Over the course of the negotiations, the fog blanketing Carrion Isle had grown thicker, if such a thing were possible. Now, even the crumbling stone terrace—which could be seen clearly from the rotted, waterlogged doors of the Waystone Manor when they'd first arrived—was obscured by encroaching tendrils of the stuff. Only a few ghostly lights, their glows struggling to cut through the gloom, were visible amid the otherwise impenetrable clouds; torches lit by the Shepherds and Plegians who had stayed behind. Chrom and Mustafa could not see their retinues, but arguments between and among the two sides echoed dully across the terrace.

Chrom cleared his throat and called loud enough to be heard over the agitated rumbling. "I've got the General here with me. We'd appreciate not getting attacked by our own people by accident."

The voices quieted as he and Mustafa stepped onto the terrace. What greeted them was a scene of tense confusion.

There was no question that the warning signal that had interrupted the negotiations would have also been heard by the men and women on the terrace. The Shepherds would have immediately recognized and understood the far-off series of staccato cracks for what they were. The Plegians—and a very confused looking Cherche—would have only seen drawn weapons and responded in kind.

Mustafa pushed his way to the center of the terrace, where Virion and Miriel were standing nose to scar with the Plegian commander that had greeted them when they'd first arrived. Virion had unslung his bow, and Miriel gripped one of her many tomes—though it was held unopened at her side, so as not to cause anymore unneeded tension among the Plegians. Judging by the commander's face, whatever the other two had been saying wasn't doing a very good job of placating him. His fingers brushed dangerously close to the hilt of one of the swords sheathed on his belt.

Mustafa interposed himself in the center of the argument. He placed a massive hand on his commander's shoulder and ushered him back to the Plegian side of the terrace, speaking calmly to him in his native language.

Chrom rested the flat of Falchion's blade on his shoulder as he looked expectantly from Virion to Miriel. "Who sent up that warning? Did either of you send out someone to scout the island?"

It was Virion who answered first. "Not us. Cordelia offered to, but we decided—with this blasted fog—a flight around the island would be next to useless."

Miriel straightened her glasses. "The Plegian's did, but—from what I've observed—they've all returned, and it's doubtful they'd use a Shepherd code in the event of an attack. And that Commander Kareem had no knowledge of what that particular signal is meant to convey."

Mustafa's daughters joined their father, trailed by the odd mage Henry, and lent their voices as the General tried to explain the situation to his soldiers. A second series of cracks emanating from the swirling fog didn't help matters. And it was getting closer.

Robin arrived on the terrace, pulling his coat tighter against the damp chill of the island. He tilted his head, listening, then turned to Panne. "Can you pinpoint that?"

The Taguel was crouched down and alert, one hand resting on the pouch at her waist where Chrom knew she kept her Beaststone. Her long ears had gone rigid and her nostrils flared. "Sound is strange in this fog." She pointed in a northerly direction, away from where the Waystone Manor huddled against the coast, towards the center of the island. "It came from there. I can not say how far. But I smell nothing. Only salt and humans and moss."

Chrom caught a glimpse of jet-black hair and a perpetually disgruntled expression as Tharja was the last to exit the Manor behind his wife. He waved to get the mage's attention. "Can you do anything about this fog? Nothing's worse than a dreary battlefield."

The other Shepherds gave her space as she stepped up to the center of the terrace. Chrom moved to stand in between her and the Plegians. He held up his free hand in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. "Just brightening up the weather, friends. Nothing to get worked up about."

Reaching for her belt, Tharja unhooked one of her tomes. This wasn't the one she used for dark magic, that was secured to her opposite hip, covered in a black cloth so as to offend the Shepherds' healers as little as possible. This spellbook appeared far older, bound not in leather, but a scaly material the color of dunes.

She glared over her shoulder and spat at Henry. "This is how my people use the winds."

Opening the tome with an almost loving gentleness, a gesture that looked foreign on her, Chrom watched as the swathes of thick Feroxi fur that covered Tharja from neck to boots began to stir in a building gale. Instead of pointing a hand as a way to guide the spell, she threw out both arms, as if to embrace the world, and released her magic.

An almost solid wall of wind expanded out in every direction from Tharja, buffeting both Shepherd and Plegian alike. All, save his wife, Cordelia and Cherche, stumbled backwards and had to lean in to keep their footing. Once it passed over them, however, it weakened to a playful breeze. The fog bunched up against the spell, as if angered that it wasn't allowed inside the barrier of air, but was shoved away.

Almost immediately, someone screamed.

A Plegian girl—by all appearances the youngest person on the island since Nowi and Ricken had stayed behind in Port Ferox—who had been stationed at the very edge of the terrace, stumbled backwards under the hollow gaze of a Risen. The creature had been crouched, poised to strike, not an arms length away from her in the fog, perched like a monstrous gargoyle atop one of the remaining stretches of stone balcony that dotted the perimeter of the terrace.

