Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 2 ❯ CHAPTER 49: ENDGAME ( Chapter 18 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

When they reached the entrance to the gardens, Ike held up one bloody fist to call them to a halt. They were standing in a dimly lit stone corridor, and everyone was silent. “Before we go out there, there’s something I want to say… I was thinking just now, about how I would like to die.” His voice was wistful but strong. There was blood on his jaw and neck from a wound he’d receiving getting them here. “The obvious scenario came to mind: at home, surrounded by friends and family, no regrets—that sort of thing.” He shook his head. “But then I realized…the battlefield is my home, you are all my friends and family, and I have no regrets. Fighting beside you has been the greatest honor, and if I should die today, I can think of no better way to go.” He saluted, and every mercenary and soldier saluted back. Even Elincia. Even Soren.

Ike turned to the doors between them and Ashnard. They weren’t locked, so he and the princess each laid a hand on one and pushed them open together. The Greil Regiment marched into the gardens, which was blinding with daylight after the dark corridor.

The courtyard was teaming with soldiers, but no one attacked yet. The forty members of Ike’s party stepped into formation. Elincia mounted her pegasus, still standing right beside him. Soren stood behind them, in a row with Titania, Ranulf, Ena, Bastian, Geoffrey, and Lucia.

An enormous black shape was flying toward them from the opposite end of the gardens. “Heads up!” Ike called. With one hand he signaled that the company should standby, and with the other he drew his sword.

“It’s…it’s him…” Elincia murmured. She walked her pegasus forward just as the creature landed before her.

It was the largest wyvern Soren had ever seen, and atop it sat a man wearing ornate black armor and a billowing red cloak. His face was very pale, but he didn’t appear sickly. He was massively built and wielded an incredibly large, jagged-edged sword. His hair and beard were dark blue, and his eyes were like pits below his brow.

“Elincia, what are you doing?” Ike hissed, “Get back!”

The king’s mount released a jet of blue flame in front of her hooves. The pegasus danced in fear, but Elincia gripped the reigns firmly and maintained control. Soren was shocked, not because of Elincia’s steadfastness, but because wyverns didn’t breathe fire. It seemed obvious in retrospect, but this wasn’t a wyvern at all. It was a feral dragon—a royal black dragon in fact. And unlike the beasts at Gritnea Tower, this one had been completely broken to the Mad King’s will.

“Ashnard,” Elincia acknowledged him solemnly.

“King Daein,” Ike growled, but the king didn’t look at him.

He was assessing Elincia and chuckling. “It’s been a long time, Princess Crimea.”

Elincia just glared back.

“You look quite different than you did the day I cut your father and mother down like cattle,” he continued, “I can hardly believe you’re the same little girl who did nothing but tremble and stare.”

This was news to Soren and apparently to Ike as well, judging by his expression. Elincia had never mentioned witnessing her parents’ death.

“You-you craven-” she growled through gritted teeth. “I’ve returned to see you defeated! I will no longer allow you to treat Crimea any way you please!”

Ashnard laughed again. “How brave and noble of you. However, you are not the one I seek.” He flicked his reigns, and his reptilian steed shifted onto its back legs, swiping at Elincia with its forepaws. Her pegasus whinnied and reared back, batting its wings and narrowly avoiding the blow.

“Elincia!” Ike cried, launching himself between her and Ashnard.

“Are you the one they say is the son of Gawain?” Ashnard asked, finally giving Ike his full attention. The dragon lowered itself onto its forelegs again.

“King Ashnard of Daein! Your treachery dies on my blade!” Ike answered.

“Is that so?” Ashnard laughed again. “I see that blade in your hand… It is blessed, is it not? The only type of blade that can pierce my armor.” He beat his hand against his breastplate to punctuate his words. “But it matters not how famous the blade. If the wielder lacks skill, the greatest sword is nothing but blunted steel.”

The strategy for defeating Ashnard didn’t account for his armor being as heavily enchanted as the Black Knight’s. But it had always been a possibility. Rather than attacking the king together, Ike would have to fight alone.

“Don’t worry. You’ll see for yourself how blunt it is.” Ike sounded confident enough, but that didn’t mean he could defeat him—especially if Ashnard used the medallion. Soren shivered at the thought.  

