Now we get to leave abyss, yay

Chapter XXV

Today was the 19th of the Pegasus Moon, 1181. My birthday, arguably– it was certainly the day I had come to the continent of Fodra. I hadn't told anyone down here about it, because to be entirely honest I didn't care in the slightest. I'd been so many ages throughout the ages; adding another one on top of that didn't feel all that monumental. Fourteen. Whoop de doo.

If you truly didn't care, you wouldn't be keeping track of it.

Shut up.

Katáktisi had a bit of a point. I did care on some level about what age I could claim to be, if only for the purpose of waiting for the day when my brain and my body could agree on the topic for once. It had been five, maybe six years since I could definitively answer the question 'how old are you'? I guess time travel made it extra weird, and that that would stick with me for the rest of my years. Still, I wanted people to at least treat me like I wasn't a child anymore.

"I'm happy to report–" Yuri announced, casually twirling a dagger between his fingers– "that we found your guy."

And that was the best Goddesses-damned birthday present I could have ever asked for. "Did you now," I replied. "Where?"

"Southern Ordelia territory, right on the border with the Empire. About a hundred and fifty kilometers east and ten kilometers north from the Bridge of Myrddin. Nobody else has gone in or come out."

"Perfect." I sighed, and everything felt clear. My target was in sight. All that was left was to hunt him down.

"I'm going to be honest, Link; this feels like the mother of all traps."

"I know it's a trap. But he's dangerous, and if I don't try I've lost anyway."

"You're not listening to me," the Savage Mockingbird insisted. "You're one of mine now– have been since you came to Abyss– and I'm not going to let you get yourself killed to settle some score."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Yuri, but I can't let you stop me. Keep tabs on my movements if you must, but don't interfere. If he finds that you and yours are helping me… he might destroy all of Abyss."

The gang boss closed his eyes. "Fine, Link. Just take care of yourself, alright?"

I nodded in response. "Can't get rid of me that easy."

I turned on my heel and stepped out of the room, towards the hallways that I knew led towards the surface world. I had gone close to outside maybe three or four times, just to see the sun and remind myself that the world had not been reduced to Abyss's winding hallways. I had been especially chagrined one time, when I had thought it was daytime but when I looked at the sky, I was greeted by a full moon. I think that was during the Horsebow Moon, although it might have been the Wyvern Moon instead.

That hadn't ended well.

"You're really going?" Cyril's voice interjected. Like me, he'd been doing some growing while we'd been down here. "Just like that?"

"I am."

"Where to?" he asked, falling in step beside me.

"Remember that guy who sold masks in the monastery square?" I asked. "I asked Yuri to track him down and we just got a lead. No reason to wait."

"Ugh. That guy." The Almyran hesitated, running his tongue along his lips. "You're going to try and kill him, aren't ya?"

"Yes." It wasn't worth beating around the bush.

"Lemme come with you," he declared. I stopped my stride and my friend nearly bowled me over. "You're– ow– gonna need all the support you can get."

I took a deep breath. "Cyril… as much as I appreciate your words, you really shouldn't. It's not safe, where I'm going, and–"

"Friends stick together, through thick and thin." Using my own words against me? "You taught me that."

"Friends don't get each other killed, either," I shot back. "It hurts, I know, but it's for the best."

"And what if I never see ya again, huh? I'm not going to let myself just sit here and accept it!"

My expression soured. He had a point… but how could I tell him the real reason why without revealing the truth? Without making the same mistake I had made with Ashe? "You're right, and I know you're right, but… it's… personal. I knew that man before he arrived at Garreg Mach; we met in a distant, painful place that will stay with me until the day I die." How could it not, when I bore the transformation masks at my side and had done so for years?

"That's from your home, right? Like, your birthplace, I mean. Garreg Mach might as well have been our home even if we weren't born there."

A chill ran down my spine. "Yes and no." I squeezed my eyes shut. "I… don't want to talk about it."

"Oh." I started walking again, and Cyril continued to follow me. I supposed there was no dissuading him, if my previous tirade hadn't worked. "So where is the guy you're going to again?"

"Leicester; Ordelia territory to be more exact."

"Hm… maybe we can say hi to Lysithea while we're there?"

I smiled laconically. "Sure, we can visit your girlfriend while we're passing through."

"You– I– it's not like that!" the Almyran sputtered. "I don't think…" he added under his breath, and were it not for my Hylian ears I might not have been able to pick it up.

We came out below one of the bridges that led into the dilapidated monastery. The place had become pretty overrun with thieves after the Imperial forces had cleared out; I wouldn't be surprised if they'd picked the entirety of Garreg Mach clean by now. That currently sounded like a whole load of not my problem.

The sun was setting, which was just wonderful. Traveling by night was probably fine, but it would make it a lot harder to head off the beaten path, which was what I had been planning to do. I probably could have done it without too much struggle, but not with Cyril tagging along for the ride. Still– every day we wasted was a day in which Caiaphas could consolidate his strength, doing… whatever it was he was doing in Alliance territory. If Yuri's intelligence was to be believed, he'd been there for as much as a year and three months or so.

"You think we should head out tomorrow?" Cyril asked. "Looks like it's gonna get dark soon."

