes her handiwork and rises off her knees. She pats down the ruffles on her daughter's tunic and then pushes her toward me, voice growing stern in only the way a mother can. "Val, apologize."

The girl rubs her nose with the length of her sleeve. It hides most of her face, save for her eyes which flicker over to me. She mumbles into the depths of the cloth. "Sorry."

I rub the back of my neck in embarrassment. "It's fine, really. Accidents happen."

I would think that's enough between us, but the mother's eyes grow wide as they run up and down my clothes. "Goodness, are you alright? Is that blood? I didn't know Val knocked you over so hard!" She reaches out to pull at the cloak. Taking it in, her face sets in termination. "Come with me. We must make amends."

Suddenly, this stranger is pulling me along the road with a hidden strength I was not expecting. God, she could be just as strong as Vaike! I struggle to pull away from her, forcing my heels into the ground to anchor me. "Ma'am." I announce even louder and forcibly rip myself from her iron grip. "Ma'am! It's not from your daughter. Had an encounter, nothing bad."

"Oh. You are a soldier?"

I was not expecting her to start delving into my personal history. I try not to flinch at getting caught wholly unprepared. To avoid suspicions, it's best I stick with the story I came into Arcos with. I just hope she's not one of the few who might have known the poor souls of the deceased. I show her the badge on the cloak designating staff belonging to the household of Arcos' count. "Shepherd."

"Tarly's group?" My heart sinks when I see recognition dawning on her face. The woman leans in eagerly, her expression once again mirroring my friend's in an eerie way. I mean, Vaike is from Arcos. But, what are the odds? This stronghold is huge! There's no way...I mean the coincidence would be...

"Yes," I lie. I start watching the road around me for escape routes if I need to make a quick run. There's at least three alleys and a throng of people I could lose myself in if I dash through that popular vendors...

The mother's hands wring together in an anxious rhythm. "What happened? Where are they? Tarley's wife has been worried sick."

Oh, come on. Do I really have to be the one to break such devastating news? This is not in the job description. I steady my breathing as best I can, though it still comes out shaking when I exhale. I lower my head and close both eyes in respect for the dead. "Risen, ma'am."

"No," she gasps lightly. The woman presses a hand to her mouth and lets go of her daughter's hand to turn away. She looks lost, glancing up and down the street for an answer she can't find. Then, she shakes her head and speaks softly. "Oh, that poor man. Two little ones to feed left all alone."

"I..." What can I say? I'm not privy to this woman's life or those of the ones who passed. I'm already accumulating a karmic shit storm passing off their tragedy for my gains. Playing on this any more is just leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

"That must have been a terrible thing to endure. We hear stories all the time from the roads about those monsters," the woman says. "I am sorry for your loss. Did you know Tarly well? I don't recognize you from among his usual comrades."

"I'm new," I lie. Again.

Her eyes light up in surprise. "Oh, really? We haven't taken in any new bodies, and the last crowd of folk we did get have been put to the mines."

This is going no where. I'm just going to dig myself a deeper hole. However...I have this idea. It's a long shot. A risky bargain even. But, this meeting has brought up a persistent nagging of recognition that's only grown since I've met these two. I mean, when you think about what Asche said...The stall? Coincidences? A meeting of destiny? With Asche telling me that today is a day of divine providence, I can only think this is just another gift from Naga or whomever is looking out for me.

I inhale deeply, mentally preparing myself for the worst. Just remember, three alleys and a crowd to escape to. Okay? Okay! Let's take the gamble!

"I'm most definitely a shepherd, though you are right. I'm usually in a different unit." I put a strong emphasis on the key words in that sentence. "In fact, one of my comrades looks a lot like you. Does the name Vaike ring a bell?"

"I do have a son named Vaike. He's not a shepherd though. Hes serving with- " Ah, there it is. The shock I was looking for. It's actually amusing to watch the emotions play over her face as she puts the pieces together. After a minute of grasping at air, she utters a simple, "Oh."

"Yeah. He's a blonde, muscular fellow with a penchant for the third-person?" I say.

Her daughter, Val, pipes up and throws a finger at me. "Do you work with Vaike in the Shep-"

The girl's words are muffled when her mother covers her mouth. "Shush, Val!" Then looking at me, she asks in a low whisper, "Do you know my son from working with his unit under Prince's Chrom's watch?"

