They stole across the ruined world, mimicking the hunted animals they knew they were. Following the polluted river inland, they stayed low, scampering to one spot, stopping, listening, watching, before darting on to the next. Moving this way, they took hours longer to cross an area that could have been traversed in a fraction of the time at a brisk jog. But outside, haste made noise. Haste got you noticed. Haste brought them.
If you strained your eyes, you could tell it was just past midafternoon. The toxic ceiling of angry violet clouds that roiled across the sky was a little bit brighter in the west. Every now and then, the wind thinned out the layers of miasma enough to see the pale disc of the sun, shining weakly through. It was a particularly clear day.
As on their way down to the coast, they chose to skirt around a stretch of desiccated forest that had once grown on either side of the water. The skeletal trees would be an invaluable source of lumber and firewood to any villages in the area, but the ground around them was littered with dry dead branches. No amount of careful steps could get you through those woods without the whole countryside hearing the snap of twigs under foot.
A ways passed the forest, they finally came upon an overturned trader's wagon, its front half submerged in the tainted shallows of the river. They stopped out in the open for longer than they would have liked. They exchanged glances, Inigo giving a shrug. Lucina crept over to the side of the wagon and gave it an urgent tap on one of its wheelless axles.
From inside the cavity created by the upturned wagon's bed on the dry bank came an alarmed squeak. The back panel—its top, which was now at the bottom, had been shaved down so it didn't get jammed in the sand—hinged open and up. A little girl with deep brown Feroxi skin, barely into her teens, greeted them with a raised hand flickering with flames, a tome open in her lap. The spellbook looked comically large against her tiny frame.
Lucina gave an exaggerated sigh, moving her shoulders more than normal so the expression could be understood in her heavy cloak. "Anything we should know about?" she whispered in Feroxi.
The little girl dismissed her spell and placed a hand on her chest. "I think you almost gave me a heart attack!"
"If you'd been paying attention you'd have seen us. You gave yourself a heart attack. Now, is there anything else we should know about?"
The girl shut the tome and stowed it back in her little hideout. The inside of the wagon looked fairly cozy, walls padded with warm blankets and the ground fitted with a stretch of wood and carpet that created an elevated place to sit in the event the river became swollen. She scrambled out into the open, pulling an extra length of fabric that had been sewn to the front of her jerkin up and over her mouth and nose, cinching it tight at the back of her head. Her body audibly popped and cracked as she stretched.
"Damon—he's a trader from down south, by the old Port—came by as usual. If you folks need any salt, he should have made it to the bridge by now. Oh, and your friends: Pointy Hat Guy and Mister Tall, Dark and Handsome passed by a few hours ago."
Inigo's snort was muffled by his mask as Lucina translated the little girl's words for him. "Tall, dark and… does she mean Gerome? How does she know? She's never seen his face."
Lucina rolled her eyes under her own mask, not bothering to convey his questions. Instead she asked, "What about any Ris—er, Marrow?"
The girl shivered and pointed across to the other side of the stream. "A pack of a few hundred, around noon. Since you didn't see 'em on your way back, I guess they went off north. I saw the all-clear smoke, so I don't think they caused any trouble back home."
Lucina cursed in Ylissian under her breath and turned away, putting her hands on her hips. There was a chance those Risen were merely a wandering horde, without direction. She doubted it, though.
The Feroxi girl looked from her to Inigo. "What's her problem? Marrow moving away from us is a good thing, right?"
Inigo kicked sand at Lucina, bringing her attention back the girl. "What? Oh, sorry. Yes, it's a very good thing." For you, she didn't add. "Thank you, looks like you were paying attention after all."
The skin around the girl's eyes crinkled with a smile at the admission. Inigo stepped up to her and crouched down. Reaching into his pack, he produced a well-worn stuffed dolphin. It was dirty, with one of the black button eyes missing. He handed the toy to her.
The girl raised an eyebrow and looked over Inigo's shoulder to Lucina. "Does he know I'm a bit old for stuffed animals?"
Lucina chuckled, shaking her head. No one outgrew toys like that, only the desire to pretend that you did out of embarrassment. She still translated the words for Inigo, then his reply back to the girl. "You're the daughter of Aleka, the herbalist, right? She's got another kid, a baby girl. You might be too old for it, but it would be a nice thing to give to your little sister, yeah?"