"We march on," I insisted, my brow furrowing in mild frustration. My friend did, as usual, kind of have a point; however, I had to do this as quickly as possible.

It was more or less a straight shot through Gloucester territory to get to Ordelia. As the Keese flew, it would probably take just shy of a month of ceaseless marching. Accounting for rest, battle preparations, other lesser delays, and the fact that the entire continent was in the middle of a major armed conflict, as the Wolfos ran the trip was realistically more like two, if we were lucky.

I did the only thing I could. Keep walking.

We made camp a couple of hours after the sun sank below the horizon on the following day. Cyril had thought to bring sleeping bags from Abyss for the journey, which was honestly very thoughtful. I had been fine with sleeping on the ground, but this was a preferable alternative, truth be told.

"These things suck," he complained through a mouthful of hydromelon.

"They suck a lot worse if you eat the seeds," I reiterated.

"Because they'll grow in your stomach and kill ya, I remember," Cyril said. "It's almost like you've reminded me of that no less than eight times in the past six minutes. I've been keeping track. If I made a drinking game out of it, I'd be dead in seconds."

"Regardless, hydromelon is better than starving or blowing through our rations," I said, shuffling a little closer to our tiny campfire for what little warmth it was worth. At least it wasn't snowing. "We don't have time to hunt, so foraging while we move and resupplying at towns is going to be our only way to keep ourselves on top of this."

Cyril was overreacting. Sure, he was a meat enjoyer first and foremost, but there was no denying the powerful sweetness and incredible juiciness of an average hydromelon. To say otherwise would be utter sacrilege. Maybe it was my Hyrule roots talking, but I fervently believed that hydromelons were the best fruit to ever grace the soil.

"Remember that time we went to Gronder Field with Claire and Annika to set up the ballista?"

"Yeah…"

"And how Rhea checked out those three inns for us?"

"I remember how you didn't want to let us stop at the first one." The two girls had outvoted me. I couldn't pretend like I hadn't understood why, but to say that I was entirely enthused with the idea would be pretty far from the truth.

"I want to hit the second inn by the next time we stop," I announced. "Could be a three days' walk, so make sure you get some good rest tonight, alright?"

"You gotta be kidding."

"It's not too late to head back to Abyss, Cyril." I was trying to let him off easy.

"Someone's gotta save ya from your own worst instincts," my friend replied, crossing his arms. "How're you gonna kill this guy if you've run yourself ragged to get there? You'll just weaken yourself."

I wanted to shout at him, to scream that this wasn't his battle and that pieces were moving beyond his understanding, and beyond mine as well. I wanted to declare that Katáktisi's strength would augment me, give me what I needed to destroy Caiaphas.

…

I snorted instead. "I'm sorry, it's just–"

"Nah, s'alright. I know you're real stressed out about all this. But running away from it isn't going to make that go away, is it?"

"I am actively running directly towards it," I replied, perhaps a bit too crossly.

"Well, yeah, technically. But that's not what I'm talkin' about. It feels to me like you're just so used to doing things on your own with that bag of insane powerful gizmos and whatchamacallits that you can't bring yourself to take an outstretched hand when it's offered. That's been your MO since the earliest days back at the monastery, even before the 1180 class showed up… actually, especially before the 1180 class showed up."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've gotten better about it. Not by much, but a little."

I stifled a laugh. "Yeah, you're probably right." Silence. "I guess… I know what I have to say, but I don't think I have the strength to say it."

"Does it have to do with where you're from?"

I sucked in a breath to respond, but the words caught in my throat. "Well, I– um– I, uh… I-I guess? It's… complicated."

"I know most of it's fake."

It was as though all of Fodra stood still. "Explain."

"I don't know, it just sounds a little convenient. There's a tiny commune in the forests of Faerghus that nobody's ever interacted with where it never snows despite the fact that it's Faerghus, and you happen to get separated at exactly when Prince Dimitri was passing by the area? And then there's the stuff in your pouch, which is almost…" Alien. Not of this world.

"Enough, Cyril," I gently interjected. "What really happened there… it hurts. A lot. And I don't think I'll ever be ready to talk about it." Not after what had happened with Ashe. Not even with the squirming, swollen desire to let the words loose wriggling around in my intestines like a parasitic worm.

"That sounds pretty alright. I'm not gonna force you to talk about it. It's not like I think you're toxic or whatever for keeping some things to yourself. And it's not like I'm gushing about my time in House Goneril."

"I… you're right. Totally right. Thanks, Cyril. It means a lot." I paused. "We're still going to try to go for that second inn, though. Mainly because sleeping in a bed would be a lot nicer than the ground."

"Were you seriously planning to just sleep in the grass or against a tree trunk?"

"Well, yeah, I'd done it in the past and figured I'd travel light, but–"

"Nothing about this can be considered 'traveling light', Mr Giant Two-handed Sword in his Pouch."

"'Ooh, look at me, I'm Cyril! Lemme grab two sleeping bags and nothing else before I embark on this cross-continental journey! I'm sure Link will have thought about what to pack beforehand, so I don't have to!'"

"The fact that you can even say that and not be completely wrong is proof that you carry around too much stuff!"

"Well, I never!"

"Well, I always!"