"I do."

Given how friendly she was before, I was expecting a large welcoming from the woman. Instead, I'm met with a look of fear and trepidation. She looks around me at all the people passing us by. Then grabbing both Val's hand and my own, she starts pulling us both at a rapid pace away from the market. She announces loudly into the open air as she walks. "You know, I have been looking desperately for some new wool to trade for. I would love to talk about some negotiations over the count's stores if possible. Perhaps over dinner?"

"Wool?" I say, bewildered at the sudden twist in our conversation.

"We should get off the streets and somewhere warm. It's getting dark out," the woman turns her head and stares directly at me, "and the streets get dangerous at night. It's not safe for a vulnerable shepherd like yourself, injured and alone as you are."

There's a tingling of attention in my head from the General. His words echo. "It would be wise to heed her words. She clearly knows something is amiss."

"No kidding. I get the hint," I tell him, though he doesn't respond beyond that.

I pull back on her arm just to get her attention and point to the inn behind us. "Before we retreat, I need to get someone. I have friends at the inn there."

The woman pauses, then nods. "I see. Quickly then. I will explain when we are away from the guards here."

A short time later, our motley band is walking at a brisk pace to the lower slums of Arcos. The siblings were hardly surprised by our appearance, as if expecting it. That's only further proven by Asche's silly comment he passes between the two of us. "What a turn of events, eh Robin? Who could have predicted such affairs to occur? Convenient!"

I can't help but chuckle. The act causes a sour look on Sigrún. She glowers even further and shakes her head, her numerous ribbon-twined braids bouncing around her face. "Sure, you laugh now, but try living with this all your life."

Along the way, the woman introduces herself as Veira. We follow close to the mother and daughter. Despite having no help in guidance along the path, Asche keeps a pace that's almost even with Veira. He occasionally taps about before him with his walking staff and may pause for a brief moment to let another pedestrian pass, but he handles himself well despite the disability. It may be due to his acute senses. He always has an ear pressed out toward the sounds around him. His step evenly matches our hostess and he will pause and go with her own movements. It's impressive.

We pass through the markets and head towards the looming structure of the outer defense wall. The brick pathways have faded away to nothing under foot. What awaits us in the distance is a splattering of raw cut homes and disorganized industries strewn about the muddy earth floors.

As we draw closer to the abode Veira calls home, Asche leans in closer to her and speaks beneath his breath for only us to hear. "Pardon me for asking, but why this secrecy?"

"There are ill tiding going on beneath the soil of our city. Things very few know of. Naga blessed you with crossing paths with me today, for you would be in danger here," Veira whispers back to us. "Deserters and the displaced alike have fled here after the Risen attacked various companies from the battles. They've made their way here by road for sanctuary, only to end up imprisoned for various falsified charges shortly after. But, that is all I will say for now."

"What madness is this? Why would the count press charges on his own people? That does not sound like him at all," the General reacts with great alarm. I can feel him moving in the shadows behind us, trailing close but never revealed on this reality.

"You sound like you know the Count," I remark in surprise.

He closes off in an abrupt fashion after my comment, and silence follows.

To say there is a disparity in the difference between the upper and lower classes here is an understatement. Ylisstol's social classes were separated purely out of the size of one's abode and perhaps even the presence of a garden. Here, it's straight up destitute. Your working class, like Vaike's kin, reside in lumber and mud-bricked structures with dried thatch roofs. There is little planning to where the residence of one home ends and another begins. The few personal animals owned, mostly chickens and geese, run wild between hooves of mules hauling carts. There's little in the way of grass left with all the activity about. Sand and wooden planks are the only clear attempt at roadwork I can see.

Despite the bland palette of browns and grays that make up the atmosphere, the people appear chipper. Men, and a few women, are coming back from their shifts in the lumber yard with cheerful waves and boisterous laughter. Children run about with full baskets, laundry, or whatever chores they had been finishing for the day. There's less vendors here, but a few of the craftier citizens have bare bones stalls set up to hawk their choice of masterwork.