The Risen's scimitar—really just a sharpened chunk of iron attached to a frayed rope hilt—plunged towards her in what would have been a killing stoke, but was turned aside as a hand-axe came whirring across the terrace to clang against the blade. Recovering quickly, the girl lashed out with a two-handed sword taller than she was, beheading the Risen.

She fell back as the creature's severed neck geysered out a rush of fetid smoke. The zephyrs of Tharja's spell blew some of the miasma away, but the Plegian girl still dropped her weapon and went down on her knees, spluttering and gagging. The real victim, however, was Panne.

Even though she was a good distance away from the creature, as soon as the smoke from the Risen's wound touched the air, Panne flinched back violently. Her hackles rose as if she were about to fight, but she hunkered down, letting out a low whine and clawing at her nose.

"Risen!" Robin shouted. "Shepherds, cover up!"

Across the terrace, scarves, bandanas and masks were pulled up or wrapped around to shield mouths and noses. Chrom folded his cape and slung it around so it clung tightly to his face, affixing it in place with a small pin he kept for just such occasions. At the same time, a shout from one of the General's daughter—Hanin, if he wasn't mistaken—had the Plegian's pulling down full-faced veils made of a shimmering dark fabric.

Gaius removed his own black face mask—the one Chrom was pretty sure he'd repurposed from his thieving days—from a pouch affixed to his chest and thrust it over the lower half of Panne's face, once he'd managed to pry her hands free.

"She can't stay here, Bubbles! This stuff'll drive her crazy!"

Robin unhooked his tome as he called out orders, his voice muffled by the collar of his coat, fastened high enough to protect his breathing. "Cordelia, Cherche, help Gaius get Panne to the ship. The rest of us will hold this terrace so you won't have to dodge arrows while going down the cliffside." He shot a look between Chrom and Mustafa. "I suggest we retreat. It sounded like the negotiations were over. We don't have any reason to stay here."

Before anyone could respond, a Risen wielding an axe came charging out of the fog, only to meet a swift end at the points of Commander Kareem's twin blades. He spun around, smoke coating his swords, and shook his veiled head at Robin. "Cut and run? I didn't think Ylissians would still be so open with their cowardice. Seems you haven't changed after all."

Just then, Chrom heard the faintest thunk from outside of the little sphere of visibility Tharja had created. Working on pure instinct, he threw himself forward, performing a pirouette around the mage—careful not to so much as brush against her—he slapped away an arrow with Falchion as it streaked out of the fog towards them.

Tharja gave him only a brief glance and a nod of thanks—the highest of praise coming from her. Chrom traded wide-eyed looks with Robin.

The tactician whirled on the Plegian commander. "Cowardice? How many Risen have you fought, commander?"

Kareem let out a harsh chuckle and raised his hands in mock defeat. "But, of course, I couldn't hope to compare with the brave, courageous Shepherds. Only the best of the best stamp their foot and shout, 'but how many did you kill?' when questioned."

Robin raised a hand crackling with electricity towards a Risen that had just come bounding onto the terrace. He waited a beat longer than the Plegian archers, who fired and missed several shafts at the creature, before obliterating it with a bolt of lightning. His voice rose in a rare display of anger.

"Did you not just see that? These aren't normal Risen, commander. How many have you fought that would sneak up on you? How many could stop their eyes glowing so they'd be harder to spot? How many that could run like these, or know to target the mage who was letting us see? We've done everything we needed to do here, and Port Ferox is desperate for those supplies; it would be sheer stupidity to stay. Who knows what else these things can do?"

As if in response to Robin's question, the fog disgorged a group—no, a formation—of six Risen making up two ranks. The first row carried rough swords and misshapen planks of wood that acted as shields, protecting the second row of long spears from a hail of arrows fired by Virion and the Plegian archers.

Robin was right that these Risen's eyes didn't resemble burning coals like usual. Even their kind's odd, erratic movements, while still present, were smoothed out in a way, as if the monsters had learned to be just a little bit more human. It sent a chill down Chrom's spine.

The Risen had emerged closest to the Plegian side of the terrace. Instead of mindlessly attacking whoever they saw first, these Risen chose a specific target: the young Plegian soldier who was still recovering from inhaling the miasma. They were going after the weakened member of the group first. The girl, still coughing, only hesitated a moment, hoisting her blade and scooping up the hand-axe that had saved her life, before scrambling away from the attackers.

Chrom took a step forward to help, but a second arrow meant for Tharja zipped out of the fog, he had to turn away to parry it. From multiple points around the terrace, more squads—he found himself mentally making the switch to view these creatures in human terms—of shield and spear Risen marched in perfect lock step to engage the defenders.

Robin, Miriel and Henry were the most effective against these tightly spaced groups, sending globes of fire crashing into them, igniting shields. However, whatever these new Risen were, many still appeared to possess—seemingly at random—the ability to withstand the magics. Even after the mages' salvos, over a score of the monsters still reached the line of Shepherds and Plegians.

