I am in Spain without the S.

Chapter XXIV

The days, weeks, months– however long it had been– passed me by in a blur. Fortunately, I was able to purchase a new pair of boots in Abyss. It was just as well– I'd been wearing my old shoes for basically forever. These were the ones that predated my arrival in Fodra, that was for sure. While I did have other boots, I found myself gravitating towards the old footwear– even if they got a bit rattier and a bit tighter over the last two, three years. Shame to have to spend a perfectly good hundred gold.

Couldn't exactly walk around in syrup for the rest of my life, though.

I shook myself from my doldrums. I was here for a reason– something I had been trying to do for a while, something that I should have done a while ago.

"Hello, Cyril."

He didn't respond, focusing on the glass of water in front of him.

"I wanted to say… I'm sorry."

The Almyran turned to face me. "What are you supposed to be sorry for?"

I took a seat next to him. "For how I acted during the Battle of Garreg Mach. I was stressed and I was… no. I'm not going to make excuses for myself. Regardless of how I felt, I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"Well… I get that now. I guess I'm– so used to you pulling something out of your pouch out of nowhere to solve a problem that when you didn't…"

"It's fine. Really," I admitted, taking a swig from my own canteen. It was more convenient than the cups that Abyss handed out. "Can we bury the hatchet and keep being friends?"

He blinked. "You… still want to be friends? But we were so… angry. I'm not quite sure that's how it's supposed to work."

"Friends stick together through thick and thin," I reiterated. I was pretty sure we had had this conversation before, although maybe not in this context. "Just because there were some really thin times doesn't mean we're prohibited from being friends again. We've apologized and come to an understanding, so there's no reason for us to stop, really."

"I-I guess you're right."

"Ugh, finally," Annika groaned, slumping into a nearby chair. When had she gotten here? "Claire and I were starting to make bets on when you two would kiss and make up."

"It's not like that," Cyril and I said in perfect sync, with near equal levels of derision.

"It's just a saying, geez!" she laughed.

"How long has it been, anyway?" I dared to ask, knowing that I would regret learning the answer. My sense of time over the long term had always been a little shaky, but now that I couldn't even rely on the cycle of day and night, I had no idea just how far off I was.

"It's early Verdant Rain moon," she confirmed, and I nearly choked on my own surprise. I had been expecting a weird answer, but… we had really spent four months down here? I was slightly embarrassed. Caiaphas was out there, causing chaos, needing to be hunted– yet here I was, hiding away below Garreg Mach, being completely useless.

And where would you go? Katáktisi admonished. We do not have his scent, his trail. Is your intent simply to wander about and hope to find him? It is best to be patient– perhaps he will come to this Abyss seeking refuge from the surface world. We ought to lie in wait, until he leaves a trace or walks into our gaping maw.

I breathed out. Perhaps you're right.

I know I'm right. I'm always right.

I'm not so sure about that one. "Time really flies, huh? Feels like just a couple of weeks ago, we were living on the surface without a care in the world."

"Ugh, don't remind me," she complained. "Goddess, I just want to lie out there in the sun for like a week."

"It's not safe out there, with the Empire crawling around the monastery," Cyril advised. "'Specially since I heard a report that the whole place has become a haven for thieves and ruffians."

"I hadn't heard about that," I said, chagrined.

"It was only a couple of days ago. They seem pretty touchy– prone to attack whoever crosses them. And–" He looked like he wanted to say more, but he held his tongue. "Yeah. It's nasty up there right now."

"Y'know, Claire and I have been talking, and we think it might be for the best to wait out the war down here," Annika said. "It's safe down here, even if the people are… unique. And it's stable. That's more than can be said of anywhere topside. You two should think about it."

I nodded, knowing I would do no such thing. I held Fodra in my hands, a knife at its throat. And all who lived bade me let the blade slip, spill its blood on the ground, and with it allow us further breath to draw.

I was utterly flabbergasted.

To be fair, so was Katáktisi.

After all, Saint Cichol had written a Goddesses-damned autobiography.

I had finally decided to sit down and crack open that book of fables he'd given me back in the… was it the Red Wolf Moon? Ethereal Moon? It was definitely after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, and certainly before Captain Jeralt was murdered. I hadn't gotten around to opening it up and giving it a shot until now– there was always so much stuff to be doing that I never had found the time.

The book was technically about the life of Saint Indech, but it was not-so-subtly written from Cichol's perspective. It was kind of wholesome– like a tribute for a lost friend. Granted, not all the stories in this collection were of the same breed. There was a story about a lazy fox and a hardworking squirrel, about a guy who literally died trying to outrun a thunderstorm, about a slow and steady tortoise versus a fast and distractible hare… and I had to admit, the one about the raven and the wolf was surprisingly good.

If Saint Cichol is still alive, the Crestwraith spat, then it should not be so illogical to assume that Indech and Macuil draw breath as well.

They weren't with the Church, I countered. Don't you think they'd still be at the heart of it, with Rhea, Seteth, and Flayn?

Perhaps they simply grew a spine.

