Welcome to the mid-timeskip. What, did you think we'd jump straight to 1185? No, that'd be too simple. Not to mention not being conscientious of my mental health!
Chapter XXIII
Professor Jeritza's old room had been largely cleared out ever since he was outed as being the Death Knight himself. I quickly racked my brain for any hint of which wall the staircase was hidden in. We didn't stand a chance charging through the Imperial army currently running amok, and staying up here was just as much of a death sentence. The chamber rattled violently, like an empty canteen being smacked by a thirsty man in the desert hoping for one last drop.
Right, the bookshelf. I rushed over, ignoring the stabbing pain on my left, and forced the secret passage open. The dark stairwell was still there, to my great relief– I was glad, right now, that Rhea hadn't decided to seal it off with brick and mortar yet. I could have blown it apart with my bombs, but that would take time that we didn't have.
"What the heck is that?" Claire demanded.
"A secret tunnel?" Annika whispered.
"Isn't this where the Death Knight brought Flayn all that time ago?" Cyril asked.
"It sure is, and it sure is a lot more secure than up above," I said confidently, waving the other kids downward into the blackness. "C'mon, we don't have much time!"
"How long are we going to stay down there?"
"What if we can't make our way back?"
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," the Edmund orphan surrendered, dragging her Ochs coworker to the lip of the staircase. I quickly ignited a Fire Arrow to offer some semblance of light, as Cyril pulled the hidden door closed behind us. Were it not for my makeshift torch, all would have been enveloped in darkness. The last time I had had to do this was during the blizzard, before I met Dimitri. Although that was just as much for heat as it was for vision.
The stairs were almost slippery, but the shaking of the ballistae and onagers hitting their target gradually died down as we descended. The questions my companions had asked were good ones. How long would we have to stay down here, in the dark and the damp? What if we were sealed inside with no hope of escape? I remembered the last time I had been down here– the place was massive, to be sure. But was there another exit…?
The carnage above the ground was all but silent, now, as we stepped into the subterranean area. I had never figured out exactly what this place was for. It didn't have any spiritual or religious value like the Holy Mausoleum or the Holy Tomb, that was for sure. And yet, it was too spacious to just be a storage space. There weren't any dungeon-esque bits, except for the cages further back. But even then…
"What… is this place?" Annika asked.
"I have no idea," Cyril admitted. "I never would have thought it was this big from your descriptions, Link."
I shrugged, still holding my Flame Arrow aloft. I probably didn't need to, because there was plenty of light coming from the–
Hang on a second.
The torches that had offered illumination last time we were here– when the Blue Lion house fought the Death Knight in the central chamber– were still lit, crackling with light and warmth. But they shouldn't have been, because it had been months and months since that time. That could only mean that… someone had changed them. Someone was here before us– and recently, too.
Now, for the biggest question– were they friend, or foe?
I snuffed out my arrow and stepped ahead of the rest of the group, just in case something tried to step out of the darkness to attack us. Could it be a vestige of the Flame Emperor's soldiers who survived the attack and had been hiding here ever since? Or was there something more going on?
"Why are the lights… still on?" Claire asked, obviously having come to the same conclusion that I had.
"Yeah, that is kind of weird…"
"Could mean that someone else is here. We'll have to stay on our guard," Cyril finished.
We headed left, hugging the dank walls of this strange location. The only way to go forward was to the right, through a room with ornate tiles lining the floor. The bodies that had been left from the Horsebow Moon were gone, but the whole area still smelled of death.
"Hey, are those doors? Past that grate, I mean," Annika pointed out, gesticulating towards the next area. I hadn't even noticed those the last time I was down here.
"Looks like it," Claire admitted. "But–"
Cyril stepped forward and tried the iron barred gate. I could hear the jingling, and the ugly screech of rust on rust. "Darn thing's locked! Link, do you know if there's anything like this further in?"
"Definitely not," I shot back. "I would use Farore's Wind to set a portal on the other side, but the battle used up almost all of my magic. I don't think I'll be able to cut through the bars, either…"
"Well, you usually have some weird contraption shoved up your pockets that can get us out of any situation," the Almyran stated, folding his arms.