I will never understand you two, Katáktisi grumbled.

The pages were getting creased from my constant rereading. I needed to find a new hobby, lest Seteth's book of fables started to literally atrophy into the wind in my very hands.

I could pace… but Cyril and I had been doing so much walking over the course of the last week or so that I felt it would be counterproductive. I could try spacing out… but if we were ambushed, I'd need to be at the top of my game. What else did I have left? I could only take inventory of my stuff so many times in rapid succession before I went insane. Besides, I hadn't really put much else in there, and it was so meticulously organized that nothing had had an opportunity to shuffle itself around.

There was, however, another problem. I had officially run out of makeup. Realistically, I should have gone dry months ago, but I'd been able to steal a palette from Constance back when I was in Abyss. Call it revenge for my ruined shoes. Regardless, I'd have to think of something fast if I wanted to continue to hide the marks of Katáktisi. Otherwise, I might be in something of a bind.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Seteth lent me a book of fables last winter," I said, realizing that I should be more specific; it was technically 1182 now. "Winter of 1180, anyway."

"Why'd he give that to ya? I mean, I know he likes… well, he liked to write stuff. I dunno, I guess I just never pictured you being into reading dusty old tomes and stuff."

"They aren't dusty," I retorted. "Really, I just mentioned that my circadian rhythm– my sleeping schedule, I mean– was kinda wonky. Understatement of the decade, I know. As it happened, Flayn apparently also used to have trouble sleeping when she was younger, and that writing stories helped her to sleep soundly. I guess he hoped it'd solve my problem like it solved hers."

"That's nice of him."

I closed the book and outstretched my left hand, offering the tome to my companion. "If you want, you can try it."

Cyril pursed his lips uncomfortably. "Uh, no thanks. I'm… alright." He rolled over on his bedroll, obviously trying to get some sleep of his own.

Well, I didn't want to force it on him. "Suit yourself." Actually, getting some shut-eye probably wasn't the worst idea. Gingerly, I closed the book– the plot was currently meandering anyway, droning on and on about some anecdotal story of a frog and a tarantula who came to a mutually beneficial arrangement. It wasn't even bad; the spider protected the frog from insects, and the frog protected the spider's young from parasites. It was just a bit meandering. I allowed slumber to take me.

I awoke on a grassy plain. The air in the dream was arid and constantly moving. Wyvern riders were swarming the skies like locusts, advancing upon an impregnable fortress. I was merely one foot soldier among hundreds of thousands, stretching as far as the eye could see. I had no frame of reference for its sheer magnitude.

I looked up to see a man on a white wyvern. I couldn't make out his features, but his skin was well-tanned. His head twitched. His fingers shook.

Then the screaming started.

The people around me began to shout in ear-piercing harmony all around me. Veins bulged on their foreheads, their eyes rolled back into their sockets… and they began to turn their weapons upon each other in a Remire-esque show of brutality and madness.

A single muffled shriek cut above the rest of the carnage– from above. The metal had fused with his skin, writhing with uncountable tendrils of light, gripping around his skull. The man's transformation subsided. He had fallen to the earth, his flying mount unable to support his new body's weight. It slithered forward. The jaw unhinged.

It didn't stop. It just…

Ate.

"Why're you wearing Jeritza's mask?"

"Because, Cyril, it's pretty and I like it. I feel like that's a plenty good reason." I didn't tell him I was also wearing it because it perfectly obscured the markings of Katáktisi. I knew there was a good reason to steal it from Manuela back in 1180 when I had the chance. It didn't fit perfectly, but it was good enough.

We had just hit the Great Bridge of Myrddin. It, and the town for which it had been named, had certainly seen better days. Given that it was the only sizable crossing point over the Airmid River, which separated the Alliance from the Empire, it was fiercely fought over. It had already changed hands at least three times over the course of the last year, probably more. Currently, the bridge was flying Leicester colors, which meant it was probably as good a time as any to cross through. We weren't going to Imperial territory, of course, but given the importance of the bridge, it was critical to be cautious.

I ran our cover story over and over again in our mind. We were refugees from Charon territory, which was currently enduring the brunt of attacks from the Faerghus Dukedom. We were hoping to run to Ordelia territory, as allegedly Cyril had distant relatives that were available to take us in during these trying times. I couldn't exactly say that we'd come from Garreg Mach– nobody would believe us, especially given how far it was from the front lines and how long it had been since the destructive Battle of Garreg Mach. Still, I'd rather not commit to a story just in case we had to double-cross it later.

I'd been banking on most of their attention being on the Imperial side of the bridge, but unfortunately we had no such luck. There was a very small density of Alliance scouts on the Leicester side, ensuring that nobody went in and nobody came out. We were quickly apprehended by two men, faces obscured by steel helmets. Kind of like the Hylian Knights' hats; I had never understood how anyone managed to see out of them.

"What're two kids doing wandering around a warzone?" one of them demanded, arms folded across his heavy breastplate.

"Cethleann's tits, Trip," the other castigated. "They're kids, not Empire spies."

"No reason to be waltzing straight into Myrddin like this, then," Trip asserted.