I let the inquiry drop. Living or dead, what mattered was that Indech and Macuil weren't here. Perhaps their existence could be used to my advantage later. There was only one question that remained. Why would Seteth take such a huge risk? Maybe if I hadn't known it was Cichol already, I wouldn't have picked up on it. That being said, there was certainly some other anecdotal evidence– his Crest, his demeanor, the fact that his birthday was on Saint Cichol Day… how many more dots would it take for someone who wasn't me to connect them?

I would have to do more research– I had initially read it as just a collection of fables, bedtime stories, and other tales meant to convey some lesson or teaching. It seemed obvious to me that if there was still something more of Seteth to be gleaned from reading his works, I would just have to read it again.

You just want to reread that drivel, Katáktisi drawled. You have been completely poisoned by that man.

Have I become a little Cichol that you have to strike down?

Perhaps not. I could tell that the voice was forcing itself through the words. You have adopted his ideology, at least in part, but despite it you are still you. Why?

To take a belief as my own, it has to stand up on its own for longer and better than what is already there, no matter what new information may come. You know that– in Remire, we turned against Agartha. We condemned Solon. Our beliefs changed.

I will not argue that, it admitted. But to simply steal the creed of others–

That's not what I'm doing and you know it. Unless it's truly, objectively superior. That… maybe that's why you couldn't consume me on the moon. I shivered. Because you didn't have the strength to change my ideals.

That is… ridiculous.

Eh, probably. I'm just throwing ideas out there. I mean, your programming–

We did not kill Μιζέρια. We merely weakened it, forced it to abandon its host and leave it in a dormant state. And Caiaphas has it.

Can he… wake it up?

Perhaps. He was able to resurrect Φρίκη, so it may not be beyond him. But it will need to feed.

How, exactly? Caiaphas most likely wants to get it working again– two Crestwraiths in his possession is better than one.

I do not know.

Great. I let out a long sigh. Still– we have a motive, at least. We can only work off of what we know. When the hunt begins, and we learn his movements… perhaps we will learn.

The conversation now over, I turned back to Seteth's autobiography-disguised-as-a-book-of-fables. The gift of hindsight ensured that, when I read it again, I would perhaps understand Saint Cichol just a little better. I wanted to know how he had contextualized those events, from a time that was now lost to him, from a time that could only cause him pain.

Abyss didn't really have a traditional cafeteria or dining hall, like there was on the surface. It used to get quasi-regular supply shipments from the Church, but the fact that the Knights were currently in shambles had thrown that into disarray. News on the state of the surface world was limited, to say the least. Realistically, all we had was Yuri's spy network, and while some of them were in pretty high positions, it was slow. And when information did come, it often proved insubstantial.

Case in point: the Alliance, which was outwardly anti-Empire, was somewhat unstable. Its opposition was in the form of a house of cards. The Five Great Lords that made up Leicester's Roundtable were generally against siding with Adrestia with the exception of Count Gloucester, who was Lorenz' dad. However, many of the lesser nobility wanted to join Edelgard. Claude, who had returned to the Alliance after Garreg Mach fell, was able to hold the league together, but realistically he was the only thing preventing the country from spontaneously combusting at any given moment. Kind of like Seteth had been with the Church before the war started.

There was little word from the Kingdom– most of Abyss' informants were based in the west, and all that we knew about them was that there was something big happening in the coming months. I remembered that Dimitri's coronation should be pretty soon, which was all well and good; he would be more than happy to oppose Edelgard. Plus, his regent and uncle wasn't exactly popular. I hadn't been a big fan of him back in Fhirdiad.

Adrestia was as strong as ever. I would have thought there would be more in the way of internal strife, given that their enemy was the Church. I guess the reports of the reformed Southern Church, which had been defunct for over a century, were true and that it was working as intended. In truth, it was really smart– the Southern Church was a lot more liberal and relaxed than the Central Church ever was, and it also had no political power. That being said, Grégoire von Varley was the Head of Religious Affairs– a by definition governmental position– and the de facto face of the rebuilt Southern Church. It was certainly an unorthodox setup, but it seemed to be working for them, and that was honestly refreshing for me to hear. I didn't know if it was Edelgard's or Hubert's idea, or if it was both– either way, I had to admit it was pretty good. Katáktisi disagreed, of course– the Church was the Church. What it either didn't understand or refused to understand was that even if the Book of Seiros was written by Seiros herself, there really wasn't too much of a problem with it aside from the false history bit. If it gave people spiritual strength, gave them the determination to take the actions that would improve their lives without the iron fist of the Central Church… I was all for it, in truth. It even condemned the Crest system! Maybe after the war, it could be used as a model to change the whole faith. That was kind of how it was in Hyrule, right?

Caiaphas, of course, remained stubbornly elusive. There were no signs of him, nor were there of the Crestwraiths. I should also probably be worrying about Ηγεμονία, but I would have to somehow sneak up on Edelgard in person in order to do that. Something told me I would probably not want to do that– even if I survived Hubert, I wouldn't be able to warn Edelgard about it without revealing myself as the being she knew as Conquest. Speaking of, maybe I could convince Hubert to look into Caiaphas' whereabouts? Knowing House Vestra, he probably had eyes everywhere.