“I expect good things from you, son of Gawain.” Ashnard cast his arms wide as if to show off the castle gardens (which were trampled, unruly, and had seen better days). “What you see before you are my elite, handpicked soldiers. How will you deal with them? I’m looking forward to watching you, so you’d best not disappoint.” With a kick and a flick of his reins, the dragon launched into the air.

“Wait!” Ike shouted, but there was nothing he could do. Ashnard flew over their heads, banked sharply, and then glided all the way to the raised balcony on the opposite end of the courtyard. From there he would be able to observe the entire battle. Ike turned to his mercenaries. “Any of you whose arms remember what it is to battle, step forth! I would take of your strength now!”

The company charged. Soren’s legs churned with the rest, running to meet the first line of Daein knights. As expected, these were no common soldiers. Each one was a challenge to vanquish. They were quick, strong, and cunning. There were feral laguz deployed in the gardens as well: a couple tigers, a few cats, and four dragons from what he could see.

Once the first group had been cleared, Soren fell back. As was the plan, he and Bastian used the long-distance spells Bolting, Meteor, and Blizzard to thin the herd and aid their companions. However, these spells were relatively rare, and they quickly depleted their supply. Once they did, the pair raced to rejoin the others.

With these opponents, each altercation seemed a lengthy duel. No one went down easily. Every single one seemed to be an expert at predicting and avoiding basic magical attacks, so Soren was forced to resort to the strongest spells in his repertoire—the most advanced of which were the two pages of Arcwind Bastian had given him. He could also summon Tornado, Thoron, and Bolganone, but these spells required a lot of power and concentration and exhausted him. He wondered with each incantation if it would be his last, but he had no choice but to take that chance. As Ike had said, now was the time to use every drop of strength he had left.

 

“*Spirits of lightning, surge great and lay waste to my enemy!*” Soren called and blasted a tall red dragon with a ball of lightning. The spell caused his own hair to stand on end, and he could hear the electric current crackling beneath the beast’s scales. He sustained it until the dragon hit the ground, dead but still convulsing.

“What does it take to kill these things?” Shinon complained as he pulled an arrow from its scaly hide. Finding the head still intact, he knocked it and sent it flying into the neck of a paladin charging toward them. The knight gurgled in surprise and fell from her saddle. The horse kept charging, and Soren and Shinon had to throw themselves into a crushed rosebush to make way.

They scrambled up again to avoid getting stepped on by Ena’s giant foot, and Shinon loped in another direction while Soren remained. Ena was only stumbling backward because a party of four archers were shooting at her face and she had her eyes closed and her forelegs raised to cover them. Soren started chanting simple Wind spells to protect her, while Titania came in for a rescue.

“Yaaahh!” she yelled, urging her steed forward and trampling one of the archers. She tried to cut down another with her poleax, but the soldier blocked the attack with his bow and rolled out of the way. She rounded on him, and they traded blows

Meanwhile, Ranulf bounded toward another in a streak of blue fur and sunk his teeth deep into the man’s neck. But the bite wasn’t deep enough. His jugular was spared, and Ranulf’s lower teeth were stuck in his leather gorget. The archer drew a knife and stabbed backwards into Ranulf’s underbelly.

While they continued to fight, Ena had regained her ability to see and shot a burst of flame at the remaining two. They both evaded the blast, and Soren engaged one while Janaff descended on the other. He lifted her into the air and only dropped her when she managed to extract her own knife and slice the back of his skinny leg. She tried to catch herself in a roll when she fell, but her neck snapped and she didn’t move again. Although he was the victor, Janaff clearly wasn’t happy about it.

“Whatcha have to do that for?” he complained. “Oh Ashera, I can’t feel my toes!”

Soren ignored him because he was still fighting the fourth archer and having a hard time. This soldier was quite nimble and had sharp instincts. He always managed to avoid the worst of whatever Elwind or Tornado spell Soren managed to summon. Then, in one swift movement, the archer rolled onto his feet and pulled off a shot. Soren tried to avoid the arrow, but it embedded itself in his arm. The force yanked his shoulder out of its socket and knocked him to the ground. Luckily Ena roasted the archer before he could release another arrow.

Soren nodded up at her in thanks, and she inclined her reptilian head before moving on. There were many more enemies to fight, which meant Soren needed to return to the fray as soon as possible. Taking a steadying breath, he got himself up using his good arm. Then he scanned the gardens looking for a healer. Mist wasn’t far away, fighting in tandem with Mia. She’d lost her horse out on the battlefield and was now fighting (and healing) on foot.