"W-we just wanted to pass through," I replied, adding a stammer for additional effect. "We're from Ch-Charon and we had to evacuate because of the Dukedom. Mother had friends in Ordelia that could take us in… We were h-hoping to stop in Myrddin to rest…"

"What'd I tell you, Trip?"

"Hey, you're the moron that said 'Cethleann's tits' in front of two minors, Petey!"

"A minor and an Almyran, so–"

"You don't get to talk about my friend like that," I said, a vehement scowl setting itself on my face. "You don't even know him."

'Petey' rolled his eyes. "Look, do you want to come through or not?"

"Yes, please," Cyril answered in my stead, which was probably for the best.

We were interrupted by another Alliance soldier. "We're falling back from the city! Imperial vanguard incoming!"

The guards paled. "Dammit, why now?! Stay put– we're expecting reinforcements from the Hero of Daphnel at… some point, whenever the council decides that she's allowed to. Point is, you'll be safe to move out after we retake the bridge. Got it?"

Suffice to say, Cyril and I did not 'got it'. We left the following morning, the Great Bridge of Myrddin flying Empire colors. It would probably change hands again within the week.

Ordelia was where Tomas had been from, although I guess I'd never really known him. Unless he had been replaced during late 1179, I had only ever interacted with Solon. The fact that he hadn't drawn the attention of the likes of Seteth and Rhea was a testament to his cunning and intelligence. And all that for Remire…

The region didn't appear to be doing particularly well, all things considered. I knew it was wartime and all, but I had learned a thing or two about the continent and its recent developments, mostly at the whims of Katáktisi trying to understand the current political climate so that it could later be leveraged for the benefit of Agartha. As best I understood it, it had to do with House Hrym in the Empire not liking the reforms of Edelgard's now dead dad, who was trying to centralize power back into the Imperial ruling family. That in and of itself sounded weird… Edelgard's dad. Anyways, Hrym had tried to defect to the Alliance, and House Ordelia from just across the Airmid River had supported them. When Hrym was inevitably defeated, the Empire stripped House Ordelia of much of its prestige and ability to govern its own lands. That was almost fourteen years ago now. That was my age. Physically. Dang.

If I surmised correctly, that was most likely when Lysithea got her second Crest– well, not 'got', per se. That made it sound like she acquired it voluntarily. After all, the Agarthans had most likely been involved with the Empire for a while by that point by way of Thales. Did everything on this goddesses-darned continent circle back to him and his kind?

I will operate under the assumption that you are not being serious.

You keep doing that.

The Ordelia manor was situated at the top of a hill in the middle of the city. It clearly took a lot of nods from Adrestian architecture while still remaining somewhat unique. It was nothing like Fhirdiad at all, that was for sure. It wasn't like Enbarr, either, but it had more in common with it than the capital of Faerghus.

At least Cyril was in a good mood.

We reached the foot of the hill and were immediately beset by a meager menagerie of Ordelia knights. Judging by the quality of their steel and the lack of identifying marks on their armor and weapons, I could only assume they were still in training and therefore unable to properly aid in the war effort.

"Lord and Lady Ordelia are not taking visitors from the public at present," one of them stated seriously. "Move along."

"Well, we're not here to see Lysithea's parents," Cyril countered. "Does that change anything?"

"I'm Link, and this is Cyril," I continued. "We know Lysithea from the Officer's Academy before it fell. We were monastery staff, y'see. We were just in the area and were hoping to swing by."

"You can ask her if ya doubt us."

Beyond all sense of logic and security, somehow that worked. Even more ridiculously, in a whirlwind of vague greetings and scattered 'uh-huh's, Cyril had somehow sweet-talked the entire Ordelia family into inviting us for supper. It was one thing if they had been Galateas– Ingrid did owe me for those hydromelon seeds– but this was completely spontaneous.

The Lord and Lady of the house reflected their territory. People said the bags under my eyes were severe looking, but the Ordelias put me to shame. Or at least, I hope they did. I hadn't exactly scrutinized myself in the mirror recently, although I did try to maintain a basic level of hygiene. Regardless of my own appearance, Lysithea's parents looked tired, and like they'd been that way for years without end. While they certainly did appear like any average noble family, I could see beyond the visage. It was a subtle thing, a slight deviation in posture almost invisible to even trained eyes. I saw myself in it.

Lysithea herself appeared much better for wear. Purple and gold looked good on her, although I knew it would be absolutely atrocious were someone like me to try it. It didn't mesh well with my outdoorsy, work-oriented, half-feral small child aesthetic. Plus, those colors were expensive– it was a lot more economical to just go for earthy tones.

I couldn't quite identify the types of fish that we'd been graciously served. It was a two-fish dish, cut into strips and sautéed in butter. It was a bit lavish for my tastes, but it was free food so it sure wasn't my place to complain. I was more focused on the conversation itself to pay much attention to it.

"Where have you two been for the last year?" Lysithea was asking. "I hope you haven't been wandering around Fódlan all this time. Considering all the fighting going on…"

"No, nothin' as serious as that," Cyril assured. "We actually only left Garreg Mach a couple of months ago, right in the middle of the Pegasus Moon."

"And you both remained in a destroyed monastery for all this time?" Lady Ordelia commented. "We had been under the impression that Garreg Mach had become little more than a nest for bandits and thieves."