"Oh yeah! Let's bomb the stupid thing! That's not going to cause the whole chamber to collapse in on us!" I exploded. I was definitely stressed out from all of this– well, more so than usual. All things considered, I wasn't in a mental state to be able to care.
"Oh, it's an old lock. Shouldn't be too difficult…"
"So the one time you can't just snap your fingers and solve the problem happens to be the one time that our lives might depend on it?" Cyril raged.
"That's not the problem and you know it!" I countered. The gate was nothing to me; the issue was that I couldn't exactly turn into a Goron– or worse, the Fierce Deity– without raising a lot of questions that would have very painful answers.
"Guys, this isn't helping," Claire said, trying to ease the tensions. "You sound like Hanneman and Manuela right now, and–"
"Don't interrupt!" we said in unison. She shrank back.
"All I'm saying is–"
"All you can do is–"
"- you can do so much weird stuff–"
"- blame me when these things go wrong–"
"- and yet you can think of nothing to help–"
"- even though I'm the reason we're alive–"
"- and furthermore–"
"- so why don't you–"
We were cut off from our bickering by the scraping of the metal on the floor. Cyril and I both pivoted to see the gate swinging open, with a cross-looking Annika standing right by the open entrance.
"How did you do that?" Cyril and I asked.
"While you two were busy shouting at each other, I just picked the lock," she said like it was simple.
"Where'd you learn how to pick locks?" I followed up.
"Had to eat when Daddy left for Brigid," was all she would reveal on the matter. Oh. Ouch.
"I… we're sorry," Cyril said in my place.
"I know, it's just… it still stings."
We let the conversation drop, stepping forward into the next area. There were three arches set into the far wall that helped hold up the load of the ceiling. But while it had, indeed, looked like they housed doorways in the indentations between, it turned out that they were merely smooth stone.
"So… that was an enormous waste of time," Cyril drawled. "Amazin'."
"There's gotta be more here," Claire thought. "There's gotta be." Alas, there wasn't any indication that there was, at least as far as I could tell. Everything looked normal and impregnable from where I was standing.
Except…
From between two of the bricks in the wall, I could just barely make out a pinprick of light. "Hey, look at this," I shouted, waving the other orphans over to the corner. "See that little bit of extra light?"
"I don't."
"No, I see it. It's almost impossible to make out, though…"
I pressed the side of my head against the stone. If there was something back there… well, there was one way to test my hypothesis. All I needed was some good old Goron's special crop.
I unsheathed my sword and whacked the wall with all my might. It bounced off, to my delight, with a sharp plink. I knew that a wall would sound different when struck if it could be destroyed by a bomb. So my theory was correct– but how would I be able to detonate the wall without causing a cave in that would kill us all?
Use the Mask of Darmani, Katáktisi suggested.
In front of Cyril, Claire, and Annika? They'll tell someone. It'll be–
Do you have any other ideas? You know what is here– and more importantly, what is not. You and your dependents will do… it's that thing that mortals so often do when they don't constantly ingest nutrients… what is it called… Starve. You will starve. And starvation leads to an ignoble end.
That was true, but… I couldn't show them that. I couldn't. Not when I would have to explain. Not when I would have to expose myself in that way. To don Darmani III would be to hand my past, the most intimate thing I could muster, to them on a silver platter. It would only bring me pain, more pain than I could ever imagine.
But at the same time, there was… this itch. An itch that I hadn't known I had until I came to the monastery, when I could speak it freely with Ashe and also Petra one time in the library because they didn't know it was me. It was just another dysphoria.
"We'll keep looking, then," I surmised. "Maybe there's another exit further in. Worst case, we can give it a couple of days and–"
"A couple of days? We can probably last without food, but there isn't water down here, either," Annika countered. "Well, nothing we can drink, anyway."
"We can always boil it."
"You're insane, Link."
I shrugged, the burnt skin on my side digging against the remains of my shirt. "I'm going to– ow– stay here a bit. Give myself some time to recover. Is that alright?"
Cyril was about to say something, but Claire silenced him with a hard look. "That's fine. We can handle things for a bit."