The girl hunched her shoulders and ground her foot bashfully into the sand. She took the dolphin. "Tell him, thanks," she mumbled, before climbing back into her lookout post. Lucina noticed she was hugging and stroking the head of the toy as she disappeared under the wagon.
The bridge the salt merchant had been heading to and the Feroxi girl's home were one in the same. Decades ago, when the world was whole and the you could still see the sky, the river Lucina had been following marked a border between the territories of two unfriendly Feroxi clans. A sturdy bridge to cross it was considered of incredible military value to any clan who could hold it.
This particular bridge must have been the site of dozens, if not hundreds of small skirmishes over those years. As a result, it was built up from a simple stone river crossing to something more resembling a fort that straddled the water.
Now, it had been cleverly disguised to appear all but abandoned. Narrow windows where once archers had positioned themselves to fire upon attacker were sealed, blocked by debris that looked as if the stone frame had simply collapsed with age. If someone attempted to peer through the rubble from the bank, they would only see a darkened interior—although, this was just an illusion created by dyed black fabrics that were hung like curtains on the inside.
The place had an unmistakable air of disrepair. From the carefully cultivated moss that grew thick near the waterline, to an entire section of the outer wall that had fallen into the river below, exposing a row of old jail cells with rusted iron bars, it looked just like every other old world structure that had been left to be claimed by time.
At a glance, no human would enter such a dilapidated building unless they were desperate. And with a set of banded iron doors at the entrance on either bank—broken at the corners and affixed all over with weeds, dirt and other detritus—no mindless Risen slouching by would give it any notice.
It was at these doors that Lucina raised her hand and beat out a series of soft knocks. She had just enough time to be impressed that the villagers even went through the trouble of wiping out the tracks that anyone who came in or out left in the surrounding dirt, before one of the doors cracked open just enough to let her and Inigo slide through.
A guard with his face wrapped in a bandana ushered them into a small dark area just inside that was partitioned in the center by a heavy wooden screen draped with more of the light-blocking material used on the windows. Here they brushed off and patted down their clothes, making sure that no residue of miasma was brought inside. Lucina tensed and backed away as the guard—who had finished helping shake out Inigo's cloak—turned and raised a hand to swipe at a dusting of grime on her shoulder. The man pulled back his hand and bowed slightly by way of apology.
Once they were clean enough, they passed around the divider to the other side of the room. This section of the entranceway was lined with rows and rows a wooden cubbies, and had a second guard seated on a stool in front of a set of floor to ceiling doors. Lucina shrugged out of her cloak, stuffing it in one of the hollows that were designated for guests and travelers. Being sure to turn away from the two guards, she quickly removed her butterfly mask and tied on a leather eyepatch to conceal the Brand of the Exalt that marked her iris. As a last check, she undid her hair from its ponytail to see that it was still stained black with ink.
The guard who had let them in pulled down his bandana to give her a dazzling—albeit gap-toothed—smile. "So, did you find what you were looking for, miss?" he asked in decent Ylissian.
Lucina put a hand on Falchion, feeling to be sure the unwieldy metal clip she used to disguise the blade's unique hilt was secure. "No, we'll be moving on soon."
"Not too soon, I hope. Inigo's and Owain's stories have been a bright spot in all of our days. And I was hoping to hear one or two from you, if you didn't mind."
She placed her mask on top of her cloak in its cubby. "I'm not a good storyteller. And it wouldn't matter anyway, we'll be gone by nightfall."
She moved past him to stand in front of the person seated by the second set of doors. The far older Feroxi woman held up a candle and examined her with a critical eye for any specs of taint they might have missed as Lucina turned around slowly several times. Wordlessly, the guard nodded and reached back, admitting her to the village proper.
On the other side of the doors stretched what could have been mistaken for a cramped thoroughfare. The floor—probably the original bridge—stretched out in a well-lit, unbroken corridor under an arched stone ceiling until it terminated some distance away with a set of double doors identical to the ones Lucina had just stepped through. Lining it on either side were dozens of smaller passageways that led to the network of rooms that made up the fort. People walked along and cut through the space, talking, laughing and going about daily tasks and chores.
Lucina glanced back impatiently. Inigo finished a quick conversation he was having with the guard who had spoken to her, giving him what looked like a commiserating pat on the shoulder before he strolled over to be inspected. Of course, he treated the seated guard to one of his roguish grins and a whispered joke, which—of course—had the older woman chuckling and swatting him lightly on the arm.