Soren made his way toward them, and when Mist spotted him, she said something to Mia, who nodded and said something in reply. Mist darted off to meet him halfway, and Mia scooped up an opponent’s fallen sword. She fought on with two blades as if to make up for the loss of her friend.

“Hold still,” Mist said, but she was already yanking the arrow out. Then she jolted the arm back into place with such practiced ease that Soren realized she was taller than him now and certainly stronger.

Drawing her staff, she whispered, “*Mend*,” and the hole closed seamlessly. The joint clicked and was sore to move, but he hadn’t lost much blood. He could still fight.

“Mist!” Mia shouted. “Over there!” She stopped fighting just long enough to point the tip of one sword to where Ike, Boyd, and Mordecai were fighting at the base of the stairs leading to Ashnard’s perch. They were matched against eight halberdiers and two archers. Soren could tell Boyd was bleeding badly, even at this distance. Every time he tried to stand up, he stumbled back again.

“Hang on, Boyd!” Mist cried, although the trio were still too far away to hear her. In a moment, she was gone.

 Soren spared a Thoron spell to aid Mia and give her the advantage she needed to best two of her opponents. But then he was hurrying after Mist. He wanted to aid Ike too.

Unfortunately his haste made him careless, and he was knocked to the ground by a feral laguz leaping out of a shrubbery. Hitting the ground brought stars to his eyes. The cat’s front paws dug into his shoulders, and its rear claws found purchase in his legs, completely immobilizing him. Its frothing mouth came in for the kill, and although Soren struggled and tried to form the words of a spell, his brain no longer seemed fully connected to his tongue.

The cat slumped a moment later, and Soren rolled it off. To arrows were sticking out of its side, and when Soren looked where they’d come from, he saw Rolf and Astrid not far away.

“You’re welcome!” Rolf cheered, and Astrid leaned over in her saddle so he could slap her palm. Then she trotted away, and Rolf went in search of new opponents.

Touching the back of his head and finding only a little blood, Soren rose and set his eyes on where Ike and the others were fighting. Even before his vision steadied, he recognized that they were in dire straits. They’d lost ground and been forced off the stairs, and now they were fighting enemies above and below.

Soren made his way more carefully now, checking his periphery and trying to use all his senses. He was still far from Ike when a large shadow suddenly swept over them. Naesala dove out of the sky a moment later, transformed midair, and knocking all of the halberdiers off their feet. Then he ripped into them with his talons and beak, killing three before the others could rise. His surprise appearance gave Ike and the others a chance to eliminate their unbalanced opponents and regain lost ground. Soren didn’t know why the Raven King had left the eastern front, but he was glad he was on their side.

With Naesala’s help, the situation on the stairs had swiftly turned in the Greil Regiment’s favor. As much as Soren longed to fight at Ike’s side and reach Ashnard as soon as possible, he knew that was no longer where he was most needed.

He cast his eyes over the courtyard to assess the situation while his mind cleared. Tauroneo was fighting in a nearby gazebo, locked in battle with a heavily armored man Soren recognized as General Bryce, the last of Daein’s Four Riders. Geoffrey and Lucia were fighting outside the gazebo, apparently keeping Bryce’s guardsmen away from the two generals. Despite fighting on the frontlines most of the day, both nobles seemed to have energy left, and Soren didn’t think he needed to intervene.

He kept searching and saw Lethe and Muarim laying waste to a phalanx of axmen. When one tried to escape, Tormod burnt him to a crisp. Lethe inclined her head in thanks, and Muarim said something Soren couldn’t hear. But his feline face was smiling proudly.

Farther into the garden, Largo and Calill were taking on a squadron of swordsmen. The pair almost looked like they were dancing (or at least, striking flirtatious poses with each spell-cast and ax-swing). Soren didn’t want to get involved in that, so he kept looking.

Jill and Haar were battling a couple dracoknights over the gabled roofs and jutting balconies encasing the courtyard, but they hardly seemed to need his aid. Elincia, Marcia, and Tanith were keeping the other dracoknights occupied, but they were fighting so high in the air, Soren couldn’t help even if he wanted to.

Ulki was fighting closer to the ground, but he was currently working with Kieran and neither seemed to need Soren’s help. Ulki was chasing paladins, whose horses he whipped into a frenzy with his predatory shrieks, and he chased them right to Kieran, whose axe found their twisted necks when they looked over their shoulders at the hawk.