Whatever force I had that still kept my eyes open faded, and for the first time in a long time, I fell asleep easily.
"You traveled to the deep forest."
The void was infinite and comforting. There was nothing around me but blackness, nothing but an empty bliss beyond this world. No thoughts. No troubles. No reminders of what I had lost. Only the listless plucking of a harp, muffled by endless distance, emanated throughout the dark. Even if I looked down, I couldn't see myself in the gloom. It was both heaven and hell, bundled into one.
But she was there. Zelda– no, not Zelda. It was Sheik, but not quite her either. Her eyes were Zelda's blue, but I could make out the weariness in her stance. This was not the imposter, the woman that bore her face and her blood but was not her, not the real Zelda. Not the one I had fought for, almost died for, the one who had stabbed me in the back when I thought all was over.
"You climbed the high mountain," she continued. But it was not coming from her herself. And the voice was not hers. It was Darunia's.
"You sank to the depths of the lake," her voice echoed from behind me. Ruto.
"You faced your fears within the House of the Dead," her voice emanated from an inch to my right. Impa.
"You were graced by the Goddess of the Sand," came a whisper from so far leftwards that was almost unintelligible. Nabooru.
"Even though you ran from it, you cleansed the swamp." The Deku Scrub, whose name I had never known.
"You brought spring to an unending winter." Darmani.
"You braved the mechanisms far in the bay." Mikau.
"And you closed the doors of an ancient decay." The Salesman.
Sheik's voice paused for a moment. Before me, the physical body I could see… didn't move, per se, but the angle of the light on her body changed, obscuring her eyes. The sounds continued, colder and angrier than before.
"Time and time again, you have saved the lands you've wandered, and the people that called them home," she stated, voice suddenly grating with a cruel harmony, like she was wearing a Crestwraith.
"You cannot change these things, Link." That was Dimitri's voice! What was– how was–
"As I have told you: The flow of time is always cruel," Dedue interjected.
"Its speed seems different for each person…" Seteth too! Was Hyrule and Termina not enough? Would I have to contend with my Fodraese friends in this place as well?
"... but no one can change it." That was… Ashe, I knew it without a shadow of a doubt. A pang of nausea washed over my entire non-being.
"A thing that doesn't change with time…" Was that Malon, or Romani? There was an ever-so-slight difference between the two, but it had been so long that I wasn't able to tell.
"... is a memory of younger days," Katáktisi's gravelly thoughts reverberated. I didn't think to demand some explanation from it.
"Tell me, Hero of Time, Hero of Termina," Thales ordered.
Their voices, everyone I had ever known, distorted by hatred and fury, assaulted me, tearing through my consciousness with knives made of screams.
"How?"
"Many?"
"Of?"
"These?"
"Memories?"
"Do?"
"You?"
"Intend?"
"To?"
"Bury?"
Their cacophony, so like a broken foghorn on full blast, pushed me away from my position, down into the depths where the darkness became sharp, angry, and violent. These people, my relationships– they were born on my terms. And the time had come, as it always did, for me to die on theirs.
My eyes snapped open. The dreams were getting stronger– they always had, but I had hoped it wasn't a trend. There was no ignoring that now. I'd just have to tire myself out even more in the future. I took stock of my surroundings– I was staring faceup at the ceiling, the torches on the walls still lit. I wiped the cold sweat off of my brow, leveraging myself into a standing position… or at least, I would have had searing pain not made itself very, very known in my midsection. Fortunately, my magic stores had somewhat replenished over the… how long had it been? A night? An hour? Regardless, it was easy enough to cast Heal on myself a couple of times, smoothing over the worst of it. The char still looked ugly as sin, as though I'd been dipped in lava on exactly that section, but the pain was lessened enough to allow me to move without much difficulty. I would have knocked back some Red Potion if I had any, but I'd just have to let it heal the old-fashioned way.
Happy 1181, I guess.
I stretched for a moment, hearing the pops in my spine. I tried not to make too much of a sound as I tiptoed out of the alcove. I wanted to ascertain the state of my companions. I quickly found them in the antechamber where Flayn and Kronya, in the guise of Monica, had once been interred. They were a tangle of limbs and bodies, clustered around each other, sound asleep.