Finally, he joined her inside and they set off together, turning off the main bridge and into the maze of hallways. She raised her uncovered eyebrow. "What was that all about?"
Inigo ran a hand through his short hair, fixing the flaxen strands from where his hood had mussed them. "Grandma Adara use to go down to the Longfort to participate in those old religious debates with the Ylissian church. I just told her about the time my dad—"
"No, the other thing. What were you saying to Juri?"
He chuckled. "Oh, that. I was just letting him know that he was only the latest in a long line of men who've had their romantic hopes dashed by the mysterious swordswoman from Ylisse, and not to feel too bad about it."
Lucina almost tripped. "Please tell me you didn't."
"I think it's the eyepatch, makes you look dashing and dangerous."
"Maybe you should wear one in the next settlement we come to, then."
Inigo sidestepped a group of women passing them in the hall, giving them a gallant bow and sending them scurrying off giggling. "You know—and I'm saying this as your friend—it wouldn't kill you to maybe give a little outside companionship a try."
They came out into a large room that—judging by the dozens of shields that decorated the walls, now all marked up with children's scribbles—must have been an armory once. Now it housed the most important facility in the village: eight enormous barrels. When Lucina and her Shepherds had first arrived, it had been explained that each barrel was filled with alternating layers of sand, charcoal and gravel. Apparently, that combination could be used to filter the taint out of the river water that was poured through. Once boiled, it was completely drinkable again.
She had to wait again while Inigo called out to a bearded man who was carrying away great buckets of fresh water. Once the two had clasped hands and exchanged friendly greetings, he returned and they were able to continue moving.
"When was the last time we stayed around other people for more than a week?" she asked. "You expect me to form a relationship like Severa and Kjelle, or Yarne and Noire—"
"Or Owain and his sword." Inigo had to skip away to avoid Lucina's hard elbow. He continued from a safe distance. "I'm not talking about some epic romance, not even a little tryst. Juri said he wanted to hear some of your stories. I'm sure he had something else in mind, but why not go and do literally that? Tell some stories, listen to some, too. We're all a little worried about how closed off you're getting."
Is that what she had been doing? The last few groups they had met and traveled with, the small community living out of that lyric mine they had stayed with some months back, she hadn't been dismissive or distant with them… had she? Well, if she had, could she really be blamed? There was always so much to do, and now with this matter concerning the dragon…
Lucina's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of running footsteps behind her. She was only able to half turn around when someone collided with her, wrapping arms around her stomach in a crushing hug. She managed to twist in the grip so she could pat her assailant on the back.
"Took you long enough, Lucy!" her sister said in her sing-song voice. "Whatcha' talking about?"
Cynthia was a head shorter than she was and five years her junior. Like Lucina's, her shorter dark blue hair, pulled up into pigtails, was smeared into an unnatural shade of black with ink. Fortunately, her own Brand of the Exalt—which for her was just below her right breast—didn't need any extra and ridiculous measures to conceal it. She released Lucina, falling into a bouncing step at her side as they walked.
It was Inigo who answered her question with a mischievous grin. "Just trying to convince your sister to spend a night of passion with the charming, handsome Master Juri."
Lucina felt her cheeks grow hot. "You just said you weren't talking about romance!"
Her sister struck a pose, hand stroking chin sagely. "Hmm, Juri's a decent enough guy, but not the right fit. What about that mage with the Plegian group who arrived a few days after we did? She's always coming up with reasons to chat with Lucy."
"What? Really?" Inigo replied with a start. "You mean Aya, the pretty one with the scar? Why didn't you tell me earlier? I've been trying to get her to dance with me for days. I thought she was just shy; now I look like some kind of blockhead."
Cynthia giggled. "There could still be hope for you. She is shy, and maybe she likes guys too. I only mention it because I'm still not entire sure what Lucy's preference is."
"My preference is for both of you to shut up," Lucina grumbled, hiding her embarrassment behind her long hair. They ignored her.
"Oh, come now, Cynthia, surely you remember that one guy." Inigo snapped his fingers, trying to jog his memory. "Sir Kim? Sir Kelt?…"
Her sister let out a burst of loud laughter. "You mean Sir Keel? You're right! How could I forget him. You should have seen what Lucy wrote about him in her journal."