Chrom cast another desperate glance to the young girl, and felt himself breathe a sigh of relief to see her back in the safety of her own people. He blinked, realizing that standing next to her, sticking out like a dragon among wyverns, was Vaike. When had he even had time to cross the terrace?

His old teacher noticed him looking and hefted his massive axe in a salute. Even with his face covered by an absurdly pattered orange bandana, Chrom knew Vaike would have that goofy grin of his plastered across his lips. The only other clothing the man wore was a pair of worn worker's trousers and equally well-used boots. Bare chested, he looked even more ridiculous next to the flowing silks of the Plegians.

The young Plegian woman noticed the movement of his axe and looked up to him, then jumped in surprise at finding a Shepherd among their ranks. Sheepishly, she offered the hand-axe she had recovered back to its owner.

Vaike's bombastic laugh carried over even the clash of steel. His voice was just as loud as he took the weapon. "Hoho! Awful thoughtful of you, sprout! Did you see that throw? Between you and me, I was aiming for its head!"

Chrom wasn't able to hear the girl's response over a rush of air coming from the direction of the cove. Minerva landed next to him with some difficulty in the irregular air currents created by Tharja's spell. Cherche peered down at him from atop her mount, speaking in accented Ylissian. "The rabbit lady is safe on ship. So, we go now, or fight?"

He was about to order the retreat when Mustafa strode over to him. The General had acquired a wickedly shaped maul from somewhere. The weapon looked like a carpenter's hammer in his hands. His voice was as low and thoughtful as ever, even though his white shirt was now stained purple with smoke.

"I don't condone what Kareem said to your tactician, but he was right about one thing: we cannot leave this island yet."

Robin, who was channeling another lightning strike near by made an incredulous noise. "Why in Naga's name not?"

It was Chrom who answered. "Because we're not the only people on this island, right? You mentioned a lighthouse and a family."

Mustafa nodded. "On the northeastern cliffs. If the Djinn are here, then those caretakers could be in danger too. It is our duty to see them safe."

Chrom saw the conflicted look in Robin's eyes. He knew the tactician had always struggled with this part of being a Shepherd. How did you protect the people you cared about when it was those people's job to, in turn, protect others? Robin was too logical to be able to work through a question like that. Luckily for him, he'd met Chrom.

"On my mark, Shepherds, be ready to push forward!" Chrom shouted over the din of battle. "Our hosts aren't with us this evening, and we'd be terrible guests to leave them to deal with these pests alone!"

Appearing to understand him, Minerva let out a screech of delight and leapt forward into a clump of Risen, scattering them with talons, tail and Cherche's axe. Mustafa held up his hand and shook his head.

"You misunderstand, Exalt. These are Plegians, my people, I am the one who is honor bound to protect them. You go, take my daughters to Quzah. There they'll be able to organize relief for Port Ferox."

Chrom winked at him. "How can I ask you to aid others then refuse to help rescue your own people? Besides, I think I might know who sent up that warning signal for us. I haven't seen them in a while; I'd like to catch up."

Robin let out an exasperated sigh, hiding his obvious anxiety behind truculent sarcasm. "Wonderful, I'll be sure to hide my tome this time." He turned to Tharja. "Can you keep channeling this spell while moving, like during the sandstorm?"

She hadn't had the opportunity to cover her face with her scarf, so they could all see her lip curl into a confident grin as she nodded. "So long as we don't move too fast, and I am not interrupted by arrows, then yes."

Henry bounded up to them, face cracked in that too-wide smile. "Oooh, a sandstorm? That sounds like something I could—"

"And keep this city boy away from me," Tharja snapped. "Or I will go back to the ship and leave you all to feel your way to this lighthouse and back."

Chrom clapped the cheerfully perplexed Henry on the back. "I wouldn't even think about testing her, friend." He raised his voice so the whole terrace could hear him. "Kellam, Sully, you're on arrow stopping duty. General, could you spare some soldiers to help guard a fellow Plegian?"

Mustafa shouted a curt command. Three heavily armored Plegians jogged over to stand in a circle around Tharja, side by side with the two Shepherds Chrom had chosen.

Sully laughed and thumbed her nose at one of the Plegians. "Tell you what, you block more arrows than me, and I'll take back all those things me an' Vaike said about you."

The other soldier shifted his veil so he could spit onto the stones, but banged his scimitar against his buckler, obviously excited for the competition.

Before giving the order to move out, Chrom sought out his wife as the two groups merged and reorganized into a more mobile formation under Robin's guidance. Sumia walked forward to meet him, but, seeing the gleam in his eye, tried to skip sideways out of his grip. She was too slow. Sheathing Falchion—and careful of her spear—he scooped her up in his arms. Pulling down her lavender scarf and his own cape, he planting a kiss on her rapidly reddening cheek. Plegians around them chucked and pointed, while the Shepherds just rolled their eyes.