Abyss was still Abyss. It was admittedly pretty heartening to see people being able to live their lives out of the yoke of the Church, that those who faced oppression surfaceside were able to find sanctuary down here. Not that the situation up top couldn't be helped– it was truly horrid, and a life spent making it better would be a life well lived. Even so, the existence of Abyss was lovely.

I tried to tune out the boisterous sounds of Yuri, Balthus, Constance, and Hapi on the far end of the table. They were apparently part of some unofficial fourth house, the Ashen Wolves– and they were certainly loud enough to be on par with the Golden Deer. Of course, it wasn't affiliated with the Officer's Academy. It was really just a place for them. Regardless, they were so busy blabbing on that it made it difficult for me to think.

"Enough with the yawning, Balthus. If you're really that bored, we could always make a friendly wager…"

"Thanks but no thanks, pal. I'm low on funds as it is. Last thing I need is another debt I can't pay." He said that as though he hadn't cleaned me out last time we played Lochin Blackjack.

"Right, B. As if you could say no to that."

"Ahaha! How diverting that you should bicker for my amusement! Imagine my overwhelming dread should I be stuck here without such joyous entertainment."

Chevalier. Aubin. Noa. Timotheos.

Are those the Crests of the Consumed you mentioned a couple months back?

Precisely. All four of them are here. There are more Consumed, of course, but only these spread their Crest to mortals. Most curious.

"Constance, at least be amused in moderation."

"I will do no such thing!"

As tempted as I was to pop on the Stone Mask and go invisible, I was in a public place. Annette had said that casual invisibility like that was theorized to be impossible, so if anyone saw me disappear, Constance von Nuvelle would be all over me before I could say 'house restoration'.

There was no slowing Yuri down tonight. I was trailing him with the Stone Mask– the purple-haired man was unusually attentive to his surroundings, so I stuck a good five paces behind him anyway. I knew he couldn't see me, but the enchantment didn't block sound. It was best to be cautious.

Why was I following Yuri Leclerc? I don't know. I felt like it and I didn't have anything better to do. Abyss was driving me stir-crazy, that much was clear to me. I'd rather be doing something, have some action. Back on the surface, there was always things that required my attention. I preferred it that way.

We trekked deeper into Abyss, further than I had ever been permitted to go. The subterranean village was more or less ruled by at least a dozen pseudo-criminal organizations, complete with constantly shifting alliances and feuds that made my head spin just thinking about it. If I understood it correctly, we were headed into one of the rougher parts, solidly under the thumb of a gang marked by their scorpion tattoos. I didn't bother to try to remember the names.

Eventually, we came to an unmarked door flanked by two walls of pure muscle, showing more ink than bare skin. Geez. Tattoos must have been really nice to have if people would get that many. Katáktisi's markings were another thing entirely– I hadn't exactly chosen to get them.

Yuri was admitted, and I trailed him unopposed. Inside was a long table that looked to be made of mahogany, illuminated by harsh candlelight. Seated at its head was a man and two women, all armed to the teeth and bearing scorpion marks on their forearms. Given their weaponry and placement, I could only assume that these guys were the big bosses of the rival gang. Probably.

The two bouncers who had previously been standing outside closed the door behind us, standing inside and blocking the room's only exit. I spied a dagger hidden discreetly at Yuri's side– he'd come prepared.

"To what," one of the women stated as Yuri took a seat on the opposite end of the table, "do we owe the pleasure of the Savage Mockingbird's appearance?"

"Believe me– the pleasure is mine," Yuri replied, his expression settling into a warding smile. I couldn't see him so well from my vantage point in conjunction with the limited field of view that the Stone Mask offered. "I'm sure you're all already aware of exactly why I'm here."

"Why don't you spell it out for us?"

"Let me put it this way– one of my goons double-crossed the gang. He absconded with his boss's small fortune– my small fortune– and buddied up with you. So, I figured I'd pay you all a little visit. Have a spot of tea and talk things over. Makes sense, y'know?" Nobody in the room had actually had any tea in the approximately twenty seconds that we'd been here.

They folded their arms. "That means nothing. Your inability to hold yours together has no bearing on us."

"See, if our positions were reversed, I don't think we'd be negotiating, would we?"

The man imperceptibly inclined his head. The two guards shifted their weight ever so slightly. "So what?" the lady to his right continued, switching the position of her legs where she was seated. "You want us to hand over this minion of yours and return what you failed to keep? You're a fool, Mockingbird. The Scorpions gain nothing from this."

Yuri shrugged, reclining in his seat slightly, every muscle primed to pounce like a Wolfos stalking its prey. "You'd, of course, gain the privilege of continuing to operate on my turf. So– what'll it be?" The floorboards were silent as the guards approached. I saw a brief glint of silver as a knife appeared in their hands. Yuri kept his gaze forward, either masterfully neutral or completely unaware of the encroaching danger. "Your lives, or your pride?"