"Alright, enough!" Lucina cut across their conversation. "Inigo, go round up the others. Cynthia, you follow me to our rooms."
Inigo was still trying to smother his amusement as he jogged off down one of the side passages. Cynthia, grinning triumphantly, hooked an arm around Lucina's as they made their way to the small grouping of apartments allotted for guests on the upper levels of the fort.
Once her blush was under control, Lucina glanced sideways at her sister. "Do you really remember what I wrote in my diary? You must have been six or seven back then."
Cynthia's pigtails bounced as she bobbed her head. "Your first crush? Course I remember reading that, how could I forget! Do you know how long it took me to decipher your chicken scratch?" She cleared her throat, and in an overly dramatic high-pitched voice recited, "We spoke again today. I am now certain that he'll be named captain of my personal guard. Oh, someone pinch me, for I must be the luckiest girl in the—"
Lucina did pinch her, which sent Cynthia into another fit of giggling. The sound of her sister's merriment made the embarrassment worth it. She let the laughter push away the darker memories: the look on brave, gallant Sir Keel's face as he was pulled screaming from his horse amidst the last doomed charge of the Ylissian cavalry.
Once Cynthia had calmed down to only the occasional chuckle, Lucina asked, "What happened here while we were gone?"
"Not too much. A whole horde of Risen passed by this morning, but these people don't mess around when it comes quiet and light discipline. Laurent and Gerome got back without a problem, sounds like a good news, bad news kinda situation. Without Inigo to rein him in, Owain's story last night was pretty wild; the children loved it.
"Yarne went out hunting with some of the locals. He came back with a deer! Can you believe that? Guess there are still some left this far north. The last time I saw him, Laurent was smoking our half of the meat. Noire only brought back some squirrels, so she's off pretending not to be bothered by it. Brady's doing some house calls… Oh, and Kjelle and Sev are still taking advantage of having real beds for a change, so I've avoided their room like the plague."
It was Lucina's turn to chuckle. "And you didn't warn Inigo about that?"
Cynthia waved the though away. "He knows how to knock. And, well, being inside means those two can be a bit more… vocal. I'm sure he'll hear them long before he sees something he shouldn't."
As they walked, they passed through several different communal areas: a school, a latrine, a bustling mess hall and a garden. They stopped briefly by this last one, so they could both marvel at the colorful fruits and vegetables being grown under the blinding light of a scant few enchanted lanterns. Each room that shared a wall with the outside had its windows carefully sealed with black curtains secured by wooden boards nailed flush to the stones, covered by another layer of thick dark fabric. No light or noise escaped, and no miasma seeped in.
By the time they reached the cramped apartments that had been given to them, the rest of the Shepherds had been assembled. Lucina immediately turned her attention to Laurent.
"How much can you get out of it?"
The mage tugged at the brim of his pointed hat, glanced at Gerome and then back to her. "I could probably refresh the enchantments on some of our masks, or the ones for Minerva and Sooty. I could do them all, but part of our deal with the people here means most of the font's magic will go towards new grow lamps for their garden."
Lucina sighed. "Do you think the font will have regained some of its power by the time we get back?"
"I… no. It will never replenish. Naga's magic has all but dried up here."
She looked to Yarne, not letting the implications of Laurent's observation haunt her. "What about your four-legged mask?"
The Taguel jumped at being addressed. "I, um… I can go without the enchantments, it blocks out enough of the taint."
She knew he was lying, if not from his hunched shoulders, than by Noire's concerned look. Still…
"Tell the Chieftain that we're ready to repay his hospitality. Whenever their group is ready, take Noire, Cynthia and Gerome and do what you can for the mounts' masks."
Severa spoke up from where she was leaning her back against Kjelle's broad chest. "And what did you find out? Was this all just a fanciful story, or was something actually there?"
Lucina exchanged glances with Inigo. It was he who answered. "There was definitely a dragon not far from here, it crashed into an old clan burial ground. The barrows were all torn up—pretty recently too. Fresh clawprints, broken scales and piles of Risen. She fought." His voice lowered, grew hesitant. "There was blood, a lot of blood. Enough that… it's hard to say if she…"
All eyes turned to Brady. The scar across his eye twisted as he glowered back at them. "If you've got a stupid question, just ask it."