The only one who carries an ounce of severity is the woman guiding us. Vaike's mother moves in great strides despite carrying her groceries in one arm and toting a young girl in the other. She peers back at us every so often to ensure we've kept in line with her, but says little else. She doesn't waste time leading us to one of the houses set furthest out. Her home is built like many of those around for practicality, but it carries some unique markers of its own. The bland planks on its sides are scribbled with colorful smears of a child's imagination. Dried vegetables and herbs hang in bundles over the kitchen window bringing a spice-laden scent to the breeze. Most surprising is a massive loom that lies protected under a wooden shed, clearly built as a late extension to the original structure. The upper rafters are lined with partially crafted blankets that flutter lightly over numerous baskets of brightly dyed spools. It's surprising enough to see such expensive equipment here, but it's even more so when I can see clear influences of Chon-sin flavors in the designs.

Veira reaches the front door and turns her body toward it. She's able to balance her food bags against her shoulder and free enough of her lower arm to move it in a knocking fashion. "Van, open the door. We have guests!"

Two loud pounds against the heavy oak earns a flurry of activity inside. Over the scraping of a chair and a child's voice, a steady set of footsteps is heard. They grow closer until they reach the door, and the heavy sound of a lock comes undone. "Back already, Veira?" A deep baritone rumbles out. It's followed by a hearty laugh.

The door slowly opens to a loud squeak of the door's hinges. A brawny fellow tanned deep brown opens the door. He leans on the frame and brushes a hand over a large, scraggly beard that's been bleached almost white from the sun's rays. The smile on his lips reaches the sparkle in his watery blue eyes. A thick accent akin to Donnel's come out of his mouth. "That was fast! Finally culled yer spendin' urges at the market?" But one glare from Veira's face wipes his grin off. He immediately stands aside and lets her stumble in with child in tow. "What's this about?" his says in a gruff tone, watching the train of people follow her in.

"Naga's hand at work, that's what." Veira opens her arms and lets the bundles scatter unceremoniously over the nearby table. Val watches a pair of apples roll from the center toward the edge. She runs forward and catches them with both of her arms, holding them high in celebration.

In the doorway nearby, a boy of Chon'sin origins pokes his head out. He can't be more than two or three years old. His dark eyes grow wide as he watches the events unfold. Val sees him out of the corner of her eye and says something to him, maybe his name? It sounds like Jin'Hai. Definitely Chon'sin. She holds out one of the apples and shakes it in temptation. He darts out of cover and joins her, grabbing up the apple. Val is the first to take a bite, grinning brightly at him with bits of the apple's flesh still on her lips. The other child follows suit and the two are soon giggling together.

Despite their jovial mood, the adults are far more somber. Van scratches through his long blonde hair and does a mental count of all the new heads in his kitchen. "You know I don't mind neighbors stoppin' in, but this is a bit sudden even for ya, Veira."

"It's an emergency, Van," Veira says. She straightens out her apron then looks her husband square in the eye. "These are soldiers from the Alliance. One is of Vaike's Shepherds."

"Well call me a Grimleal's uncle," Van mutters. He peers over at us. "That right?"

The three of us newcomers look at each other, then nod together in agreement.

"You lot are a lucky bunch, indeed." Van whistles between his teeth and shakes his head. He makes an abrupt turn for the back room and calls out to an unknown person beyond. "Vic, ya hear me? Shut them windows good. No, a storm ain't a comin'. Just do what yer ol' man says, hear?"

While Veira does her best to shut up the kitchen, the two children gather closer to Van. Jin'Hai manages to pull the apple away from his mouth long enough to tug on the elder's shirt and speak. "Grauntfader?"

Val fights with removing a bit of apple off her cheek with her tongue before giving up and wiping it away with her sleeve. She sniffs loudly, then also asks out loud. "Yeah, Pa, what gives? I thought Vaike's friends were good soldiers."

Van unfolds his muscular arms and places a gentle pat to both their heads. "They are, Sprout. But y'know how Uncle Xian'li told us not to talk to them new people workin' fer Lord Thibault?"

"They aren't nice anymore," Val says, taking another loud crunch into her apple.

"Aye. And them folks ain't nice to the Shepherds either. Vaike 'n his friends ain't safe 'ere with the other soldiers."

Viera finishes putting the lock back into place on their door and reaches for a rag to wipe both her hands off. "It's by Naga's divine grace we crossed paths to prevent such misfortune from happening."

The mention of Naga causes Asche to face his sister with a smug grin of knowing. Sigrún rolls her eyes and huffs under her breath at the silent and bland joke between them.