The man sneered. "Both, I think. You are a fool, Yuri Leclerc. All this to protect the weak when–"

He was cut off by a dagger plunging into his neck. Blood spurted onto the table and most likely ruined a perfectly good untouched cup of tea. Yuri had stood as quick as a flash. The weapon that had previously been hiding had struck. It was four on one and they had him surrounded.

Time to make it three on two.

The Stone Mask was useless– it wasn't true invisibility so much as misdirection, being overlooked. It had no effect on people in a life-or-death situation. It wasn't worth the huge visibility reduction. Whipping the mask off, I lobbed my shield into the back of Big Guy One's skull. As his head crunched, I finished him off with a casting of my newly mastered Death Γ.

Big Guy Two whirled to face me, as the two girls at the far side of the table were busy being taken out by Yuri– apparently he knew the Silence spell, which prevented foes from utilizing their own magic, so he probably didn't need too much help on that side of things. Unfortunately, I'd thrown away my Mirror Shield– and I didn't exactly have time to grab my backup shield from my pouch.

Use a twohander.

Katáktisi, I'll just be even more off-balance.

Raw offensive domination is what is needed. Realistically, it is all that is needed in any situation. I have never understood your insistence on cowering behind metal that only serves to slow you down.

Defense is just as important as offense, I countered, nimbly backflipping out of range of the bite of an axe. Besides, I can still reliably outpace my opponents.

That is complacency. You must always be pushing yourself further and casting aside weakness.

I let the conversation drop as I dropped my Gilded Sword directly into my enemy's skull. I never felt great about doing these things. I mean, yeah, he was trying to kill me, but it didn't make snuffing out his life feel any better. My upstairs neighbor grumbled, but didn't complain verbally. That in and of itself was a blessing.

"Well, friend," Yuri cut in, somehow having made his way back from the other side of the now very much bloodied table. "Judging by the sword in your hand, I suppose you're not here to triple-cross me. I'll admit, I'm more than a bit chagrined by your ability to track me. Why?"

I shrugged, sheathing my weapon. "Because I'm a stir-crazy twelve– wait, no. I'm a stir-crazy thirteen-year-old armed with illegal magic items and no regard for my own life." I had to remind myself that I was almost thirteen and a half. Or was it more than that? This was getting ridiculous. "Figured if you were going to kick a hornet's nest, I might as well go kick it too."

"Regardless of your motivations, you were certainly a help," the Savage Mockingbird admitted as the door to the room was kicked down by more thugs with scorpion tattoos, probably mad that they'd just lost their leaders. "I wouldn't say you've earned my trust, but… you've certainly earned something. I owe you."

"It's fine," I tried to assuage as I fired an arrow into a ruffian's stomach. "I do these kinds of favors all the time. It's really no problem, don't worry about it."

"I can't not worry about it. I don't like owing people. Guess I'll just have to surprise you someday." If it was in any way, shape, or form like he'd surprised that thief with a knife to the back, I didn't want it.

I thought about it, mostly to not have to think about the crimes I was currently committing instead. "Well, there is something you can do for me. You have your spy network spreading all across Fódlan, yeah?"

"Only the best."

"I've been looking for someone. Red hair, lanky, pointy ears, sells masks, switches from one position to another without moving in between– if you and yours could identify him and point me at him, I'll consider it even."

Yuri chuckled. "On the hunt, eh? Alright, I can do that."

I smiled. The hunt, as it were, was on.

There had always been two voices in my head. There was the child, still so fixated on Navi and Tatl; it was a naïve thing, always clinging to the inherent good of the world and its people, always offering excuses for the injustices that ran rampant within it. It wanted me to abandon the hunt for Caiaphas. It wanted me to lick my own wounds in Abyss, then return to the search for Navi again. It didn't want to see Fódlan become another broken Hyrule.

On the other side of the coin, there was the adult. The adult was in pain, all too aware of the cruelties the system inflicted upon the people. It wanted nothing more than to fight for its betterment. It wanted to see Fódlan as we knew it burn and die, so that something stronger and better could rise from its ashes. And that started with the eradication of Caiaphas.

But there was something… else. Both of the voices had hated my physical body– the child because of the crisscrossing scars, because of the war paint marring the right side of my face, and the adult because it didn't reflect me, Link the Hero of Time. Apparently, my physical form heard all of that and decided to be as purposefully problematic as possible. I had always been built more or less like a wire, but now more than ever I felt stretched and squashed. It wasn't like when I had traveled forward in time seven years; this was a more insidious thing. My skin felt oilier than usual, although I had chalked it up to not feeling a lot of the sun's warmth in… how long had it been? Six months? More?

Apparently, this process was completely normal, but I didn't know how anyone lived with this. Admittedly, it wasn't as jarring as having an upstairs neighbor constantly interjecting with its own thoughts–

I resent that.

– but it was still uncomfortable.

I knew, deep down, that both the child and the adult were just titles, words that I clung to as the walls of my mind came crashing down around me. Neither was right. Both were equally wrong, equally foolish but equally me. However, as my body changed to reflect what the adult always thought it wanted, I found that both of those voices were lacking. In the end, they had always just been me, struggling to overcome myself.