Perfect.
I returned to the nook that I had claimed for my own. I still didn't want to risk using my bombs in case the whole complex collapsed as a result. Darmani III was more… practical.
I gripped the mask, knuckles whitening. It had been a long time. Memories swam towards the forefront of my mind, unbidden and unchecked. I steadied myself against the wall, clutching at the false face as though it were a lifeline. I would have to bury those later.
I put it on.
It was a different sort of pain from Katáktisi. It was a more solid thing; the Fierce Deity was like a blade, cutting through the Fodra winds with ease, whereas the Goron Form was more like a tower, immutable and standing tall despite the tide.
The torment subsided, although the discomfort endemic to donning another form remained as it always did. I waited for a moment– perhaps if I gave Darmani enough time, a new connection would form, and I would have a new voice, a new neighbor to fill the dark places where I dared not tread. But there was none. The spirit that resided within this mask was able to move on from this world. It would not be consigned to my fate.
I wasted no more time. I drove my stony fist into the catacomb walls, again and again, until the barrier began to shift. Buckle. Break. Before long, there was enough space for someone of my stature to clamber through.
I could distantly hear the rustling of fabrics and the pitter-patter of footsteps, so I was quick to return the mask to its proper place, returning me to the body I had no choice but to accept.
"What happened? What did you do?" Cyril demanded.
"I told you yesterday:" I declared. "A bomb would make quick work of this."
"If there was a passageway here, then why was it sealed off?" Annika wondered.
"Beats me. But it might give us a way out," I said.
"You sure you're okay to keep going? That wound still looks pretty nasty."
"He's Link. I remember in the Ethereal Moon, he gave me his jacket in the middle of a snowstorm," Claire countered. "And then proceeded to shovel snow out of the central square wearing nothing but a short-sleeved shirt and pants for, like, four hours." It had only been one hour, thirty-eight minutes, and twelve seconds if my memory served me correctly, but I didn't bother to correct her.
"Alright…"
We stepped through the newly opened entryway. Not five minutes later, the sound of footsteps that were definitely not ours reached my Hylian ears. Immediately, as our motley crew exited the cramped hallway and entered a significantly more open space, we found ourselves surrounded by at least fifteen fully grown men. Ruffians and cutpurses, by the looks of them. That raised the question– what the hell were they doing down here? How had they gotten here before us? At the very least, they looked pretty disconcerted at the fact that four children had just wandered into the place, so that probably meant they weren't going to brutally murder us. Probably.
I stepped past Annika and withdrew my sword, raising it defensively. I didn't want to be the one to throw the first stone, in case these guys had friends. I addressed the guy that appeared to be their leader– an absolutely shredded man who was nearly as tall as Dedue. "I don't want a fight, but I'm not going to let you hurt us."
Before any of our would-be captors could respond, a voice echoed from further in the room. "You'll have to forgive my crew, ladies and gentlemen. Things have been… tense since the fall of Garreg Mach." The crowd parted, revealing a new individual. Given his outburst, I could only assume that they were the one in charge of all of this. He was a hair shorter than Rhea if I had to estimate, with long purple hair and a laconic smile. "I assume you've come to Abyss seeking refuge, right? No way a group of kids would want to come down here otherwise."
Now is not the time to make enemies, Katáktisi advised. We will see the modus operandi of this 'Abyss', and then we will decide whether to abscond or conquer.
Why are you like this?
Better to conquer than to be conquered, no?
"That's right," Annika confirmed. "We worked in Garreg Mach, but when it fell, the only way to go was down. We didn't know about all of this, but we did know about some catacombs below the monastery… and we stumbled through here."
I don't know how badly we could possibly be conquered. Sure, they outnumber us, but I have you. Unless–
They bear the Crests of the Consumed, Katáktisi spat. Those to whom their blood was gifted must have followed in the footsteps of Seiros and her living Saints.
It was all I could do to not visibly do a double-take. I beg your pardon?
Did you truly think that Seiros, Cethleann, Cichol, Indech, and Macuil were the only Nabateans who took up arms against Nemesis? There were others, great in power if not in numbers. Their names are lost to me, but I know for a fact that I have tasted it.