The final member of the household, Vaike's older brother Vic, appears and closes the curtain that separates the other living space from the kitchen. Both he and Vaike are near identical to their father, apart from Vic having his mother's green eyes and him braiding the length of his beard. Vic moves deeper in the room and takes a seat at the table. He offers acknowledgment toward us in the form of a wordless nod. When Jin'hai sees Vic, he heads over and plops on the man's lap. His legs wiggle through the air until Vic helps the boy up into a comfortable position.

"Vaike talks much about his friends, but words don't do well enough to describe them. May we ask who you are?" Veira asks us.

"We aren't Shepherds," Sigrún announces in a blunt fashion that reminds me immensely of her mother. Even down to the way her mouth forms the same thin line of severity.

"Asche and Sigrún are Feroxi soldiers I've been traveling with," I explain to the wondering glance Veira displays.

"And may we say, many thanks for the accommodations, Ma'am! Ylissean hospitality is not lacking, I see," Asche announces in appreciation of our hostess' efforts.

I gesture to myself, bowing my head in greeting. "My name is Robin. I serve as strategist to the Shepherds."

The apple core in Val's hands drops to the table with the thump. Her mouth hangs open in shock. She turns to her mother and point at me, speechless. Van chuckles while Veira puts a hand under her daughter's jaw and gently closes it.

"Is something wrong?" I say mostly in jest. I've seen the starstruck reaction plenty of other times from the pages who stumble into any of us Shepherds.

"Vaike tells us much about his friends, including all their exploits. Words don't do much for the imagination, I'm afraid. I think the little one here is especially surprised to the see a dragon slayer here," Veira says, brushing back Val's dark hair from her face.

"Damn good story, that 'un," Van speaks as he pulls a pipe from his coat. Vic nods at me in respect, agreeing silently as he has been.

"Well, I hope it was more good than bad," I say with secret hopes that none of the errors of my earliest days made it to paper.

Veira just smiles and pats at the tabletop. She gets up out of her own seat and pulls it out. "Please sit. It must be sometime since you had proper food. I'll whip something up while we share the news."

I find a space easy enough to rest in and wait for the two Feroxi siblings to join me. Asche takes his time feeling out the space with small shifts of his feet until he gets close enough to the table. Sigrún pulls the chair far enough out for him and then takes his left arm to help him in. The display catches the eye of the two men sitting before us.

Vic, ever the man of few words, stares at Asche from under his bushy eyebrows. " 'sumthin need healin'?" He then gestures with his thumb over his shoulder at a medicinal bag hanging off the wall.

Van puts his pipe down and points the bit at Asche's leg. "You alright, lad? Looks like ya got a bit of wobblin' to yer step."

Asche taps at the side of his right eyes and responds in a polite fashion. "Only on account of the blindness, good sir."

Van squints hard at Asche's face before leaning back in his chair. He takes a deep draw out of his pipe and sighs in remorse. "Ah. Sorry 'bout that. Didn't see the, uh, well...Let me just offer an apology 'fore this gets to be more troublesome than need be."

"Oh, he's fine," Sigrún interrupts before Asche can respond. "Don't indulge him about it."

Over the next half hour or so, Veira prepares a meal for us with the help of her son. We talk as she does so, the greatest of fears confirmed. Plegians are here and working straight under the count himself.

"Is it common knowledge about the Plegians?" Sigrún asks between chewing on the cheese Veira had provided us. "I noticed that everyone around is going about their business as usual. No one seems concerned at all that the guard is assembled from Plegian ranks."

"No, no. There would be an uproar if there was. Most folks think that Lord Thibault is his usual self hiring experienced mercenaries as guards. He's had to double the security with him hosting the Court and all," Veira calls back over her shoulder.

That...sounds different. I have no idea what she means. Is this something that happened while I was away? "Hosting the Court? I'm unsure what you mean, Veira."

"You don't know?" The adults exchange glances before Veira continues. "The Exalt has called a summit with with the lords and ladies of Ylisse. Count Thibault offered his home as a meeting ground given the security of our walls and the location of convenience for both her Grace and the traveling lords."

Now it's my turn to stare at the siblings, who stare back just as puzzled. "The Exalt is on her way here?"

"In some two to three week's time," Van confirms.

Crap.