"We weren't in Garreg Mach, we were below it," I clarified. "Lysithea, I don't recall if you mentioned Flayn's disappearance to your parents– Flayn's the younger sister of Seteth, who's one of the advisors to the archbishop, and she also has the Major Crest of Cethleann– but when we found her, she had been taken to this subterranean network of chambers and stuff. It's a little hard to describe. What we didn't know at the time was that, if you went deep enough into the underground, you'd come across people who lived down there. They called the labyrinth Abyss, and it's a haven for people who for whatever reason can't or won't live on the surface."

Our hosts blinked, bemused. Reasonable reaction, all things considered.

"What kinds of… people?"

"Those with high debt, criminals, gang members, disgraced noble types, those who generally can't show their face aboveground for whatever reason…"

"People who don't worship the Goddess," Cyril added.

The dining room was quiet save the scraping of cutlery on china.

"Isn't that Professor Jeritza's old mask you're wearing?" Lysithea asked.

"Yeah. What about it?"

"When did you get it? I thought Professor Manuela–"

"I talked her out of it," I lied. Petty theft probably wasn't a good thing to admit to at a nobleman's table. "I collect masks, and there was no sense in her keeping the old thing."

"Regardless, you shouldn't have it on while dining–"

"Lysithea, it's quite alright," Lord Ordelia assuaged. She looked slightly put off, but she relented. I swallowed a bite of fish, somewhat relieved that the markings of Katáktisi weren't about to be put on full display.

Hey, Katáktisi?

What.

You can sense Crests, right? Well, can you tell if someone who doesn't have a crest has an ancestor who had a Crest?

No. Obviously.

Darn. I had been hoping to ascertain whether Lysithea's double-Crestedness was a freak accident or… something else.

If that is what you wanted to know, you could have simply asked. Such a thing is not biologically possible. Most likely, it is the result of some sort of traumatic genetic bypass.

That was certainly an image, whatever 'traumatic genetic bypass' was supposed to mean. I was trying to be independent, I complained.

I am issuing no complaints, the Crestwraith reiterated. This conversation just served to confirm that I really, really shouldn't take off my mask while I was here. As though I needed more reason than usual.

"So you were in this 'Abyss' place for… just under a year now, correct?" Lady Ordelia inquired.

"That's right," Cyril replied.

"What exactly drove you to depart from Garreg Mach? It's quite a long way from there to here."

"I received a tip that someone I needed to track down was in the southwest of Ordelia," I interjected. "Someone dangerous, and… suffice to say I had to leave immediately. Cyril basically invited himself along."

"Someone's gotta protect you from yourself," the Almyran stated.

"His presence was a surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one." I pointedly took another bite of fish. Lysithea stopped chewing, seemingly in thought. If she wanted to say something, she didn't act on it.

Before I knew it, we were being talked into staying the night at the estate. They wouldn't let us leave with anything less– which, while certainly nice of them, wasn't exactly conducive to hunting Caiaphas. Goddesses knew what he was getting up to at this point– it had been nearly two months since we had received the tip from Yuri, if I recalled correctly. The worm could be halfway across the continent by now.

It was a big house, so I was given the luxury of my own room. I don't think I had slept truly alone since the Officer's Academy. It was especially jarring since before I came to Fódlan, I hadn't slept in a bed since I'd left Kokiri Forest for the first time. Since I met Navi.

My mood soured. I shoved the thought out of my mind, promising myself that I wouldn't ruminate on her until I went back to Hyrule again. There was an oath I knew I was going to break. After all, as long as my mind and body remained my own, I would never return to Hyrule.

I dreamed that I was marching on Garreg Mach.

It was the early hours, just before dawn broke. I could hear their scurrying amongst the ruins– thieves and vagabonds, attracted to treasure like moths to a flame. Someone was standing beside me, but in the gloom before sunrise I couldn't make out who it was. Against flickering torchlight, I saw it– a hulking cyclops, weapon in hand. A bloody lance hurtling towards my throat–

I awoke in a cold sweat. I had been having prophetic dreams like that with a bit more regularity for about two years now. At a time like this, with the former seat of the Church of Seiros weighing heavily on my mind, the Song of Time felt only fitting for me to finally put to paper. It was incapable of turning back the hands of time without the Ocarina of Time, which was safely in Hyrule. It was more or less aligned stylistically with the Church's regular music, and could probably be adopted if I played my cards right. Provided I ever wanted Hylian-borne music to grace the halls of Garreg Mach. Which honestly, I probably didn't.

I had decided not to commit Saria's song to parchment a long time ago. I didn't want to risk our line of communication being overwhelmed by whatever schmuck decided to give it a try. Nor did I want to share the teleportation songs that Zelda had once taught me. I hadn't tried them in Fodra, of course, so I didn't know if they even worked. If they did, they were definitely off the table. Everything else, though, was fair game– provided I made enough very small changes to get rid of their power.

I tapped my writing instrument against the paper hesitantly, before raising it, not making a mark on the sheet. I didn't have the motivation for this right now. It was almost dawn, anyway, and I had to get moving.

I didn't want to leech off of the Ordelia's hospitality any more, so I quickly went to wake Cyril. To my small surprise, he was already awake– and in a hushed argument with the scion of the house.