Lucina tapped a nervous rhythm on Falchion's pommel. "If a Manakete loses enough blood as a dragon, would she die when she had to change back into a woman?"
"I'm a human—and occasionally Taguel—healer," Brady grumbled. "I don't know the first thing about Manakete biology. I'm not even sure if they do have to change back."
Yarne straightened up. "Usually, when I'm injured on four-legs, the wound stays with me when I return to two, but it changes relative to my size. Maybe what looks like a large slash on a dragon would only be a small cut when she hid her wings?"
Brady scoffed. "That's not how it would work. When you change, you're just turning into a slightly bigger bunny rabbit—"
"Easy now," Inigo laughed, a bit of his swagger returning. "Only Noire calls him 'bunny rabbit.'"
The Shepherds' healer ignored the comment, and the resulting leather glove that Noire threw at Inigo. "A two-legged Taguel is bigger than a person, and four-legged, they're bigger still. But it's a drop in the bucket compared to the size difference of a woman and a damn dragon. To answer your question, boss, I have no clue. I'll have to play it by ear when we see her."
A worried silence broke out in the room. It was Cynthia who shattered it. "And do we think she's the Voice of Naga? I mean, she's still alive after all this time?"
Her question was directed at Gerome. Unlike the rest of them, he still wore his wooden mask, even indoors. It was carved into the silhouette of a wyvern head as viewed from above, horned crest and all. Most of these horns had broken off over the years, and the mask itself was too small for his face. The turquoise stubble on his chin was visible, peeking out underneath stylized jaws. It was by far the oldest mask among the Shepherds, and had been ill fitting even when they'd first met—although, back then, it had been too large. He'd never made a new one, and no one ever brought it up.
He shifted his head back and forth to take in the others watching him. He shrugged. "Lady Tiki was there when Grima burned the Mila Tree, but my mother said she never saw the Voice die. I met her a few times when I was little. She's tough; if anyone could survive, it would be her."
Lucina stood up straight. She wanted to feel hopeful, but what could one woman, even the daughter of a goddess, do for the world? Was this anything more than just another mission to keep everyone else sane? She shoved those thoughts aside, letting her friends see a confident smile on her lips.
"Alright, Laurent, get those enchantments. The rest of us will go find Lady Tiki."
Under normal circumstances, to track something through the air was impossible. Yarne might have been able to do it a few years ago, when the miasma hadn't been as thick, but now it would be dangerous for him to use his full senses. However, as part blessing and part curse, the Voice of Naga's injuries gave them a rough direction to follow.
After parting ways with Cynthia and the three others, they retraced Lucina's and Inigo's path down to the coast from the previous day. By nightfall, they'd reached the burial grounds, the site of the dragon's fierce battle. They made camp in one of the unearthed tomes, nestled cozily among the ancient Feroxi bones.
At dawn—or the nearest approximation you could make without a sunrise—they split up and scoured the surrounding area. It was Owain, much to Yarne's annoyance, who found the great splashes of blood on rocks and dying trees that pointed them further north up the coast. Over the course of the day, and a good chunk of the next, they hopped from bloodstains to trampled clearings to collections of Risen corpses burned by dragonfire. Until they finally came to the end of the trail.
Along a windswept stretch of beach, a towering spine of basalt jutted out into waves tinted a sickly purple by the sky and made viscous by the miasma that had settled in the Archanean Sea. Through her spyglass, Lucina could pick out a cave amid the hexagonal pillars of rock. She might have missed it—the lines of stone making the opening hard to spot—were it not for the mountain of dead Risen, still smoldering, at its mouth.
The Shepherds had hunkered down in the remains of an old fire-gutted hulk that lay half-buried on the tideline. Any flags or symbols that might have given a clue as to the origins of the vessel had been worn away to nothing a long time ago.
As Lucina stowed her spyglass, Owain slid down next to her. That his wolf's head mask dampened his voice was a blessing, since her cousin had never seemed to be able to master the art of whispering. "You were spot on, coz! We beat those Risen that passed by the bridge here, but just barely. They're coming in from the east, but there's only a few hundred. Easy work for warriors like us, eh?"
He couldn't see the smile under her mask as she shook her head. "You'll have to contain your heroics for today." She reached into different pockets, gingerly drawing out two small pouches. She handed them to Owain. "These are still good for a few more uses. I want you to take Yarne and Inigo and circle further north. Start making noise, but do not engage them. Do you hear me? If there isn't a Scourge among them, it should draw off that pack of Risen."