"And you also punched through the wall we set up to separate Abyss from those catacombs," the big muscular guy added. "Which one of you was it? They might be a contender for the title of Legendary King of Grappling, and we can't have that." He was very obviously joking.
The boss guy sighed dramatically. "Just ignore Balthus. His fetish for these things is simply barbaric."
So you ate these guys' benefactors?
Not just me. There were few Nabateans to go around… if we find another with such a Crest, I will point it out to you.
"Aw, c'mon!"
All in all, this was decidedly not what I was expecting. Even the goons seemed slightly confused by this tête-à-tête. Well, if they were able to joke like this, me and mine would probably be fine.
The boss guy was offhandedly twirling a dagger between his fingertips like a fidget toy. "Enough of this. Abyss's doors have always been open to those seeking respite from the surface world. I see no reason to change that now." Phew. "You can call me Yuri–"
"The Savage Mockingbird?" Claire whispered under her breath, so silently that only my enhanced Hylian hearing could pick it up. What a stupid name.
"- and as long as you stay in my gang's turf, you should be relatively safe. Let's show the newcomers what Abyssian hospitality looks like, eh guys?"
As it happened, Abyssian hospitality was pretty good considering the circumstances. There wasn't anything remotely house-like about the accommodations; really, it was just a blanket on the floor with a hanging cloth for privacy. But that appeared to be the norm for people, and it was surprisingly comfortable. I had been told after poking around a bit earlier in my stay that Abyssians really liked their privacy, and if I went snooping about there was bound to be trouble.
Food and water were rationed out for each resident, and while it wasn't by any means extraordinary, it was alright. Apparently the alcohol tasted absolutely horrible down here, which I guess made sense as it was an underground tunnel system. I'd never had a drop of the stuff before, even as an adult, but if it was supposed to be anything like Chateau Romani then it probably wasn't all that bad.
The only real gripe I had with the place was the lack of soundproofing. I could hear everything going on outside my cubicle. It was especially irritating when the burns on my side were still aggravated and the release of slumber was being perpetually denied from me by the Abyssians. Sure, I had managed to get some shut-eye for what I could only assume was the night– no moon down here– but I'd rather not be conscious until the wound healed over and stopped stinging so much. I guess I couldn't complain too much. It was a ceiling over my head.
"Mmf, Corcor. Hoff're roo?"
"Hapi? What in the world has gotten into you?"
"Nmf neeb ter buh jealouf. Thurf plenny ter go around." What the heck kind of accent was that supposed to be? I'd never heard such… muffled speech. Like the speaker was gagging on a half-chewed muffin.
"Hapi, it would be easier to understand you if your mouth was less stuffed!" Ah. That made sense. "Kindly finish what you are eating and then say your piece."
"Ma pleffer!"
Silence.
"Nothing better than 'fresh' pastries," a significantly clearer voice responded. Much more intelligible. I could only assume this was 'Happy' talking. "You sure you don't want one, Coco?"
"It's not about whether I want a bun or not– it's about your atrocious manners! Walking around with your arms and jaws stuffed full of unwrapped pastries… There are crumbs all over your lips, your clothes– You've left a trail of them behind you! Unacceptable!" I could gather pretty quickly that this 'Coco' was a bit too… how should I put this… a bit too much of a stickler for the proper way to do things. How irritating, because that was my favorite thing to flagrantly disregard.
"Hey, I paid for them. I can eat them however I want," Hapi countered. "You sure you don't want a bite? If you don't have any, I'm just gonna eat them all. You have to try them 'fresh' out of the oven if you want the full effect. Pretty soon they'll get cold.
"Here, I'll explain in noble-speak so you understand." She cleared her throat, quickly adopting a ridiculous over-the-top high-society accent that I couldn't help but find a bit funny. "They have a crisp, oven-browned exterior, and a sophisticated, spongey sweetness lying within!"
"Uh, not–"
"Not interested? That's fine. More for me." I was tempted to shout 'I'll take one' from my makeshift tent, but it was probably for the best that I kept quiet.
"I was going to say 'Not so fast'! Spare one for me, but only because you insisted," Coco relented. "It would be rude of me to decline an offer made in good faith. One must mind one's manners."