"Lysithea, I can't stress enough how bad of an idea this is."

"I'm older and wiser– it's for the best if I join you. I have the blessing of my parents already–"

"It's not your parents I'm worried about. Y'know how hard it's gonna be to get Link on board with this? It's gonna be like pulling teeth. 'Sides, he's probably going to want to get moving as quick as possible."

"So this is about what Link wants? What about what you want, Cyril?"

Silence.

"If this guy is as dangerous as you say," she continued, "you're going to need all the support you can get. My–"

"Absolutely not." I cut into the conversation like a hot knife through butter.

"Told ya," Cyril said.

"But you're going to need me!" She crossed her arms. "Cyril told me about the man you're hunting. This isn't something the two of you are going to be able to deal with on your own!"

"What did he tell you?"

"That you're tracking someone who's very dangerous, that's been using my parent's territory as a base of operations! I can't let that kind of thing possibly endanger their wellbeing, not after…" She trailed off. "Point is, it's my responsibility to ensure that my parents can be safe and at peace!"

I folded my arms. "Yeah. Let's bring you to the mole person. That's a great idea and doesn't put you in any kind of risk whatsoever."

"The– why, it's no more risk than you're putting yourself in!"

"We can't exactly get a third Crest, can we?" I snarled, not even thinking in sheer frustration. She was gobsmacked, standing there in complete and utter silence. I spun on my heel. "Thought so. You're staying, and that's final. Last chance to back out, Cyril. We'll be reaching the destination in a week's march."

"I– yeah," Cyril said shakily. "Just– gimme a sec, alright?" He backpedaled slightly, and led Lysithea into another room. She had recovered from the shock, and looked nearly mad enough to rip my head off.

Better than to subject her to Caiaphas' ministrations.

I nodded wordlessly, and made my own preparations to depart.

This place stank.

It stank of rotting meat, of festering flesh and blood. It appeared to have been a small village once, nestled along the mountains that lined the eastern shore of the continent. It would have been completely unassuming were it not for the veritable ocean of dead bodies lining the streets and buildings and roofs. I would have assumed Caiaphas had killed them all singlehandedly, but a few things tipped me off that something– or someone– else was afoot. First of all was the state of decay of the buildings; almost all of them were overrun with vines and other growths. If people had been living here recently, surely the structures wouldn't be in this state of disrepair. Second was the fact that most of the cadavers appeared to be armed. Sure, the Agarthan bearing Aγωνία would certainly have access to greater firepower, but against a force of this size? It looked pretty comparable to the size of Jeralt's mercenaries, at least of those that weren't definitely residents of this town judging by their garb.

Then there were the… others. Bodies that didn't have the same reek as the dead, but definitely weren't alive either. Furthermore, their equipment was incredible even compared to the mercenary types. Like this purple-haired girl who wasn't nearly as rotted as the decomposing body next to her, still clutching at twin crimson blades. I couldn't put my finger on why everything felt so off, and neither could Katáktisi. But I knew in my heart that–

"Something's wrong," Cyril commented, picking his way over a corpse that would have put Dedue's size to shame. My thoughts exactly.

"Any chance we could just turn around and go home?"

"I should be asking you that, Link."

"It was a rhetorical question. Still– now's your last chance to retreat."

"It'd take a lot more than a village turned graveyard to chase me off. You know that."

It stank of something else as well. Dark magic, through and through. I recognized it a bit from Remire; that stench had persisted even after Solon was killed and the people tried to rebuild from what was lost. It made me want to play the Song of Healing, and put the lost spirits of this place to rest. Perhaps later, after Caiaphas had been dealt with. No way in hell was I letting him escape me this time.

I let my senses carry me through the desolation, all six of them. Eventually, they led me to a comparatively more intact hut on the outskirts of town, along a winding path that led right up to the foot of the mountain. There was no mistaking it. This was the source of the dark magic signature I'd been feeling. He was here.

I steeled my nerves, tried futilely to still my beating heart, and tried the front door. It didn't budge. I wasn't sure what I was expecting.

"Where's Annika when you need her…" I mumbled under my breath.

"Door's stuck?"

I nodded mutely.

"You could try breaking in through a window," Cyril suggested.

"And alert Caiaphas? No way. I can't give up the element of surprise."

"If this is the same guy I think it is, there's no way he doesn't already know we're here. Creep."

He was probably correct. "Fine. I can probably do this quietly…"

I trotted a few paces leftward and drew my blade. I pressed the tip against the window and ever so gently pushed, applying more and more force with each and every second. After some time, the sword punched through the barrier, leaving a small hole surrounded by broken glass. I winced anticipatorily. It looked like the only way was through.

I quickly slipped inside, and unlocked the door from the inside just to make things easier when I came back out. The inside of the house looked quaint enough– no identifying features like paintings or bulletin boards. It was in a remarkably decent state of repair compared to the rest of the house. There weren't even any nonperishables that I could steal. Sure, theft was a crime and all, but it was pretty clear to me that the only person that had lived in this house in a long time was Caiaphas.

Don me, Katáktisi suggested.

Not yet. Caiaphas is my demon more than he is yours. I need to at least try to face him alone. This is… personal.