"And if there is a Scourge?" asked Kjelle. "They should have lost interest or gotten distracted by now. Something has to be driving them here."
Her griffon mask was replaced by a visored helm, its mouth and eye slits shrouded in enchanted Plegian silk, like with all of their masks. She was in the process of retrieving her armor from her pack and buckling it on. It was clear how she thought this day would end.
Lucina touched Falchion's hilt for reassurance. "Then we hope the Voice can help us deal with it. If they ignore the signal stones, give us a warning. Then I want the three of you to get away back to Gerome and the others. We'll meet up with you at the bridge."
Yarne shifted his feet back and forth, the Taguel way of showing discomfort. "Will you have enough time to escape before the Risen get here? What if Lady Tiki is too badly injured to move?"
Brady looked up from where he was drawing a swirling pattern in the sand with the butt of his staff. "If you're so worried about time then you should stop asking and start moving. Let's get going already."
They split up again. Once Severa had helped Yarne affix the larger muzzle-like mask to his bestial form's snout, he was off, racing ahead of Inigo and Owain as they disappeared back inland. That left the remaining four of them to strike out across the sand towards the rocky outcropping.
As they neared where the first chucks of basalt began to peek out of the sand, Lucina had to press her mask tighter to her face. Even the layers of enchantments couldn't entirely filter out the acrid scent of what must have been every Risen for several square miles reduced to kindling at the mouth of the cave. Behind her, she heard Severa gagging.
Brady yelped and jumped backwards, slipping and falling as a charred hand shot out from the pile and tried to grab him as he passed. Kjelle's axe separated the arm from its owner; she kicked the limb back onto the pyre. In trying to help the healer up, Lucina almost lost her footing as well. Crouching down, she found that large swathes of the coarse beach sand had been melted into glass.
Climbing up to the mouth of the cave, she held out a hand to halt the others before they stepped inside. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she called into the tunnel. "Lady Tiki? We came to assist you. We have a healer."
There was no response. In a way, that was even worse than being answered with dragonfire. She crept forward, Brady falling in behind her. He raised his hand to manifest a light, but paused. Inside, the cave walls were already illuminated by the flickering glow of a trail of of still-burning corpses.
The cave itself wasn't very deep; it came to an abrupt end, widening slightly into a sizable cavern, just past a bend only a a few dozen paces from the entrance. Here, the uneven stone floor was strewn with fallen chunks of basalt, interspersed with broken spear hafts and snapped arrows. And at the very back, looking as broken and dead as the ship on the shore, lay the Voice of Naga.
The dragon was coated from snout to tail in miasma, the vile taint turning to sludge around dozens of wounds still seeping blood. One wing was a mangled ruin, the thin flight membrane completely shredded, while the other stuck out at an unnatural angle. The spines on her back were snapped off and raw, her tail was partially severed at the base. Countless spear and arrowheads glinted in her flesh, a mockery of the scales that once must have shone brilliantly.
Lucina felt her eyes begin to brim with angry tears. She had known, deep down, that this would all end with one more dead hope. Weeks of travel, wasted supplies, worn down enchantments, and they couldn't even bury the body. It was all meaningless, just like…
Brady rushed past her, hesitating at the corpse, she could see him trying to get his bearings. He moved over to one side and—after dusting off some of the miasma—pressed his ear against the dragon's massive rib cage. Stepping back, he reached out and plucked free one of the arrows that speckled her body.
He dropped the shaft, beginning to work on half a spear that stuck out at head level. "Come on, you lot. Help me clear some of these off."
Lucina sat down hard, hand going to the breast pocket where she kept her mother's bracelet. "We need to leave. The others will be starting to distract those Risen any minute now. If we go now, we probably won't lead any of them back south to the bridge."
"Boss," he grunted as he yanked out the spear. "Quit it with the doom and gloom already. I said I was no expert in Manaketes, but what I do know is that, if something's got a heartbeat, there's still a chance I can save it."
Lucina looked up sharply. "But she isn't breathing!"
"And I say she is, just very, very slowly. I could probably count the beats of her heart per minute on one hand, too, but it's definitely still going. Can't dragons hibernate? Damn, where's Laurent when you need him. Anyway, get over here and help me. I don't know what'll happen if we can get her to change into a person, but it's safe to say she'll do much better without this mess sticking out of her."