"You're really dragging this out. Here, I'll make it easy for you. Open up…"
"Wait, don't you– Mnph!"
Okay, this was getting far enough. "Could you two, uh, not?" I interjected.
I made out something that sounded like 'Oh, shoot!' quickly followed by 'Mind your language, Hapi!', and then footsteps as the pair departed from the area. Finally.
When I woke up, I wasn't in excruciating pain. That was pretty cool, I had to admit. I decided that now was as good a time as any to stake out my surroundings. Get the lay of the land and whatnot. To be honest, I didn't really have all that much else to do with my time.
I was already aware of the extent of the Savage Mockingbird's turf. It wasn't quite all of Abyss, but it was a good portion of it. Enough to stretch my legs– maybe a half-hour to walk the perimeter at a reasonable pace. That sounded right to me. My sense of time was being continually warped down here– I couldn't exactly look at the sun to note the exact time, and my circadian rhythm had always been ridiculously off. It had been, what? A week?
The food and water down here wasn't as good as it was up on the surface. I guess that made sense– there wasn't a sun to grow crops down here. Apparently the monastery used to supply Abyss with provisions, but now that it had fallen, everything had to be stolen from surfaceside.
Why the heck was there a shrine to a Dagdan god down here?
It is easier to force alternate beliefs underground than to stamp them out entirely, Katáktisi commented. How shrewd.
I mean, I'm not complaining, I clarified.
"That's weird."
"I guess it's easier for the Church to just push others out of sight and out of mind, Claire."
"Well, they're–"
"The same as us," I finished. "The only difference is subscribing to a different belief. No reason to hold prejudices against them."
She was quiet. "I guess I've never thought about it that way."
"Neither have most."
"And I guess the only way to fix that is one person at a time."
I shrugged in response. "Guess so."
What did I have to lose? A couple hundred gold? It couldn't be that bad, right?
"Deal me in."
Balthus and the two goons he was playing cards with looked up from the table. "Uh, Link, right? Yeah, sure, why not?"
"You got gamblin' money?"
"Couple hundred," I elaborated slightly. "Will that suffice?"
The mook shrugged. "Eh, I guess." She gesticulated towards the one open chair at the table, which I quickly took a seat at. "You know how to play Lochin Blackjack?"
"Uhh–"
"I'll take that as a no," Balthus interjected. "No problem, it's simple enough to learn. We just wrapped up this round, so I can get you situated. So basically–" he swept up the cards in one fluid motion, shuffling them until they were completely random. "The goal's to get to twenty-one in your deck. You've also got your hand, which has five cards that never change. Once a turn, you draw a card onto your deck, and if you want you can play one of your hand cards into your deck. Red suits add, black suits subtract, and face cards can be whatever. Highest total wins the point, but if you go over twenty-one, you lose. If there's a tie, everyone involved gets a point. First to get three points more than anyone else wins."
"Okay… that makes sense."
Within moments, four cards were sent my way. I assumed these were the hand cards, and as such probably wasn't a good idea to show. I looked at what I had at my disposal. An ace of spades, a seven of clubs, a four of diamonds, a five of diamonds, and a picture of who I could only presume to be Saint Cichol on a King of Clubs card. Katáktisi fumed, but I wasn't paying attention. I mentally translated the values– minus one, minus seven, plus four, plus five, and plus/minus three.
"This is looking good for me," the other guy who hadn't spoken yet declared, pushing a small tower of coins into the middle. It had to be at least fifty.
"I'll drink to that," Balthus replied, forking over an equally large tower of coins alongside the first.
"You're all insane," the other one said, putting ten measly coins into the pile.
I gingerly counted out twenty-five coins and set them in the middle. "That seems reasonable."
Balthus drew a card. Ten of spades.
"Does that mean you're at minus ten now?"
"Nah. Drawn cards are always plus."
"I see."
The other girl drew her own card. Two of hearts. She gingerly set it down on her deck, faceup for all the world to see.