That was the most human thing anyone could do. And although I had not yet faced the darkness that lived in those rotting corners of my mind, I was at least at peace on one front.

I gripped the message tightly. In some twisted and convoluted way, it had sparked this whole internal revelation. It was a message from Fhirdiad, regarding the political state of Faerghus. Even now, I was glaring daggers into the parchment, as though the intensity of my hatred would burn the offending words from where they were laid.

It started when Duke Rufus's corpse was found in Castle Blaiddyd. There had always been rumors that he was involved in the Tragedy of Duscur, and despite the fact that he was apparently a shrewd politician, Faerghus had suffered under his regency. Mostly because he spent more time chasing women than Sylvain. That had been some time ago, now. I was fairly certain it was the Red Wolf Moon when he bit the dust. The people had initially been somewhat apathetic; this was the perfect time for Dimitri to ascend the throne.

Or at least, it would have, were it not for Cornelia. I knew her as Cleobulus, High Tactician of Agartha.

Before His Highness could be officially coronated, she made a grand accusation– that Prince Dimitri had killed his uncle over the rumors of his involvement with King Lambert's death. Supported with supposed 'foolproof' evidence and the backing of several prominent western lords, she had him executed for crimes against the crown– on his birthday, no less, the 20th of the Ethereal Moon.

With the Blaiddyd bloodline out of the way, Cleobulus had installed herself as the ruler of the Faerghus Dukedom. Worse, covert reports suggested that she had effectively surrendered to the Empire. She had invited Adrestian troops through the border to support the crushing of the few lords who were still offering resistance, most notably Gautier and Fraldarius. Effectively, it was civil war.

Agartha's plans were coming to fruition. Soon, there would be no one left to oppose them. No one but me. And, I supposed, Edelgard as well. To that end, I couldn't directly oppose her at present. Not without a very good reason. I would need all the allies I could get if she ended up winning. Someone had to bring the fight to those who slithered in the dark, and I wasn't about to let a chance to bring them to justice go on without me.

Still, I couldn't help but feel pained that Dimitri had indeed passed away. I didn't buy Cleobulus' explanation of events for even a second– Rufus had on numerous occasions sent assassins to kill his nephew, and even if they were never traced back to him, I thought the connection was plain as day; he stood to gain the most from Dimitri's elimination. And yet, despite the fact that Dimitri and Dedue probably knew that, it wasn't reason enough to try and kill him. Why would that have changed? The revelation that Edelgard was the Flame Emperor had certainly made his mental state more fragile, but his hatred was directed solely at her. He probably hadn't thought about Duke Rufus in months.

He had been such a good friend to me. He'd taken me in, offered me a life in Fhirdiad and Fódlan, supported me and encouraged me to be the best version of myself I could muster. He did all of that in spite of his Termina, that which hung over his every movement until the very end. And now he's– he was gone. The child was shaken, incapable of believing that such a terrible thing could happen to someone I was so close to. The adult was shaken, believing I should have been there to stop it– or take his place.

So, Katáktisi.

What is it?

I was just thinking, I posited, and, um– uh…

This is what your thoughts consist of?

Shut up, I lost my train of thought. What I wanted to say was– you were there for the War of Heroes, right?

You know this.

And we have a bond between our consciousnesses, a mental link if you will?

It gagged. We do, but I am beginning to seriously regret that decision.

Bah, it was all bark and no bite. So if all that's true, could you show me a memory of the war? I think I could learn a lot about our enemies, both Agarthan and Nabatean, if I lived through your experience.

It would… be a difficult thing. We would need to be in the form you call the Fierce Deity, in that harmony where the line between our bodies becomes as blurred as our minds. We would also lose any sensation of the outside world.

As long as it's quiet, I think we'd be alright. Abyssians like their privacy, so as long as we were holed up somewhere dark and isolated, nobody would try to bother us.

That is not untrue.

And I've got the perfect place, I said, standing and slinking through the dark corridors that made up Abyss. To say that the subterranean labyrinth had a waste problem was an understatement. Not in terms of food refuse or other biological trash, thankfully, as the stench was probably magnified in these closed quarters. It was more in the way of a bunch of disorganized and useless papers, empty inkpots, broken training weapons, and the like. Just general garbage.

There had been initiatives to recycle more of these things throughout Abyss's history, but they were generally not very effective. So, heaps like these remained– and Abyssians typically steered clear of them. It was the perfect place to remain… undisturbed.

The room was almost overflowing with random junk. The smell wasn't so bad, which was a big relief. I picked my way through the refuse, momentarily appreciative of my thin frame, and settled down near the back of the room. Once I was there, I wasted little time putting Katáktisi's mask on my face.

It didn't hurt as much as I remembered, or as much as I was expecting. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that, aside from the moon, this was the first time I'd willingly donned it. In the past, I had either been manipulated into putting it on, or forced to by a command from Solon or Caiaphas. It was kind of weird to think about. I stretched our shared body– the Crestwraith made no move to contest my control. It might as well have been me. But it wasn't, was it? We were us.

Were you interested in seeing any memory in particular? Katáktisi inquired.