Chrom set her down, noticing that despite her embarrassed blush, she was biting her lip in a poor attempt to keep herself from smiling. He gave her a sweeping bow and, in his best imitation of Virion, said, "My Queen, would it be too forward of me to ask you to stay back and organize a defense of the ships?"

She put a hand on her hip and cocked an eyebrow at him. He laughed and continued in a more normal tone. "I want you and Cordelia in charge of making sure our only way off this island isn't swarmed by Risen. One of Mustafa's daughters is staying behind too on the Bellicose, you can coordinate with her."

She tapped the butt of her spear thoughtfully against the ground. "Okay, love, but if you aren't back soon, I'm flying out to get you myself."

"Deal," he said, leaning forward to kiss her again. She blocked him with her spear. He took the opportunity to bend down and kiss the knuckles of the hand that was gripping her weapon.

As Sumia turned away, shaking her head, to begin making her way down the treacherous path leading to the cove and their ships, Chrom looked for and got a nod from Robin. He drew Falchion again and rewound his cape over his face. He gave a thumbs up to the General.

Mustafa ground out his command in Plegian, while Chrom shouted in Ylissian. "We follow the path north! Move out!"

The Shepherds and Plegians struck out with a will, following an uneven cobblestone path deeper into the island. Their formation took the shape of several concentric circles: the outer area of effect of Tharja's spell making up the perimeter, with a ring of eclectic hand weapons far enough inside of it to force the Risen to leave the cover of the fog to engage them. Behind that front line were the mages and archers, after that, Tharja's defenders, and finally the woman herself at the center channeling her magic.

As was typical with her, Tharja had understated her mastery of this particular wind spell, and could still move forward at a brisk march. According to Mustafa, the lighthouse was only half a mile away.

Chrom had never attributed the Risen with an abundance of tactical sense. Of the hundreds he'd slain, all had been driven to attack anything living they came across, but they did so as individuals, ignoring any other Risen they were with. It was beyond disconcerting to watch now as these creatures attacking them at the Manor fell back into the fog, attempting to adapt to the humans' sudden advance.

Now they came from all sides, probing the rescue force with seemingly random attacks. More spear and shield blocks harried their right side, pushed back Kareem and several of his soldiers, aided by Miriel lobbing globules of fire over their heads. At the same time, five Risen wielding axes came sprinting forward, attempting to crash through the line on the opposite side to reach Henry and Virion. They were rebuffed by Frederick and Mustafa's daughter, Sara.

The General himself marched at the head of the group, at Chrom's shoulder. It was he who first saw a flickering glow pierce the coiling gloom outside of Tharja's spell. He held up a hand to halt them, Chrom mirroring the command for the benefit of his Shepherds.

Mustafa pointed off to their left. "There. It looked like the flames from a spell, and it's too far to be one of ours. Do you suppose the Djinn have learned to use magic as well?"

Risen using tomes? That chilled Chrom's blood. But it didn't seem quite right to him. "If they can cast spells, why haven't they thrown some at us?"

"This mysterious friend of yours, then?"

Chrom shrugged. "I've never seen him use magic before, but he's a resourceful guy. It's not too far from us, can we divert? He did warn us."

In response, the General shouted to the group of his soldiers that made up the arc of their fighting circle closest to where the lights were emanating from. Chrom looked in that direction and spotted Cherche right in the center of the line of Plegians. She had dismounted Minerva, the wyvern crawled along next to her, snuffling and mewling. They were both fearsome fighters, but evidently Valm had yet to deal with any Risen.

"Cherche!" he called. "You've got the lead. We're heading for those lights."

Of course, Robin had planned for the event that they'd have to redirect their march. Instead of having to reorient the entire formation, they could simply pass off who was taking point to whoever was positioned in the direction they wanted to go.

Cherche raised her battle-axe above her head so the rest of the group could see her, then brought it crashing down into the skull of a Risen that thought to take advantage of her brief distraction. Fortunately for her, Sumia had leant her the lavender scarf his wife used during combat with the Risen. After her swing, Cherche reached up to fumble with it, obviously still not used to fighting with a mask.

Before they pushed forward to their new destination, Chrom rammed Falchion into the space between two cobblestones at his feet. Reaching into the inside pocket of his tunic, he produced two smooth flat stones. He winked at Mustafa's raised eyebrow and struck them together, as if he were trying to start a fire with flint and steel. Instead of a dull knock, the collision of the enchanted stones made a deafening, whip-crack sound. He hit the stones together twice, quickly, waited a beat, then two more times. An identical response came from the direction of the mysterious fire magic.

They didn't have to go far before something interacted with Tharja's spell; evidently whoever was out there had decided to meet them halfway. The barrier of wind closest to Cherche appeared to buckle inward with a ripple, the fog outside whirling crazily. Suddenly, the fog was thrust aside as a corridor of clear air sprang forward to connect with their own bubble.

Five figures became visible in front of the Shepherds and Plegians. The smaller group was standing on a veritable rampart of Risen corpses, fending off dozens more that poured out of the fog. As Chrom watched the fighters in stunned admiration, he noticed that the smaller tunnel of air was beginning to collapse.