"It was no surprise to us Thibault volunteered so earnestly for the honor," Veira says upon returning to table. She puts down a pitcher of milk for the children. "With him hosting the Court, he would put on airs. He's known to be quite ruthless in his attempts to gain more clout with the nobility. He despises his position here."

"Declares it whenever he can," Vic grumbles over the ale he pours into our cups.

Asche puts his cheese aside and presses both hands together before him. "But, to betray the Exalt is no small play on power. Plegia must have promised him a great reward to turn."

"That's an understatement." I cross my leg over the other and lean back in my chair. I stare at the ceiling, mind awash in confusion. "Sully is one of the most prestigious Shepherds. She's a prime candidate for the promotion of captain in the army, and one of the brightest set to inherit knighthood. She can attribute her uncle for helping her to meet both Vaike and Prince Chrom. Being family, he can only benefit from loyalty to the Exalt." My chair hits the ground again as I move to lean against the table. "How in the world did you discover this scheme?"

"Xian'li," Vic answers. He looks out the window up toward the castle, his brow furrowing deep with worry.

Veira sets down a loaf of bread and unfolds the cloth around it. She takes up a knife and cuts through the crispy, golden outside to reveal the soft insides. The aroma of freshly baked goods makes my mouth water and it takes every ounce of restraint to prevent me from jumping into that basket. Veira cuts the first piece and puts it on Jin'hai's plate, though her gaze is back toward her son. "Jin'hai's other parent works in the castle as the steward. He has the honor of Count Thibault's trust and handles his most private affairs. Xian'li knows of Vaike's position and has been sending us the information in secret. It's only because of Lord Thibault's utter trust in Xian'li that the knowledge has passed without suspicion. All others at Lord Thibault's employ were dismissed or imprisoned."

Hearing Xian'li's name causes Jin'hai to sniffle. He pokes at the food on his plate with his fork and shuts both eyes tight to prevent his sadness from flowing out. His distress causes a look of concern to pass between all adult members of Vaike's family. Van reacts by reaching out and ruffling his hand through the boy's hair to provide some comfort, though it doesn't do much. Vic's attitude isn't much better if the way he slams down the pitcher of ale is anything to go by.

"Vic, please," his mother chides. "The children!"

Val downs the last of milk and gleams, milk mustache and all. " 's okay, Ma! If I ever saw Lord Thibault, I'd take a pitcher to his face too!"

"No, you will not!" Veira gasps in alarm. "Van, say something to her. This is probably your influence."

"Val, do what your mother says," Vic utters into his cup. He ignores his wife's scowl and sets the drink down after taking in a large drought of ale. Satisfied, he turns to his food. While cutting into his ham, he continues the conversation from before. "With all this tomfoolery goin' round, we had hoped to let my son and his friends know. We love the Exalt, Naga bless her soul. We want no harm to fall upon our countrymen, but that darned rookery was locked down after the Exalt began her march. No one has been able to get a peep outta these lands. All Lord Thibault's says is that a disease gone and killed off them birds, and the roads were too dangerous for simple messengers. He controls all our messages because of his trained hands. Sad thing is, we all believed 'im 'til Xian'li said so."

"That explains the lack of parcels for Vaike lately. He's been depressed without these letters from home." I feel a brief moment of empathy for Vaike when I remember all the mail deliveries of late that left him empty handed. Even when he tried so hard to sound optimistic, I could see the pain in his eyes. Poor guy.

"Ain't just that," Van continues. "We've been prisoners in our own home. Lord Thibault won't let any of the workers out without an escort. We now have designated work zones we can't leave. Sounds pretty when he says it's to protect ya from Risen, but it's also partially the truth. He don't want no one leavin' and goin' without his say. But..."

"No one has been able to survive outside the walls," Vic adds. "Risen get 'em."

"Like those shepherds," Sigrún says.

How convenient that Risen pop up whenever anyone leaves. Now I'm beginning to wonder if that's just coincidence as well. Those nobles and their entourages made it here just fine.

"Yes, we heard about that. Tarly was a family friend and loved his job working for the Count," Veira answers in sorrow. She reaches over and helps her daughter cut apart a potato on her plate before continuing. "That was the first occurrence that has happened without the intent of the parties to actually leave. From what the survivors said, Risen ambushed the herd on the outside of the walls and scattered the soldiers from civilians. You can imagine how untrained folk such as us will react to Risen."