I'll leave that discretion up to you, I replied, sitting cross-legged on the ground. Just let me know the context of whatever it is you show me.

Mmm… As you will it.

A moment passed of emptiness. Then our vision went completely black, all sensation leaving my body. It was like I was floating in a void of nothingness, never to return to the real world. I floated, or maybe I fell, towards a single point of light off in the distance. As it grew brighter, I heard noise, tinny and muffled as though it was being spoken through a thick brick wall. I felt pain, numbed and distant. I could smell blood and taste iron.

Then… awake. I stood in a place I'd never been, surrounded by faces I'd never seen, in a body I'd never known and that felt so unclean. Was this how Katáktisi felt all the time? I was experiencing its memories and its feelings, after all.

Year 78 on the Imperial calendar, as you understand it, my upstairs neighbor narrated. Specifically the sixth of the Harpstring Moon. A battle in what is now Arundel territory. A victory for those who stood against the Adrestian Empire.

So the Liberation Army won this battle?

Yes. The victory was short-lived, however; Seiros' army rallied and pushed further into the continent, where eventually she would kill him.

Do you… know who your current host is?

A half-rotted Imperial corpse, Katáktisi admitted. Cadavers are hardly ideal, but they are better than nothing– and the fact that this one died in the war– my domain– makes things more bearable.

It was… sunny? Yes, I could make that out though its barely functioning eyes. I could feel the hatred keeping this body swinging, a dalliance of technique that I tried my best to commit to memory. I could certainly learn a lot about dealing with many opponents at once with this. I probably would have been better off with a shield, though– its twohander meant that it wasn't particularly well suited to defending itself, instead opting for raw offensive domination. My narrator grumbled.

"Κατάκτηση!" a voice called over the din, cold and commanding. It was listening.

Who is that? I asked, as my point of view shifted towards a man standing on a hill. White of hair and white of clothes, he was floating a couple of inches above the ground, dark magic swirling around him. What caught me most off-guard was the crimson flames that wreathed him like a crown and wings. He must have been some kind of Agarthan commander.

That, Katáktisi explained, almost reverently, is Lord Epimenides, my creator, the last of the Sages and Harbinger of Progress.

"Πάρτε το φρούριο!" he commanded, slinging a Luna Λ at the footsoldiers I was very busy murdering. Now that I thought about it a bit more, Katáktisi wasn't nearly as powerful now as he was with me, and not to the point that just piloting a dead body could explain. Was our harmony truly a source of so much strength?

I stopped introspecting as the shambling corpse carved its way towards an enemy stronghold, swarming with Imperial soldiers. A Bow Knight seemed to be in charge of the garrison, given the quality of their gear. Our host took an arrow to the chest, and then another. The ambulatory corpse reeled backwards at the force of the blow. In response, it tore its left arm out of the socket, ripping through effusive armor and fragile sinew, and used the extra reach to dig its rakish claws into the horse upon which the Bow Knight was seated. From there, a couple of tentacles of flesh were all that were needed for Katáktisi to begin the consumption process. The mask quickly forced itself upon the enemy soldier, tearing off their protective headgear and squeezing itself onto their face as hard as it could. The old host collapsed, whatever force that had kept it moving utterly spent. Our new host was screaming, of course, writhing and struggling as we slurped up the strength of their spirit and their mind with the ease of sipping a cold glass of water through a metal straw. It was barely anything– there was no true power to be gained from this lowly beast.

I took a moment to differentiate my own thoughts from the memory. Enemy or no, human or no, that Bow Knight was a person. No man was a lowly beast.

When the Bow Knight stopped resisting, it was time to fight. The atrophying effect that Katáktisi had after long periods wasn't a problem over the few seconds that it had taken to possess them. It wasn't comparable to its true prey, the Nabateans, but the Crestwraith would take an upgraded host anytime– bodies were like a better-fitting suit of armor. Enough wear and tear would destroy even the best garb.

The rest of the garrison fell to the wayside with relative ease. The form of the Fierce Deity– I didn't know what else to call it in its activated state– was not the same as when I was the one wearing the mask. This was somehow more gaunt. Weaker. Less refined.

This world harmonizes with me, Katáktisi explained, but the strength of my host allows me to reach greater heights.

That's a very roundabout way of complimenting me. It did not respond.

A titanic roar shook the ground, and Past Katáktisi looked up towards the sky. The animal nearly blotted out the sun. It wasn't the Immaculate One, it was… some other creature. There was no doubt in my mind– it was Nabatean. Could it be the dragon form of Saint Cichol? Cethleann? Indech? Machil?

Every single one of those guesses was wrong, Present Katáktisi commented.

"These bodies may perish," Lord Epimenides whispered; he had somehow fought his way next to me in the newly captured stronghold. "But we will endure. We will not permit our allies to be slaughtered by the vanguard of that abomination!"

The Agarthan slung a Death Γ into the skies, somehow managing to hit the dragon from all the way on the ground. With a great roar, it descended to do battle. This reminded me of Volvagia, which honestly made sense considering they were both some flavor of dragon.