The three women all leapt forward with a will. Kjelle tackled the deeper spears while Severa nimbly climbed up on the dragon's back and started systematically picking her clean. Lucina retrieved the dagger she kept sheathed up her sleeve with a flick of the wrist, using it to pry out any arrows in reach.
Their work was interrupted by a fast series of cracks echoing in from outside. All but Brady stopped to listen. Lucina felt her stomach twist in dread as a second rush of chaotic notes sounded, followed by an intentionally slower pattern of four cracks broken up with a pause in the middle. The Risen hadn't been diverted. There was a Scourge out there.
The signal lent a frantic energy to their task, speeded further as the dragon finally released a long shuddering breath. The movement helped dislodge a few more of the shafts. Several times, Brady would shift over to where one of them had cleared off a large enough patch, where he'd channel a narrow pulse of healing through his staff. He couldn't use it to heal her completely, since the spell would have reknit the wounds around any foreign objects in the body. But it kept the damage and bleeding their efforts caused her to a minimum.
Lucina scrambled, her hands, arms and chest spattered and steaming with the dragon's blood. She felt a pang of sympathy for what Severa must be going through, her friend equally covered in filth. She glanced to Brady. "We need to go, now! Either she has to fly out or be small enough for us to carry her, but it has to happen right now!"
He was looking up, inspecting the broken wing. Raising a hand, he bumped a finger against the brow of his mask. Touching his scar was always something he did when he was thinking. "Damn stupid mask. I reckon healing this break here will be painful enough to wake her up. Can't say what state she'll be in, though."
"Do it. Severa, get down from there."
As Severa hopped down and moved away, Brady held his staff horizontally above his head with one hand. The other hand touched the cage of lyric at its top, making the inset gem glow. The sound of bone snapping back together was as loud as the signals from Owain had been, making Lucina wince. The newly healed wing flopped down, almost knocking Brady over. Other than that, the dragon lay still.
Severa took a step forward. "So much for that idea. What if we—"
Kjelle grabbed her and hauled her back as the dragon convulsed, swiping her barbed tail through the air where Severa's head had been. Brady threw himself to the ground, dropping his staff and covering his own head with his hands as claws and wings thrashed above him.
Lucina jumped to where she thought the dragon could see her, waving her arms. "Voice, please! We're friends, here to help! We—"
The dragon threw back her head and roared, sending any Shepherd still standing to their knees, hands clapped to their ears. The entire cave reverberated with the deafening sound, chunks of rock the size of a human's torso cracked free from the ceiling, crashing down around them. Lucina couldn't hear any of it, only feel the vibrations through the soles of her feet. She felt blood draining from her ears, running in rivulets down either side of her neck.
Her eyes widened as the dragon's head lowered, jaws splitting open to reveal teeth like short swords. The temperature in the cavern went up sharply as a faint glow flickered to life in the back of the Voice's throat. It grew brighter with frightening speed.
Lucina forced herself to her feet. Staring into the building inferno, she tore free Falchion with one hand, knocking off the clip covering the weapon's hilt with her knee. With her other hand, she pried off her mask and cloak, tossing them aside. She met the dragon's eyes, letting the Voice see the Brand of the Exalt. Hefting her blade above her head, she shouted, not sure how loud her voice actually was.
"My name is Lucina, Exalt of the Halidom of Ylisse! Please, Lady Tiki, you fought alongside my father, Chrom, who was Exalt before me, and soared with my mother, Queen Sumia! The Shepherds still stand, not the ones you knew, but those who would carry their legacy! We have come to help, and ask in return your help in our stuggle against the Fell Dragon!"
The fire died in the dragon's throat. A wave of miasma billowed down as she shrank, spines retreating and smoothing out as scales thinned and pulled together, becoming pale skin, quickly covered by a blood-red robe, rewoven from tattered wings. Her great horned crest broke apart into individual strands of emerald hair, spikes on the side of the head softening to pointed ears. The eyes became more human, but were still filled with disbelief.
A small figure, bruised and bloody, took unsteady steps toward the Shepherds. One hand held a glimmering Dragonstone, while the other reached forward to touch Lucina's chest, as if to be sure she wasn't an illusion.
Nowi.
The Voice of Naga.