There's a muttering of short prayers around the table in the lost lives of their neighbors.

"The Exalt is hosting a court here in less than three weeks." I drop my face in my hands, a swell of panic and rage crashing over me. "I can't believe it."

"I fear that the Plegians are everywhere. We have not a single ally to rely on but ourselves. It bodes ill for the coming meeting. I fear for her Holiness," Veira says.

"That might be the intent. If he has something planned, which it appears to be, then he could cause catastrophic damage," Asche says, clearly thinking back on his readings.

"We must alert the Exalt." Veira closes her eyes, wringing her hands together. "Gods' graces. To think our own would betray the crown."

"I need to start investigating now," I announce, rising from my seat. My mind is a vortex of ideas and emotions that I can't keep straight. It's sapped all of my appetite. I just want to think. Looking to the heads of the house, I bow my head in respect. "Veira, Van? Can I impose the use of your home while I look into these matters? I need a base of operations I can trust while looking into this."

"Of course!" Veira gestures to all three of us. "You're all welcome to day. It's the very least we can offer, not only for the Exalt but for our son."

"Whatever ya need, it's yers," Van shakes his head in agreement.

I nod in thanks. With that, I ask for a moment and excuse myself from the table. I'm grateful that no one follows as I step outside into the night air. The clouds have passed and opened the night sky to a milky rainbow of hues speckled by starlight. It's a beautiful tapestry that takes me back to the night Chrom and I sad on the rooftop of the castle in Ylisstol. That was the night he presented me my coat. Not one like that of old Robin, but a new one that symbolized my own unique person in this world.

It makes my gut churn knowing he may have found that same coat chewed and torn after I fought that priest. The whole arm must have eroded away from the dark magic. He must think I'm dead.

It hurts more than I thought it would, being apart that is. I... don't like the idea of disappearing from his life. The longer I've been away from the Shepherds, the more I realize how tied my life has become with theirs, especially his. I went from spending almost full days with him to nothing. It's like dropping an addiction and going cold turkey. I miss our conversations. I miss eating together. I just miss...him.

We didn't even part ways in a proper fashion. I didn't say goodbye being too busy with setting up for the battle. I was still a little mad he stationed me there instead of with him on the front lines, but who was I to argue? He's my captain.

I glance up at the moon, round and near full. I know they're out there, the ones who mean the most to me in this world. I'm not sure if my message even got to them yet. Where there was once relief, there's now worry. My message described where I was going, and I know full well someone is going to show up for me. The problem is what will happen now when they do. Have I unwittingly invited them into a trap?

My strength waivers and I let myself slide down the side of the building until I rest on the ground. I draw my knees up and rest my forehead against them, trying to clear my head. It will be useless to try and do anything tonight. After a good sleep, I'll have to start over again. The mantle I lost after one month will be reclaimed tomorrow morning. I, strategist to the Shepherds and former baker extraordinaire, will rise again.

I raise my branded hand and flex it open and closed. Tomorrow, I will return to the fight and nothing will stop me. Not Plegia, not the Grimleal, and not...not even myself, if it comes to it. Grima has no power here, that I can promise.

Robin Anne Carter is her own woman and no dragons can say otherwise.

---

A/N: Welp, Tharja's here.

Look, you all know my writing now. I take the characters seriously. Tharja is a character that gave me the hardest battle in terms of conception. The whole "obsessed stalker" angle is a bit tropey. It's a cute anime schtick, but I'm trying to be real with her. Tharja's actually a really intriguing character. If you read her supports, ignoring any creepy mentions of Robin watching, she's got depth.

I'm trying to make her seem human. She's a bit dry and dour, but she's got heart. Tharja's intelligence, insight, and social struggles are going to be more prevalent than her "Notice me, senpai" aspects. Is she still going to be clingy to Robin? Yes, to a point. Tharja's arc is about her loneliness among her countrymen as a Grimleal and how she overcomes this in the Shepherds. Robin is her first taste of friendship. She'll still develop her infatuation in Robin because of this, but it's not going to be about stealing hair strands and watching Robin sleep at midnight. I just want to give Tharja the best.

Moral of the story: Tharja is hard to write.

Also, I see some readers want the Shepherds to appear again soon. While I want another chapter to develop Robin's relationships with Tharja and Vasto (yes, that's right), I cooked up an extra chapter to help scratch that itch. Read on!