I guess that made it my turn. I reached over the table to grab a card. A six of clubs. I debated playing one of my hand cards, but if I understood the rules of the game correctly I only got these five, so…
Ace of hearts. King of clubs. Nine of diamonds. Six of diamonds. Seven of spades. Two of clubs. Six of hearts, but then she played a plus four and got up to twenty-one. "I stand," she announced. Dammit. With Balthus' fifteen, my twelve, and the other guy's eight, we would need to get exactly six, nine, and thirteen points respectively just to keep pace. I didn't know about the other two, but theoretically I could also get away with ten, sixteen, five, four, six, or twelve if it came to that.
Eight of hearts. Dammit. I needed twenty-one, but I was just one off! I had an ace, but it was an ace of spades! I'd need to draw a one, two, four, or eight. That was… unlikely. But what else was I supposed to do? If I stood, I'd lose anyway.
Three of clubs. Four of diamonds. The lady didn't take another turn– she'd already stood. Balthus was on nineteen, and the other guy was sitting pretty at eleven. Well, nothing to do now but draw…
I was greeted by a drawing of Wilhelm Paul Hresvelg. The King of Hearts. Plus three. "Guess that's a stand," I sighed.
I kept playing. I think I exclusively lost money, but it was a good amount of fun. Unfortunately, the other gamblers had their own business to take care of, and so departed. The game really wasn't the same with only two people, so Balthus headed out pretty quickly after that.
Thank the Old Gods of Thinis, Katáktisi exhaled in a quick burst. I thought you would never stop.
What are you talking about?
You've been sitting here playing cards for four hours. I've been screaming at the top of my metaphorical lungs this entire time, but you were so entrenched in this mindless drivel that you didn't even notice. Nayru, it sounded angry.
Seriously? That was embarrassing! I was the Hero of Time, how did I lose track of it so easily? You know it wouldn't be like that if it was on the surface.
I should be saying that to you. As a question. Because it is obvious to me that you fail to understand the gravity of this oversight.
You don't get it, Katáktisi. There's a reason behind all of this.
Enlighten me, it snarled.
Hear me out– I built a rapport with the guy who has the Crest of Chevalier. I was paying attention to the conversation at least a little. We know that he's a chronic gambler, is the scion of a minor noble bloodline in the Alliance, and is all-around a pretty nonthreatening guy past the whole 'Overrated King of Punching Stuff Very Hard' thing. In addition, I got to practice a way to tune you out when I don't want to listen to you.
The Crestwraith was silent for a long moment. Not because it was contemplative, but because I had genuinely wasted my time on something that it thought was so undeniably stupid. I have… no words.
Well, next time you or some other mage or Crestwraith tries to worm their way into my head, I'll just play Lochin Blackjack in my head. And soon enough, they'll find that it's a lot harder to penetrate than they thought.
If you think this will somehow prevent you from being subject to my programming–
I–
–Then you are sorely mistaken. Our bond is no mind control, no outside force attempting to dominate you. It is you. The line where I end and you begin was blurred a long time ago.
And if you were destroyed? I didn't want to ask, but I had to know for the worst-case scenario. What would happen to me then?
It contemplated the question. You would be… less and more. The last year has proven that my power is as much a hindrance as it has been a boon. Were I to be annihilated, my hold over you would go with it. You would be… weakened, at least for a time, but I believe you would survive. I cannot truly answer your question. A harmony between Crestwraith and champion such as us has never happened before.
It hasn't, huh… I shuddered despite myself.
"Hello! You! Yes, you over there!"
"Huh?" I responded intelligently, whipping my head towards the outburst. Some teenage girl was sprinting at me full tilt, her heels click-clacking against the stone floor of the Abyss. I'd seen her out and about, constantly screaming at the top of her lungs about how she would resurrect some Dagda-destroyed Imperial noble house or some other garbage. I guess she was either willfully ignorant or blissfully naïve regarding Edelgard's ambitions in the war raging aboveground.
"How would you like the honor– nay, the privilege– of helping me restore House Nuvelle?"
I tossed a sheepish glance towards Claire, with whom my lovely conversation had just been callously interrupted. "I'm sorry, I don't–"
"Your boots are leather, yes?"