Soren heard someone charging him from behind and pivoted while chanting a Tornado spell: “*Spirits of wind, rip apart these skies, lay waste to my enemy!*” he called, managing to finish it before they reached him. Swirling winds enveloped the two swordswomen, but they were well-trained and immediately hit the ground, covering their heads.

When the spell faded, they stood again. The armor and flesh of their backs had been rent, but they were still quite alive. They ran toward Soren in unison, and he narrowly dodged their strikes while muttering additional spells.

They were too fast, and Soren was too tired. He didn’t know how long he could keep this up, and the spells he was casting only gave him brief moments of reprieve. The women never succumbed to them.

But then help arrived. With the harsh clang of steel on steel, Zihark and Stefan each caught one of the blades on their own. Stefan winked, and Soren glowered before ducking to safety. Blades clanged erratically as the four fought, and Soren provided assistance with some well-timed Elthunder spells. Eventually the two soldiers were overpowered and defeated.

More were on their way, but Soren left Zihark and Stefan to take care of these newcomers themselves, because Gatrie’s voice had just called for help.

“Woah, somebody, we’re getting a bit touchy over here!” he called nervously before grunting and swearing. Soren ran toward the sound and soon saw Brom and Gatrie fending off a squadron of mages in the corner of the garden. A dozen other bodies already littered the ground: evidence of an intense fight.

“Ooo, hot, hot hot!” sang Brom when a fire mage tried to melt his helmet onto his head. Luckily he wrenched it off quickly enough and saved himself a lot of pain. As soon as Soren was within range, he began casting Elwind spells.

Rhys was behind the two shield knights, and Oscar and Makalov were lying in front of him, both apparently unconscious. Their horses appeared injured too, and one was lying down, panting hard.

“Hold on,” Rhys was murmuring to himself, and his arms were bloody up to his elbows. Seizing his staff from the ground, he seemed to be holding Oscar’s intestines in place while he healed the wound. “Hold on. Hold on.” he continued. “Stay with me.”

Soren switched exclusively to Tornado spells, trying to weave a wall of slicing blades that would shred anyone trying to get close to the healer. Once Gatrie realized what he was doing, he threw a mage into the torrent. Once he was dead, Soren manipulated the winds to lash out against the other mages.

A trio of axe paladins were running toward them, and Soren suspected his winds wouldn’t be enough to stop the horses’ charge or penetrate their steel barding. Fortunately, however, Soren hadn’t been the only one to hear Gatrie’s cry. Nephenee and Ilyana were on their way and arrived ahead of the Daeins.

Nephenee launched a spear into one of the horses’ necks, and the animal went down with a strangled scream. The rider fell with it, and before he could disentangle his crushed leg, Ilyana struck him with lightning, frying him on the spot.

“Take that, yer vil’nous sacks of ‘nure!” Nephenee spat.

“Yes, take that!” Ilyana agreed softly.

The other two horsemen were rounding on them, but Soren was prepared with a Bolganone spell. He cast it at the horses’ hooves, which sank into the molten earth, stopping their charge in an instant. One horse escaped, whinnying as fire surged up its legs, but the other was stuck, screaming pitifully. A knife came out of nowhere, flying straight into its wide eye and piercing its brain. The corpse toppled, and the rider fell into the lava instead. Now he was screaming. Another knife ended his life in much the same way. Glancing over his shoulder, Soren spotted Sothe and Volke tucked in the shadow of a nearby arbor. Volke slunk away, but Sothe detached himself from the shadows and loped over.

“We borrowed some of Daein’s supplies,” he explained quietly before opening and dropping a sack of vulneraries and elixirs at Rhys’s side. “These should help, right?”

“They certainly do. Thank you.” He uncorked one to use on Makalov, and Soren was relieved to see Oscar had survived his ordeal. He was still unconscious, but at least his chest was rising and falling evenly.

Sothe had a Physic staff roped to his back, and he dropped it on the ground as well. Then he ran off without another word, pulling knives out of his pockets as he went.

The mages were dead and Nephenee and Ilyana had just eliminated the final paladin. Gatrie and Brom seemed like they wanted to stay and keep protecting this corner until their friends were revived, but Soren had no reason to stay. He jogged off to see where else he might be needed.

Ike was still on the steps to the balcony. The Daein soldiers were densest there, obviously intent on protecting their king. Ike seemed to have been separated from Naesala, Boyd, and Mordecai, who were fighting farther down the stairs. He had only Devdan at his side now, with Mist healing them from behind and Reyson singing galdr to keep them both fighting tirelessly.