Katáktisi and Epimenides wasted no time in trying to actually get it to land. I, personally, would have just used the Hookshot to physically drag the flying creature to the ground. Admittedly, in its current body, I doubted it had the physical strength to do such a deed. Instead, they permitted the beast to simply make flying passes about the stronghold, blasting the two of them with some kind of radiant energy spewing forth from its mouth. Lord Epimenides was able to summon shields forged from dark magic, which seemed to be able to weather the blasts. I was finding it somewhat difficult to believe that he had died at some point in the next thirteen years or so.

The next thing I knew, the host had managed to grab onto one of the Nabatean's large canine teeth. With a great show of strength, Katáktisi slammed the child of the goddess into the ground, dazing them for just long enough for a platoon of Liberation Army soldiers to maul their leathery wings until there was no hope of ascent. With no other choice, the dragon was forced to assume their more bipedal form.

I was very surprised to find that their– his hair wasn't green. He must have dyed it brown or something, because that was the only way I could possibly rationalize what I was seeing. Wielding a greataxe easily as tall as he was, he cast aside the foes closest to him with a great spin attack before casting Meteor on the outskirts. Katáktisi's current host crouched slightly, ready to pounce. A Crest flashed, and the Nabatean locked eyes with us. A flicker of uncertainty registered on his face.

He used Meteor again. How? I had read that that spell was far too draining to use in rapid succession. That must have been the effect of his Crest, conserving the usage. Good to know

We sprinted forward, leaving Lord Epimenides in the dust. This was our prey, our target, our mark. This was an ideal host, and he would belong to the Crestwraith. Our weapons connected; the Nabatean was not particularly endowed in the physical strength department. He was more than strong enough to cut down a human or seventeen, but compared to Katáktisi? Sheesh.

Katáktisi allowed a casting of Bolganone to land, using the opportunity to fire a blade beam that struck its opponent. He stumbled ever so slightly, which was enough of an opportunity for the Bow Knight to rip the Crestwraith off of their face and force it upon him.

And it drank, and it drank, until there was nothing left to drink.

Elcmar didn't want to die like this. Not when the war may depend on it. Not when so many lives may depend on it. What was this mask that had been forced upon him, feasting upon his very soul? Was it of Nemesis' design? Had it, too, been forged from the bones of his kin as the Elite's Relics were? What would happen when this thing was done?

Fuamnach… Nechtan… Edaín and Cichol… Cesair… Seiros… He was sor–

The flood of memories that were not our own ended. Katáktisi stood triumphant, adorning the now-ensnared Nabatean's face. Elcmar's spirit had been siphoned and digested, completely and utterly. His remaining mental faculties would be next to fall, and then his physical body would suffer the same fate. It would last longer than a measly human, and would be more efficient at wiping the rest of their kind off the face of Fodra as well. With a fluid and assured motion, it turned to Lord Epimenides. It smiled.

And at once, I was Link Harkinian again, tucked away in a desolate corner of Abyss, buried below Garreg Mach Monastery. The Fierce Deity stood, disoriented by our vivid trip down memory lane.

And all things considered, Hapi was taking this very well– by which I meant she hadn't run away screaming her head off, probably attracting every beast within a ten-mile radius. Her intrusion was pretty close to the worst thing that could have happened. She must have come in the tail end, because she was still standing there gobsmacked; the shock hadn't worn off yet. Would I have to kill her like Katáktisi had done to Monica?

We took a sharp step in her direction. She took a significantly smaller step backwards. She was doing her best to keep her expression schooled, but I could see the fear flailing in her eyes.

"You're… one of hers, aren't you? Well, news flash– I'm not going back to being her plaything, pal. You don't look that tough– if I sigh, you're dead. So why don't you just give it up? You're not going to get into her good graces by dragging me back into her cage."

I… have several questions, Katáktisi said.

Yeah. Who's this 'her' she kept referring to? It couldn't be one of the Agarthans, could it? And I know about her tendency to summon monsters, at least…

That is not what I was referring to. How dare she call our harmony weak?

She's just putting up a brave face. Probably.

"Uh, hello? Earth to Lab Rat? You in there?"

"You are mistaken, scion of Timotheos," I replied cooly. "I am not here at anyone's behest. I know not of whom exactly you speak."

She blinked. "But you're made of her stuff. Cornelia's. So you'll have to excuse me if I don't buy that for a second."

My blood ran cold. Hapi had ties to Agartha's High Tactician? How did that come about? And apparently she'd also laid eyes on Agarthan technology! Was Hapi indeed like Monica already? Did she have no heartbeat within her chest?

I steadied myself. I would have to choose my words with the utmost care going forward. I couldn't risk knowledge of my status as champion of a Crestwraith spread.

"Ah. Her," I snarled, pouring every ounce of vitriol into my voice that I could muster. "I was not forged by 'Cornelia', but… one of her long-dead contemporaries. Rest assured– I did not come to Abyss to abduct you. What did she…"

"She did all sorts of experiments and rituals. That's where my curse came from. So–"

"Because of your Crest?"