Fair enough, I suppose.

Despite my previous assertions, I hung the Crestwraith from my hip for ease of access before further investigating the building. To my great frustration, not a single item appeared to not be in its proper place. He had to be here– this place reeked too much of him not to be. But where?

If not inside… he must have been below.

My gut churned. This whole place was giving me serious Bottom of the Well vibes. All looked calm and ordinary on the surface, but just below stewed something truly evil. With that in mind, I kept my blade unsheathed, eying the darkened corners of the house in case something tried to jump out at me.

"Find him?" Cyril whispered. I simply shook my head, then pointed downwards.

"I… don't understand."

"Keep quiet," I lightly chastised. "He's below us. I just have to figure out how to get down. Listen– I need you to keep watch outside in case he tries to run. If someone runs out of this house that isn't me, kill them. Got it?"

My companion drew his hand axe, nodded once, and took up a post by the front door. Good man.

Eventually, I tracked down what looked like a bedroom of some kind. Rummaging through the drawers revealed what looked like a small key, although it was not made of iron or brass and it was unusually warm to the touch. In fact, it almost looked like it was made of the same stuff as Katáktisi's battle armor from the Sealed Forest…

The Agarthans had a presence here. But what did the key unlock?

I found my answer quickly enough by spying a nondescript key-sized hole in the brick wall on the main floor, hidden behind a painting of a landscape that vaguely reminded me of those inside the Forest Temple. I gingerly placed the key inside the opening. The mortar shone an electric blue for a moment, before a man-sized portion slid into the floor, revealing a hidden passage venturing down into the depths.

I silently traversed the winding staircase, which must have been twenty meters straight down or more. It led to what looked like a cramped subterranean study, stuffed with weird contraptions and ancient circuitry… truly an arcanist's paradise. Much of it was covered in dust, but…

Caiaphas most certainly was not.

My target was seated crosslegged on the ground, eyes closed but still smiling, appearing to be deep in a meditative trance. Around him were etched runes and thrumming machinery, clearly set up to do… something that neither Katáktisi nor I could identify.

Before I could attack, before I could do anything of substance to exact Lord Thales' judgement, the Happy Mask Salesman's voice echoed inside my head. "I sense you, Κατάκτηση. Faint. Weak."

"Your senses betray you," I shot back. I could have moved to kill him, but he had already discovered my presence. Perhaps I could lull his guard with words…

"As you betrayed me. After all that has happened, still you live? You are difficult to kill, defect."

"For one as limited as you, perhaps. Let me–"

"Be silent, traitor! To have fallen so far into the clutches of lowly animals and learned nothing… that is your failing," Caiaphas spat.

"The failure is yours," my upstairs neighbor snarled through my lips. "No longer do your whispers crawl within our skull. No longer are we bound by the Second Axiom, that which would preserve you.

"And now you run in search of a savior. They are all dead, save one– and one broken Crestwraith cannot stop the salvation that is to come."

"Perhaps. We shall see, Hero of Termina."

The room began to shake violently, upheaving the objects in the room but leaving the ritual circle unscathed. I moved to stab Caiaphas, but the usage of Quake Σ threw off my aim ever so slightly, landing only a glancing blow against his left wrist. In a flash of violet light he and his belongings were gone. He'd been planning to run away again from the beginning! I had always entertained the possibility, but I had been planning to gut him quickly enough to prevent it from being a problem. The damn Salesman was already two steps ahead, as always.
Despite the fact that he was gone, I could still hear his voice as I tried to make my way aboveground. How deep did this trap go? I could picture him now– his head thrown back in a wild scream, his pupils shrunken into the whites of his eyes, that forced smile still stuck on his face. Worse… I could hear what he had shouted echoing in my mind. And it chilled me to my very core.

"Σήκω, Κύριε Επιμενίδής!"

Rise, Lord Epimenides.

This could not end well.

I burst out of the stairwell and threw myself outside. Cyril, who had for his part been performing his duty quite well, nearly lopped my head off with his axe before staying his weapon. His eyes, however, were locked on the dilapidated village… or rather, the twelve shambling half-rotted corpses currently marching slowly and menacingly towards our exact position. Only one of them had my attention in particular; the neon violet-haired one that had just minutes ago been very dead in the middle of the village.

It took a second to process what we were seeing. Caiaphas had raised the dead.

This really could not end well.

"Didja at least get him?" Cyril whispered, his knuckles white against the haft of his weapon.

"No," I admitted. "He used dark magic to cause an earthquake and raise those corpses from the dead, and then teleported away. I'm back to square one."

"Well, that's just great," my companion drawled. I was in complete agreement. "I'm sure we'll find him again. But for now, I think we have to deal with these…" He vaguely gesticulated towards the surprisingly rapidly approaching zombies. Were they zombies? Had they truly been dead when we arrived, or merely pretending? No, I could make out the telltale signs of decay among eleven out of the twelve. "Things."

You cannot fight them, Katáktisi advised coldly.

Like hell I can't, I shot back. I put you on and they'll immediately die. Well, die again, anyway.