Even with Mist and Reyson’s support, the situation didn’t look good. Soren hurried over as quickly as he could, and as he passed his comrades fighting, he realized, in amazement, that Daein was losing. Ike’s strongest were beating Ashnard’s strongest.

Soren, for one, was exhausted. His magical ability felt like it had been sapped dry, and his very soul felt empty. His sleeves and cloak were in tatters. His entire body ached and, in many places, he was still bleeding. His mental fog had ebbed, but his head still ached from his previous fall. He must have bit his tongue at that point as well, because his mouth kept filling with blood. As he ran toward the stairs, he realized he was limping slightly. His left ankle felt sore and swollen. Perhaps he’d rolled it avoiding an enemy attack; he couldn’t remember. But it was clear this battle was taking its toll.

He arrived just as several others did, because he hadn’t been the only one to notice the situation facing their commander. While Soren’s half surged to help him, Ranulf led the other half to the opposite side of the balcony, and in this way the mercenaries crawled up both sides of the symmetrical stairs. When Soren’s group reached the first landing, he paused a moment to survey the ravaged gardens. Dead Daeins lay everywhere, but Ike’s forces were pushing forward. He couldn’t see a single dead body that belonged to someone he knew. Shaking his head in bewilderment, he turned back the battle.

Ashnard and his dragon were all too visible now—and the Mad King’s laughter all too audible. “Yes, yes!” he called as he watched his own soldiers thrown off the landings or shoved down the steps. “More, more!”

Soren wondered if he was truly insane or if he thought every death brought him one step closer to releasing the dark god. At the thought of the medallion, Soren wondered if Ashnard had it somewhere on his person, and if so, why he hadn’t touched it yet. He could end this now if he wanted to. Then again, perhaps he didn’t want to.

Soren found himself subconsciously counting the deaths until every Daein except the king was lying still. Ashnard was still smiling, and he turned his dragon to face Ike. “Come, boy.”

“Stay back,” Ike warned his mercenaries, thrusting out an arm to stop them from charging the balcony. “None can injure him but me.”

Naesala landed beside him and Ena stepped up on the other side, both in their human forms. “I may not inflict much damage, but I am strong enough to help.” Her voice was quiet but filled with rage. “I would see this man dead.” She placed her palms together and transformed once more.

“I would as well,” Naesala agreed solemnly.

In reply, Ike merely raised his sword and stepped forward. Soren was glad he would not have to fight completely alone. But it was disconcerting that his allies in this final hour were once his enemies. Both were cunning laguz with secret motives Soren still couldn’t untangle. But they were Ike’s only hope now; Soren could do nothing.

Ashnard released a satisfied laugh. “Excellent! You’ve done well to have grown so strong. At last, I have gained a foe worthy enough to test my sword. Enjoy my might to your heart’s content.”

Ike scowled, moved Ragnell to his opposite hand, and widened his stance

“Ah, I remember that stance well. So your father taught you swordplay, did he? How very happy that makes me.” The king chuckled again.

“Mad King Ashnard! I will cut you down with this blade and end your reign of terror!”

“You? Cut me down?” The king released an amused sigh but then grew serious. “Good.” He laughed again. “If you possess the strength, so be it. This is how all things should be.”

Ena and Naesala each took a step forward, but Ike raised a hand to stop them. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

But it seemed Ashnard was done chatting. His dragon lunged forward and shot a jet of flame at Ike’s position, but he rolled forward to avoid it. Ashnard’s long sword swept down, nearly grazing his head, but Ike threw himself to the ground to dodge the blade. The dragon’s foreleg almost crushed him a moment later, but Ena smashed into the beast, saving him.

The dragon craned its neck to shoot fire at Ike again, but Ena trapped its head between her right foreleg and scaly body. Her movements were powerful yet careful—almost gentle.

Ike jumped up and began slashing the dragon’s legs and underbelly while Naesala distracted Ashnard with beak and talon. Minutes ticked by in which Ashnard seemed to play with the Raven King. The dragon struggled and shook in Ena’s grasp, while Ike avoiding its flailing wings, legs, and tail. But they were making no progress.