The comment caught me off guard. My combat boots were leather, sure; where was she going with this? "Claire, can you–"
"No, no… play along," she countered. "I kind of want to see where this is going."
I let my shoulders drop slightly. "I mean… yeah, they are, but–"
"Excellent! Then let us proceed! I, Constance von Nuvelle, am about to invent a brand of spellcraft many have dreamed of but none have achieved. A revolution in magical theory!"
"Can I just–"
Constance wasn't listening, already tracing glyphs that vaguely looked like black magic in the air. I always found it a little odd that black magic and dark magic were very distinct things. But they definitely were, despite both falling under the purview of Reason. It probably had something to do with Katáktisi– Bohr X was no joke, having been specifically designed to bring a foe to the verge of death. Still, without its influence I could only really handle a simple Miasma Δ.
I was cut off from my thoughts by the sensation of my left foot suddenly feeling very, very… slimy. I looked down and immediately wished I hadn't– it appeared that the entirety of my shoe had spontaneously melted. Judging by the spellcaster's surprised expression, this was not what she had planned. Claire put a hand to her mouth in barely restrained mirth.
"Is now a good time to mention that I don't have any other boots?" I drawled.
"Molasses!" Constance declared. "I was going for liquorice, but only got a core ingredient! I must have missed out on part of the transmutation! Stay right there for the foreseeable future– I will rectify that discrepancy and test your other boot in only a couple of hours!"
With great purpose in her step, she disappeared into the darkness of the winding corridors. Claire finally let out that laugh she'd been holding back. I, by contrast, was just upset about the state of my foot.
End the chapter on a high note. Glad I could find a way to work the Abyssians into the plot, even if I'm not going to be using them too that much past the mid-timeskip.
Review please!
jordanlink7856 (FF): And now it's here!
Equilized Enigma (FF): Little bit of this, little bit of that? Things get… weird in the mid-timeskip.
Backpack Bandit (FF): We love Malcolm. Also, congratulations on being this story's 200th review/comment!
Parkourse (AO3): WAAAAAAAR! Anyways, now that I have your attention, darn shame about DL.
The_Noodle (AO3): It is, indeed, happening. And it will continue to happen for… a hot minute? Roughly? My notes say there should be ~54 chapters unless I add more and I'm currently chugging away (slowly) on chapter 41. And chapter 42 is going to be pretty short because that's more or less just the Battle of Gronder.
CuddlyManaki (AO3): See above.
RandomNPC427 (AO3): The problem isn't the Agarthans with respect to Link's other transformation masks. The problem is the questions it would raise among the other students and the Church. Using the transformation masks in front of other people could lead to getting the rest of his items confiscated, which would jeopardize Katáktisi. Which would be very bad. Not to mention that the transformation masks are pretty similar to functional Crestwraiths, which would immediately make Seteth and Rhea go into full damage control. It's not a good time. Sorry if I didn't make that clear!
Hasan1453 (AO3): Truer words have never been spoken.
quadjot (AO3): And many hearts back to you, too!
BadKobold (AO3): Nice try, but the question specified an equilateral triangle, for which all centers correspond to the same point! Although I've never heard of a 'friendly line'...
JensenDaniels32 (FF): I believe I stated this at some point, but Link hasn't exactly gotten a haircut between leaving Termina and meeting Dimitri, so his hair's grown out to the point of obscuring his ears. Regarding your other point, that's a criticism this fic has gotten a lot; I ended up nerfing Link pretty hard for plot and narrative coherence reasons (same reason why, in Majora's Mask, Link starts with 3 hearts instead of 20). It's not exactly popular, but I believe it's the best course of action for the story as a whole.
Wicker3 (AO3): I'm not sure where you're getting that translation, because Katáktisi is just Greek for 'Conquest'. (I'm not creative haha). Regarding the Hero's Shade, well… Link died in the Holy Tomb, but he got better so…
DarthFlores (AO3): I do prefer male Byleth to female Byleth (those eyes…) but the coin sayeth what the coin sayeth. Also… uh… it's going to be a while until most of the students show back up again. I thought about going straight to the post-timeskip, but so much stuff ends up happening in between 1181 and 1185 that I couldn't do a timeskip in good faith.