If only it were that simple. Caiaphas bid Lord Epimenides rise. One of them is–

That's impossible! I burst, the perilousness of my situation finally clicking. Not even the command of Thales, the Agastya himself, could permit me to kill Epimenides. If it had been Αγωνία trying to stop me, I would have been fine, but I could not violate Katáktisi's First Axiom. Well, even if that's true, surely I can kill the other eleven–

Not until we ascertain the identity of Lord Epimenides. My programming will forbid leaving a sin like that up to chance. Aside from extenuating circumstances, of course.

"We should run," I surmised. "Now."

Cyril looked at me as though I'd grown a second head. "Ya can't be serious."

"If he can raise the dead once, he can raise the dead again. We'll be facing an unending wave of reinforcements." To be fair, it had taken a substantial ritual to bring the vessel of Lord Epimenides and eleven other individuals back from the grave. But Cyril didn't need to know all of that. "If I divert them by running north towards the Throat, you should have ample opportunity to flee westward." It wasn't like I could cross the Airmid River at its mouth; the great river must have been nearly thirty kilometers across where it met the sea, with deep waters and a strong current.

"D'you want me to get help from Lysithea and her folks?"

I shook my head. "No. I don't want to draw undue attention to this." Mainly from the Agarthans– if they knew that the seventh Sage had been found and brought back to some semblance of life, they might just allow Caiaphas back into their good graces. "I actually had… something else in mind for you." I sucked in a breath. "I need you to track down the remains of the Knights of Seiros. Shamir, Catherine, Seteth, Alois… whoever you can find. Have them at Garreg Mach for the Millenium Festival. I'll meet you there."

I withdrew the Fierce Deity's Mask from my pouch, its bone-shaded hair catching the light as Cyril began to move west. "Nothing will stop us. Even if we have to move the river Acheron itself."

Can we just talk for a second about how large Fódlan is supposed to be? It can apparently be crossed on foot in a matter of days, but the developers say that it's supposed to be two thirds the size of Europe? That feels… very inconsistent and I don't like it. So please excuse me if I play a little fast & loose with distances for the remainder of the fic.

Surprise Deadlords! A cookie goes to whoever can guess what characters each one is, although you may need to wait another chapter or two for the information you need. I'll give you some hints to get started:

- They are all Fire Emblem characters.

- Each game/series is represented at least once, and no more than twice.

- Spinoffs (i.e. Heroes, OG Warriors, etc) are not represented.

- There is only one 3H character and that character should be pretty obvious.

- Each Deadlord is mostly consistent with their previous incarnations (i.e. Mus is always an armored unit, Porcus is always a thief/assassin type, etc). Genders are not taken into account as heavily. Obviously since we won't be giving any of them names, we'll be using the Japanese naming scheme– by which I mean I'll just be numbering them from one to twelve.

Review please!

Parkourse (AO3): I knew I couldn't write this story and not include the Abyssians somehow, so I'm glad you're liking them!

CuddlyManaki (AO3): Puberty sucks! Also glad that my description of the Crestwraiths doing Crestwraith things stuck the landing. The Crestwraiths are supposed to be disgusting, abhorrent monstrosities and I'm glad I captured that energy.

Equilized Enigma (FF): As long as you're enjoying the story, I know I'm doing something right!

:) (AO3): Happy to hear it!

xander1009 (AO3): What is fanfiction for if not to have weird duos?

Luckysofia (AO3): Glad you're enjoying it! Something that was really important for me while writing CC was to make sure that people coming from the Zelda side can understand the FE stuff, and people coming from the FE side can understand the Zelda stuff. Have a good one!

DarthFlores (AO3): Hey, no shade for wanting to take a break during mid-timeskip! I do recommend not just skipping the mid-timeskip altogether, mostly because there's a lot of long-term ramifications that affect the post-timeskip and it'll be really confusing when I start dropping names like [REDACTED] and [CONTENT EXPUNGED]. So keep that in mind. Still, thanks for your continued patronage, and I'll eagerly await your return for Chapter 36!

Grimmideals (FF): Thank you very much! Hapi is very fun to write!

Ragnarrock (FF): I have to prevaricate a little on the idea that Link is only chafing a little bit against the Axioms– they're very strict in what they do and don't allow him to do. A good example is the Sealed Forest, where Link can justify destroying Kronya's machine as helping her maintain her cover but can't directly oppose her. He has to take actions that help the Agarthans with their goals, but he can choose how he does it. He's basically stuck in 'malicious compliance' as his only real recourse, as attempting to get rid of the Axioms or talk to other people about it is completely prevented by the Fourth Axiom. His MO is 'okay, you want me to do this, so I'll go do it in the way that benefits you the least in the long run'. This sort of leads into your other points, which I have… less of a justifiable position. I read Ashe as the sort of character to not want to rock the boat any more than it's already been rocked, and he would think that telling others about what happened would just make Link more likely to keep being angry at him. I have written a confrontation between Ashe and Link in the post-timeskip, if that helps. The way it's structured is unfortunately a holdover from way back in the day, when I wrote CC as a collection of supports. A similar thing happened with Byleth, but that's even less defensible because even if Byleth is a very passive character, she should have reacted more explosively. I think, if I hadn't written those chapters some 2-3 years ago, I would have done them differently. In other news, congratulations on being this story's 100th FFnet review!

quadjot (AO3): No comment.