Suddenly, Naesala abandoned his assault on Ashnard and swooped toward Ike instead. Soren’s heart plunged for a moment, until he realized the raven had grabbed Ike under his arms—holding him securely without stabbing him. With a surge of his wings, he lifted Ike into the air, throwing him onto the dragon’s back behind the king.

Ena lost her hold on the dragon, but swiftly reclaimed it with a few bites and punches. Then she seemed to do her best to hold it still while Ike got unsteadily to his feet. Ashnard undid the straps on his legs and stood among the dragon’s crooked spines. He was still laughing, apparently entirely at ease standing on their narrow, precarious, surging battleground. Ike kept his footing, attacking from one side while Naesala fought on the other.

Down below, Soren could do nothing but watch. Reyson was singing galdr, and Elincia had appropriated Rhys’s Physic staff to heal them at a distance. But everyone else was useless.

That being said, this was a battle teetering on the edge of a knife. It couldn’t last forever. One side or the other would have to give. Naesala was still attacking Ashnard from the side of the dragon’s head, Ike from the side of the tail. And yet Ashnard fended them both. Soren marveled at his skill.

Then, with a sudden backward arc of his sword, Ashnard struck Naesala in the center of his body. The bird crashed into the dragon’s side, leaving a bloody streak as it slid to the ground.

“Naesala!” Ike bellowed, but he didn’t stop fighting. The flurry of his sword grew more intense—to King Daein’s ecstatic pleasure.

“Ouch,” Naesala croaked, and he momentarily flickered from his raven to human shape as he struggled to remain transformed. Then he finally settled back into his bird form and rolled under the dragon. Scratching upward with his talons, he successfully tore open the wounds Ike had gouged into the reptile’s underbelly. The beast was spilling blood now.

Up above, Ike finally got behind Ashnard’s guard. With a furious shriek, he disarmed the man, and his sword fell to the ground next to a surprised-looking Naesala. The Mad King tried to keep fighting without a sword, and for a few moments, Soren heard the ring of Ike’s blade against his gauntlets almost as often as his fists colliding with Ike’s body. Even now Ashnard still looked happy, and he still didn’t use the medallion.

Then—finally—with an even louder, more broken-sounding cry, Ike sheathed his sword in the king’s flesh.

“Excellent… Excellent!” His chuckles were much weaker now. “So good! More…more, I say! At this time of ascension, it’s not, ugh…not…enough…”

The dragon wrenched itself out of Ena’s grasp and headbutted her before toppling. Ena slid backward, reverted her form, and fell to her knees. Naesala barely got out from under the dragon in time—crawling away with a broken wing and what must be serious abdominal injuries—and Ashnard and Ike were sent flying from its back.

Rhys and Ranulf ran forward. Ranulf pulled the Raven King to safety as the dragon continued to writhe, and Rhys wasted no time tending his injures, which looked even ghastlier in his human form.

Ashnard’s and Ike’s bodies had both rolled across the stone floor, but neither fell over the balcony’s edge, and after a moment, Ike’s got up again. He was gripping his left arm with a pained expression, and Soren guessed it had been dislocated, if not broken, by the fall. He stumbled over to Ashnard’s body and pulled his sword free with his good arm.

Ike’s loyal mercenaries, soldiers, and miscreants surged to congratulate him and see for themselves that the Mad King was dead. Soren was at the front of the line.

“Now…it is truly over,” Ike said hollowly.

Titania clapped him on the back, causing him to wince in pain.

“Ike!” Elincia called, pointing to the sky. “Tibarn and his men have arrived!”

Sure enough, the hawks appeared over the courtyard’s gabled roofs. Laguz and beorc spilled into the gardens a moment later. Apparently the battle had been won on all fronts. Everyone stood immobile, stunned that it was truly over—all except Ena, who ran toward Ashnard’s dying steed.

“Ena, stay back! The king’s mount is still alive!” Ike warned. Those closest to Ena tried to grab her, but she was too quick and only stopped only when she was standing in front of its fanged snout. When she stretched out her hand, the dragon’s nostrils flared, its eyes shot open, and its entire body shuddered.

“Stay back!” Ike called.

The dragon arched its back and roared into Ena’s face.

“Ena!” he lunged forward with his sword raised, despite his other arm hanging limp.

“No!” Elincia screamed.

But their concern was unnecessary. The dragon didn’t breathe fire or bite down. Instead it calmed and rested its head on the ground. Ena pressed her entire body against it, eyes closed. “Rajaion,” she breathed.