"What are you waiting for?" he shouted. "Get over here! Shepherds—erm—everyone, cover their retreat!"

As the five began pushing towards them, and his own force stretched out to strike at the Risen, Chrom heard Mustafa let out what must have been a Plegian curse and hefted his maul. Chrom spun in time to see three of the creatures nearly on top of them. These Risen all carried daggers and moved in almost completely silence. He readied Falchion, but didn't get the chance to swing.

Panne exploded from the fog in her beast form. She resembled a giant hare the size of a black bear, with lithe, powerful muscles and claws that could have rivaled Minerva's talons, and… was she wearing a mask?

The Taguel eviscerated the charging Risen, dodging backwards to avoid the resulting explosion of smoke. The animal looked at him. It wasn't Panne.

This Taguel was smaller than she was, and the hair around their ears was different. Added to that, their jaws and snout were completely covered by something similar to a leather muzzle, something like what you'd put on an unruly dog or horse.

Chrom raised his hand. "Wait, you—"

The Taguel retreated back into the fog without acknowledging him.

A familiar, out-of-breath voice came from over his shoulder, tinged with anger. "What are you still doing here? You heard our warning, you should have been off this island."

Chrom turned to find himself staring down into the masked face of Marth. As always, the swordsman wore a thick dark cloak, with a hood that fit tight enough to hide hair that Chrom was convinced was blackened with dye. His face was completely obscured by an ovular wooden mask, painted a dark blue, with vertical slits for a mouth and eyeholes covered over with a black fabric. The only ornamentation on it was what appeared to be two carved butterfly wings that stretched out from the corners of the eyes, sweeping back to surround the ears.

Behind Marth, his four companions had also made it to the safety of the Shepherd and Plegian lines. They were all similarly dressed and masked, though only one carried a sword like Marth did. The shortest figure clutched a longbow tightly to their chest, while the tallest leaned on an axe, their own cloak barely covering a set of heavy plate armor. Behind them, the last of the new arrivals was doubled over, breathing hard, a tome held loosely in gloved hands.

Chrom smiled in the face of Marth's irritation. "You're not happy to see us? It's been a long time, friend. How did I know it would be you making all that noise, though I didn't expect you to have friends?"

Robin ducked away from the other mages who were torching the Risen that had tried to overwhelm Marth's group. He took in the five masked strangers and sighed. Obviously he was still a little on edge about the whole situation. "Of course he's here. Whenever something goes horribly wrong he's always not far away. Your friend is a walking ill omen, Chrom."

Even all covered up as he was, it was clear that Marth bristled at the comment. Chrom quickly got between the two, more for Robin's sake as he saw Marth reach for his sword. "Now be nice, Robin. It's not always bad. Marth was at my wedding, remember?"

Robin shook his head. "I stand by what I said."

Chrom turned to Marth and shrugged. "Don't mind him, he considers anytime he has to get dressed up, or speak with more than five people at a time, to be a tragedy. Me and Sumia were thrilled that you—"

"Why. Are. You. Still. Here?" Marth interrupted.

Mustafa finally joined the conversation. "Because of me. There is a family living in the lighthouse near by. To his credit, the Exalt offered his assistance in rescuing them from these Djinn."

Marth gave an exasperated sigh and stomped away from them. Like before, Chrom thought the man's smaller expressions always sounded higher pitched than his usual gruff voice. After taking a moment, Marth turned back.

"There are forces on this island, ones that I'm sure you've noticed. Me and my companions have dealt with them before. We'll go get the family, you fall back to your boats and wait for us."

Robin popped a few tiles free from his tome, replacing them to create a new spellwork. "You mean the Risen that can think? We've noticed. How about you explain what's going on. And please, I know you like to be vague and mysterious, but now isn't the time."

Even through the mask, the look of contempt Marth shot the tactician was evident. "They aren't thinking for themselves. Something on this island is giving them orders."

"Gangrel's pet mage?" Mustafa rumbled. "She was the one creating the Djinn. We never did capture her."

Marth shook his head. "We… we call it a Scourge. An abomination that gets created when enough Risen have been formed. They aren't to be trifled with. We've dealt with a few before, never easily. Please, let us handle this."

Chrom made to clap the swordsman on the back, then stopped himself. Some people just didn't like to be touched, and Marth always seemed to flinch away from him when he tried. Instead, he gave him a wink.

"Sorry, friend, but we didn't come all this way to turn around. Besides, as good as I'm sure your mage is, they don't have the same spell as our Tharja does. If you want to fight monsters then we'll leave that up to you, but we're all going together."

Marth squared his shoulder stubbornly, but suddenly deflated. "Fine," he mumbled. "Let's get going then. The faster this is done, the fast you all get to safely."

The swordsman turned to collect his comrades and position them throughout the formation. Suddenly remembering, Chrom called out to his retreating back. "Oh, did you hear? I'm a father now! You'll have to stop by Ylisstol after this to see my daughter!"