She nodded mutely. So Sylvain was right– everything tied back to Crests, probably. "So why… are you down here? To escape them?"

"Suffice to say we… are hunting. There exists a man called Caiaphas, our 'Cornelia', who must be sniffed out and exterminated. Who would use us and those like us to bring a great and terrible war upon the continent."

"'We'?"

I exhaled through our nose, brought my hands up to our head, and tore the mask from our face, reverting to that almost-fourteen-year-old body that was more me but less me. "I can't claim to have–"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Hapi interrupted. "Gotta admit, I did not see this coming. This calls for a new nickname…"

"I don't–"

"Slinker? No, that doesn't feel right…"

"Can we just–"

"Whatever, I'll think of something later. What were you saying?"

I rolled my eyes. "I may not have been subjected to the same flavor of experiments as you." I refrained from adding 'that I can remember, at least'. "But I've been… touched by 'Cornelia' and her kind. This is Katáktisi." I tilted the mask into the meager light. "It's… easiest to think about it like a thinking, talking artificial Crest bound within a mask. It chose me as its champion, and I swore to put a stop to all of this and bring peace to Fodra."

"I feel like you're glossing over a lot of information."

"That's because I was," I admitted. "Listen, I need you to keep this a secret."

"I feel like that's a really bad idea, Nesting Doll. Can you imagine if I kept my sighing a secret?"

My expression soured. I would have to dig deeper. "You can't. It's a lot easier to make use of Katáktisi than you. No offense–"

"None taken."

"- but you can't exactly hold a sigh in your hands; it's not a physical object. Anyone who can overpower little old me can use the mask and be consumed by it. And who knows if it decides that it likes 'Cornelia' and her way of doing things."

Did she call me… 'Nesting Doll?'

We are minds stacked within each other, are we not?

Hapi's expression twisted. "Fair enough, I guess."

I started to move forwards, towards the exit, but paused. "Say, Hapi– if you ever wanted to talk about what happened, with her… I'd be more than willing to listen."

"I'll… keep that in mind, Nesting Doll."

If this chapter felt draining to read, it's because it was sure as hell draining to write.

Review please!

quadjot (AO3): And many a multicolored heart to you as well!

Parkourse (AO3): Uh… The Colossus of Rhodes?

Pwucachu (FF): I love Kotor 2, I couldn't not throw Pazaak into Fódlan.

E_Enigma (AO3): I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that every transformation mask gets a use during mid-timeskip. Claire and Annika are probably going to depart from the story (I've only just hit Gronder, so I don't know if they'll show up later. Probably not though), but Cyril will stick around for a little longer. Mid-timeskip gets… weird. And this also isn't the last you see of the Abyssians!

teslapinguini (AO3): First off, love your username. Secondly, thanks for your kind words!

shouty (AO3): Thank you! A gripe I have with fanfic in general is that oftentimes they aren't very consistent with their uploads. It's not a dealbreaker, but it's nice to know for certain that an update is going to come at a predetermined time. Since I've already written ahead a fair amount, it doesn't hurt to ease people into it.

Cold Daylight (AO3): As I've said before, you can make the same argument to decry Majora's Mask. Link fought Ganondorf, bested some of the strongest things Hyrule had to offer him, and now he's… playing hide and seek with a bunch of little kids? I'm actually at a loss for words holy shit. The reason the game designers make this staggering change to Link's perceived power level in Majora's Mask is partially because of the Deku Mask, but moreso because throwing end-of-OOT Link into the earlygame of Majora's Mask would break the gameplay and narrative experience. I've applied the same principle here– I want to replicate the point of Link actually having to work for his power increases (and believe me it does increase), and it also has the side benefit of keeping him in check so that he doesn't invalidate the entire rest of the cast; it wouldn't be fair to readers coming from the Three Houses side of things if Link made all the native characters entirely irrelevant. I can sit here all day giving more eloquent reasons for the nerf, but I've discussed most of them in previous responses and I don't want to be here all day. In retrospect, I probably should have chalked this up to Outrealm interference or some nonsense, but I didn't think of it then and I'm a firm believer in the finality of the published chapter. Thank you for the criticism– despite the tone this response might be evoking, I am ultimately grateful for your words.

CuddlyManaki (AO3): The boot is dead, all hail the boot.

TheGiantRock (FF): Thanks for your review! Your criticism is spot on– the pre-timeskip section of the story is very similar to White Clouds. I did that partially because I'm not a very creative writer, partially because White Clouds is basically the same across all routes, and mostly because it gives me time as a writer to flesh out some of the Three Houses characters, who are basically strangers to me at the start of the story. Things definitely start to get more creative in the mid-timeskip, but whether or not that's a good thing is going to have to be up to the reader. Then it's a little bit of the status quo in post-timeskip only because I want Gronder Field before swandiving back into complete insanity. I think. I'm still a little hazy on the details after Gronder and my notes are frankly less than helpful.

DarthFlores (AO3): would you believe me if I told you I had initially intended for mid-time skip to be four chapters long? Yeah, uh, it's twelve. Not quite sure how that happened, but mid-timeskip gets… weird. It'll be fun though.