Everyone was watching her now. Leanne and Tibarn landed beside Reyson, and the heron princess began twittering urgently in the ancient language. Reyson replied in kind.

“What’s going on?” Ike asked, as confused as the rest.

“Be patient, please,” Reyson said, raising a hand. “There’s something we want to try.”

“Huh?” Ike raised an eyebrow.

A moment later, Reyson and Leanne began singing and walking toward the feral dragon with palms out. It was the same melody that they’d sung to heal the Serenes Forest. But there were no plants growing here, the mercenaries didn’t seem any more refreshed (Soren certainly didn’t feel any better), and their wounds weren’t healing miraculously. It seemed the heron siblings were focusing all of their energy on the dragon, which was now glowing slightly.

Both Leanne’s and Reyson’s faces looked pained, which Soren supposed meant whatever they were trying to do was more difficult than bringing an entire forest back to life. Finally, their song ended, and with its final verse, Ashnard’s dragon turned into man.

His skin was dark like all Goldoans Soren had met, and like Nasir, Ena, and the dragon prince, his forehead bore an ornate red mark. His black hair was long and ragged, and he was stark naked so Reyson slipped Tibarn’s coat off his shoulders and draped it over this man’s feeble-looking body. Tibarn seemed happy to help, but neither Ena nor the man seemed to notice the gesture. She drew his head into her lap.

“Leanne told me that dragon’s true form had been warped,” Reyson explained as he stepped back. “So we tried singing the galdr of rebirth…” He gestured at the result as if it should speak for itself.

“Ra…Rajai..on…” Ena sobbed softly over the man.

“Err…aah…” he replied. His eyes opened slightly.

“Raj? D-do you know who I am?” she asked, reaching to take his hand.

“E...Ena?”

“Yes, yes! You recognize me!” Her face broke into a huge grin despite the tears still streaming down her cheeks.

“You were…made to suffer…because of me… I’m sorry,” he said weakly.

Ena sniffed loudly. “Rajaion! Rajaion! Oh, Raj…”

The man—Rajaion—reached up to stroke her cheek with trembling fingers. “Ena… Let’s return to Goldoa. The two of us…together.”

“I will go anywhere, my love, as long as it is with you.” She kissed his forehead.

“Ena…from this day forward…forever…” With that, he shuddered and grew still.

His unfocused eyes stared at the sky until Ena closed them. “Oh, Raj…”

“He was one of the dragon tribe?” Ike asked, apparently still having trouble coming to terms with what he’d just seen.

“Yes,” Reyson snapped. Leanne offered a kinder answer in the ancient language, which of course, Ike couldn’t understand.

Ena continued to sob over Rajaion’s body, and all at once, everyone seemed to realized what they were doing—gaping like spectators at a very personal moment. They began talking meaninglessly with one another and wandering way from Ena, pretending they hadn’t just watched the entire episode.

Elincia went to check on Naesala, and leaving him in her care, Rhys approached Ike. “Good work, Commander,” he said, then gesturing at Ike’s arm, “Please, let me set that for you.”

Ike nodded, but his eyes were on Mist, who would normally have been the first to offer to tend his wounds. But she had just darted past Ena and Rajaion and now appeared to be searching for something, and Soren could guess what. Reaching Ashnard’s body, she pilfered his pockets until she found it: Lehran’s Medallion. It’d been wrapped in a velvet bag.

King Daein had been carrying it after all but had refused to use it. This confirmed Soren’s suspicions that the dark god’s power had never been a means to conquering Tellius. Ashnard had wanted only more battles to be fought and more lives lost until the god was somehow freed; even if one of those lives had been his own. Soren supposed his dedication was admirable, even if he’d probably been deranged from the outset.

Clearly relieved, Mist held the medallion to her chest and walked over to the tired-looking heron siblings. Holding it out to them, she asked they take it from now on. Leanne smiled graciously and accepted the medallion, apparently able to handle it without concern, but Reyson seemed uncomfortable and didn’t touch it. Leanne held up her cascades of pale gold hair while Mist clasped the silver chain around her neck.

Watching them, Soren recalled the medallion falling from Elena’s hand, covered in blood. He’d never been able to see it without those bloodstains, and he still saw them now. He would never forget the power the simple bronze disc contained, not after witnessing a fragment of that power in action. That medallion had terrified him, forcing him to leave Ike and Greil all those years ago. In a way, he was glad it wouldn’t be a danger to anyone else anymore.