Marth faltered. "I…" he seemed at a genuine loss for words. "Umm… congratulations, I suppose."

"The lighthouse is just up ahead." Mustafa panted as the path they had rejoined became markedly smoother and in better repair.

After linking up with Marth and his friends, the frequency of Risen attacks had dropped to only the occasional harrying strike. None of them thought this was a good sign.

Chrom was impressed by the Plegians. He had always treated them with the wary respect of an enemy force before, but having them fight alongside him made him acutely appreciative that Gangrel's War hadn't gone on any longer. Ylisse might not have been victorious.

He still didn't think they were as good as his Shepherds, of course, but when it came to dealing with Risen, it was almost evenly matched. However, both sides looked like rank amateurs compared to Marth's group. They carved through Risen—even these new organized ones—with an almost frightening ease.

Arrows from the masked archer found gaps in Risen shield walls and tripped up charging axe wielders with unerring accuracy. On top of that, each shot seemed almost calculated to strike the monsters in a way that would cause the resulting cloud of miasma to be expelled away from any humans who might breathe it in. Their mage outperformed even Robin when it came to guessing which direction a squad of Risen would appear from next, and occasionally they'd come across piles of shredded corpses, no doubt the work of that other Taguel, flitting around them in the fog.

At the front, near by where Chrom and Mustafa were fighting, Marth and his two remaining soldiers were practically coated in the smoke from the creatures they had slain, their masks doing a remarkable job at protecting their breathing. To Robin's annoyance, they'd disregarded his explanation of the formation, moving freely around the circle to meet any Risen that made it passed the mages and archers.

At last, Tharja's spell revealed what they had been waiting for: the path gave way to an immense stone bridge. The relatively level, rocky terrain of the island abruptly dropped away to form a wide gorge with sheer cliffs on either side of it. The very top branches of what must have been a forest below poked up like skeletal hands out of the fog underneath the effects of the wind spell. Chrom could just barely make out the other side of the chasm, the towering lighthouse looming above them all.

Robin moved up next to him. "I thought all those Risen would have been waiting for us."

Marth appeared at his shoulder, making the tactician jump. "Scourges prefer to stalk their prey. If they're anywhere, they'll be behind us, waiting to trap us against this drop."

"You certainly know a lot about creatures that the rest of us have never even seen," Robin shot back. "We destroyed the biggest concentration of Risen ever seen back during Gangrel's War, and none of us have ever encountered one of these Scourge things before."

Marth rounded on him. "You're proving my point. You thought that was a lot of Risen? That was nothing. There's far more to these monsters than what you or anyone else can imagine. You don't know what you're doing, let me go in and get the family. Your forces can stay here and prepare for an attack."

"And why do you think we're so ignorant? Perhaps because the only person who knows anything is too full of themselves to—"

Chrom interrupted their argument with a clap of his hands, causing both participants to start in surprise. Once he was sure they wouldn't start again, he outlined his own plan. "Marth's right, if the Risen aren't in front of us, they're behind us. We should leave most of our force here. General, how big is that bit of land the lighthouse is on?"

Mustafa scratched thoughtfully at his bare head. "Small, very small. Beyond this bridge, the coast breaks up into treacherous spikes of rock. The lighthouse was built on the largest of these, but there's only just enough room for the structure, the rest thins out to a ridge that makes up the other side of this gorge."

"So there probably isn't a horde of Risen waiting for us over there," Chrom said. "Marth, you'll accompany the General and myself over to the lighthouse. Robin, you and Frederick work with Kareem to throw back anything that tries to attack our rear. Have Tharja stand with her guards at the start of the bridge, that'll give us more room to see over there and we can pass the family to the center of the circle once we get them out. Any objections?"

Obviously, Marth spoke up first. "Absolutely not! No matter how skeptical any of you are, there's still a Scourge prowling out there somewhere. My group can handle it if it's waiting for us across the bridge."

It was Mustafa who answered before Chrom or Robin could. "And how many of your group speak Plegian? How will you communicate with the people in there?"

"My archer is Plegian born."

The answer elicited a raised eyebrow from the General. "And when a bunch of masked soldiers break into their home and demand they leave, what will the family think? They will recognize me. And while your help is appreciated, I do not know you. I trust the Exalt, so he is coming as well."

There was a sudden shout of alarm from behind them. Risen began flooding out of the fog to batter against the back ranks of rescuers. Robin wordlessly took off and began passing along Chrom's orders, reorganizing them again to better repel the attack. Mustafa strode out in the other direction, across the bridge.

Chrom shrugged at Marth. "We're going. You can glare at our backs or lend us your sword. Your choice."

He had joined the General halfway across the bridge before he heard the hurried footsteps of Marth jogging to catch up with them.

Tharja's spell let them cross with relative ease, but once they reached the other side of the gorge the fog began to jealousy reassert itself. They stole around the circular base of the building to where a small wooden door had been torn from its hinges. Long claw marks marred the stone around the empty frame, but there wasn't any sign of more Risen.

Mustafa leaned his hammer against the outside of the lighthouse and cupped both hands around his mouth, calling in urgent Plegian into the darkened structure. There was movement from inside, the sound of creaking floorboards, then something rushed out at them, swinging a weapon.

The General caught the broom effortlessly, his other hand clamping down on the shoulder of a ragged looking man with wide eyes. Even with a full grown man, Mustafa had to crouch down so they could be eye to eye. He spoke again, gently, to the lighthouse keeper. The man sagged in relief, all the terrified fight going out of him. From behind him, four pairs of eyes peered out of the darkness, a woman and three children.

Mustafa spoke again, then translated the man's stammering response. "He says one of the Djinn tried to—did—break in, but he barricaded his family on the upper levels. It moved around inside for some time, then left. He says they haven't seen another one since."

Marth was prowling back and forth, head never still. "They're lucky to be alive. Now, shall we go so we can all stay that way?" As if suddenly remembering who he was talking to, he added a begrudging, "Please, General."

"Right," Chrom whispered. "I'll take one of the kids, you, General, and papa here can take the other two. Mama runs out front and Marth takes up the rear."

Mustafa ignored him and reached over to gently lift two of the children in his arms. They stared up at him with eyes the size of saucers, the terrors of the day forgotten at the sight of this mountain of a man. He didn't so much as glance at his maul as he left it and began making his way back across the bridge.

"My people, Exalt," he called over his shoulder. "My burden to carry, quite literally, in this case. And before you say something impudent, I'd also prefer to have as many weapons ready as possible. I don't know if I believe in this Scourge creature, but I find myself not wanting to take any chances were we to meet one."

The mother and father hoisted their last child between them and ran off together towards the flashes and shouts of the main force. Chrom and Marth took up positions behind and to either side of Mustafa as they reenter the influence of Tharja's spell.

The other side of the bridge became clear, and Chrom couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. The Shepherds and Plegians were fighting side by side like a unit who had served together for months. Plegian swords made quick work of Risen axes, then scuttled back behind Shepherd fighters when lances tried to punish them. It wasn't such an overwhelming victory as he had been hoping for, however.

He saw Henry, popping Risen like overfilled waterskins in a grizzly display of dark magic, take an arrow in the shoulder. The masked archer who had accompanied Marth dropped their bow and dragged him back to the protected circle around Tharja. Several people were there already, sporting an assortment of different wounds. All the Shepherd healers had stayed behind in Port Ferox, and the one Plegian with a staff was overwhelmed. Frederick stomped among them, a bloody cloth awkwardly clamped under his armpit where a lucky strike must have nicked him, his free hand liberally pouring out vulneraries on any injury he could find. Despite this, Chrom was suddenly confident that a coalition wasn't as impossible as the General had implied.

Sully spotted them when they were halfway across the bridge. She shouted out and waved to Robin. He looked in there direction, and Chrom raised Falchion above his head and waved it in a circle. Robin called to Kareem and together they barked out the order to attack. Both forces began to advance, a few reserve fighters falling back to help with the wounded.

The two lighthouse keepers and the child they were carrying reached Sully, who introduced them to Kellam. The big man was in charge of keeping them safe on the march back to the ships.

Mustafa was still some distance away from safety when Chrom felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Marth grabbed him and tried to haul him backwards, but Chrom shoved him away and leapt for the General. Like with Tharja and the arrows, every instinct he had was shouting at him to move, and just as he reached Mustafa, Chrom whirled around and threw up Falchion to block a strike he was sure was coming.

Something ripped in Chrom's bicep as he caught a hideous blow on his blade. It would have surely slain the General, and, as it was, sent Chrom tumbling backwards, coming up just short of the edge of the bridge. He forced himself to jump back up, his sword arm still worked, but not without excruciating pain. Mustafa turned back, his eyes going wide, not with concern, but true fear at what stood behind him.

"Run!" Chrom screamed as he stumbled forward. "Get them to safety, go!"

The closest thing Chrom could compare the Scourge to was a Taguel in its humanoid form. Its limbs were elongated far past what would be normal for a human, but that was where the similarities ended. It towered taller than even the General, but was unnaturally thin and wiry. Instead of the sallow skin of a Risen, this monstrosity was covered with a patchwork of fur, scales, feathers, insect-like chiton and twisted flesh, as if it had been sewn together from a menagerie of different animals. It wore only a warped steel helmet that looked as if it was fused to the creature's neck. Burning red eyes were all that could be seen through its slitted visor.

It flung a massive cleaver aloft and bellowed at him, its other hand was made up of a twisted ball of antlers, horns and spikes. It charged, reaching Chrom in the blink of an eye, bringing down its weapon in another brutal blow. He wasn't sure he'd survive locking blades with this abomination again, so he threw himself to the side at the last moment. The Scourge's blade cracked the stones he had been standing on.

A dagger came spinning through the air to bury itself deep in the creature's back. Marth dashed past Chrom and hurled himself at the Scourge. The tip of his own blade just barely managed to carve a thin line down the monster's chest, before it swung its mace-like hand at his head. Marth dodged, not able to avoid one of the spikes carving a furrow on the right cheek of his mask.

The Scourge still bled smoke like the other Risen, but instead of the airy spray, thick tongues of the miasma drooled out of its wound to settle around its clawed and hoofed feet.

Chrom pushed himself back up, forcing his mind to ignore the pain in his arm. "How do we kill this thing?"

Marth circled the creature, as if guiding its attention away from Chrom. "Normally, you don't. But we can't let it get to our back lines."

Chrom was about to respond, but, as if it was waiting for that exact moment, the Scourge pounced. Marth tried to dodge again, but it dropped its cleaver and grabbed him around the chest. Chrom was in the middle of charging the monster's blind spot when it flung Marth at him. They crashed into each other, the pommel of Marth's sword catching him on the side of the head.

Chrom's vision blurred, so much so that he thought Tharja's spell must have ended and the fog was seeking to engulf him. He pushed himself away across the stones, rapidly blinking and rubbing at his temple. His fingers came back bloody.

His sight returned in time for him to see Marth get smashed in the face by the Scourge's off hand. The creature had taken the time to collect its discarded blade, and had evidently tried to finish the swordsman off. Marth had planted one more slash on the inside of its elbow before his luck ran out.

Marth's wooden mask exploded into shards as he was sent rolling, sword skittering off a ways down the bridge, coming to rest in an unconscious sprawl at Chrom's feet. Chrom moved to stand over him, crouching down in a protective stance. The Scourge let out a coughing, rasping sound that was too close to laughter. Chrom bared his teeth, even though the creature couldn't see his face under his cape. It understood anyways, and galloped forward.

Chrom charged too, not wanting to fight over where Marth lay. The Scourge whipped its cleaver around, seeking to cut him in two. Chrom dropped to his knees and bent back as far as he could go, feeling a rush of air a hair's breath from his nose and forehead. Coming up, he lashed out with Falchion, feeling the weapon bite deep into the monster's thigh. He heard it scream as he whirled around, ready to fend off another assault. To his horror, the Scourge hadn't stopped running.

It bore down on a dazed Marth, just beginning to move and groan. Chrom would never make it in time. He switched Falchion to his uninjured side and reeled it back, preparing to throw the legendary blade. He'd only tried this before in practice. He could hit a target… half of the time.

A flicker overhead stayed his hand.

Then, like an avenging angel from one of Lissa's stories, Sumia slammed down from the heavens, spear first into the abomination. For all its speed, the Scourge didn't have a hope of dodging her strike. Her spear stabbed straight down threw the top of its helmet and back out of where its jaw must have been. The force of the blow bent the creature double as the spear's tip buried itself in between two stones of the bridge, pinning it upright.

Sumia released the spear, landed on her feet, performed a perfect roll to arrest some of her moment, then tripped. Chrom dropped Falchion and caught her moments before she hit the ground. They fell back in a heap.

They lay together for a while. No Scourge tried to kill them, and the shouts from the battle suddenly became more triumphant. Chrom levered himself up as Sumia rolled off of him. She must have heard him grunt in pain.

"Oh, are you hurt?" she fretted. "Was it because of me or that… thing?"

He pulled down his cape so she could see his grin. "An odd question, darling. Are you asking because you're worried about me or because you want to be sure you're not to blame?"

She raised a hand to swat at him, but seeing how he cradled his arm, chose to help him up instead. Chrom finally had a view of how the rest of their force was faring. True to what Marth had said, with the Scourge's life smoke now pooling across the stones, the unnatural intelligence of the other Risen seemed to have fled. They watched as the well-formed Risen squads disintegrated into a mindless rush at the defenders, who Robin had quickly shifted into a more convention counter-Risen formation.

Once he was standing, Sumia rushed over to where Marth was sitting up, keeping her distance from the corpse of the Scourge she had slain. Chrom picked up and sheathed Falchion, moving to join her, but not before taking a slight detour, shuffling over to collect Marth's fallen blade.

He nudged his wife in the side and held out the weapon. "Lift that. Is it just me, or does it feel familiar somehow?"

Sumia didn't answer. Pain and exhaustion made it several moments before he realized her hands were clapped over her mouth in shock. He followed her gaze to where Marth had gotten his feet under him.

The wooden mask must have also been used to secure the hood in place. Without it, long hair, tied back in a ponytail, smeared at the roots with a black liquid but fading to dark blue at the ends, was visible. Above angular cheeks and a bloody, broken nose, two blue eyes looked back at him in just as much surprise as Sumia's.

He knew those eyes.

Not a month ago, he and Sumia had said goodbye to those eyes as they both leaned over a cradle.

He stared down at Marth, who gazed back with the eyes of Chrom's daughter.