Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 3 ❯ CHAPTER 86: YUNE'S CHOSEN ( Chapter 20 )

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

That morning, Ike made an announcement to the rest of the Greil Army: “Be advised,” he said, “General Zelgius of Begnion is the true identity of the Black Knight of Daein and the man who killed my father.”

The Greil Mercenaries were aghast and outraged, while Jill, Haar, Ena, and Rafiel looked appropriately sympathetic and Aimee looked downright offended. Kurthnaga, on the other hand, merely looked nauseous (as usual), and neither Nailah nor Volug seemed to particularly care.

“We may encounter Zelgius among the Disciple of Order,” Ike continued, “and if so, I ask that you all proceed with absolute caution. In his red armor, he may be wounded by mortal means. But in his black armor, he is impervious to all attacks save my blade. No matter his raiment, however, he is a dangerous opponent who has left both Skrimir and Ranulf within an inch of their lives. Neither King Tibarn or Lord Nasir of Goldoa have been able to defeat him in battle. Therefore, I beg you not to engage. If you see him, escape at once and come to me. Mist and I will face him, and we will succeed where others have failed. I promise you that.”

A cheer met his words, but Soren remained silent. Ike’s announcement left a sour taste in his mouth. Even if Ike was right about the power of his sword, that was no reason to reject aid entirely, but he was still concerned with the purity of his revenge—even while they prepared to fight an actual goddess and prevent the end of the world. His lack of prioritization made Soren furious.

“Does anyone have any questions?” Ike asked, moving the announcement along.

“Um, actually—” Rolf raised his hand “—how the heck did he get from Begnion to Daein so fast all the time? Or back and forth from Crimea during the Mad King’s War? Or even that time at the river… He was behind us with the Central Army, so how did he get in front of us with the Daein Army?”

By Ike’s suddenly blank face, Soren had to assume he’d even asked himself that question. In truth, Soren was equally guilty of not considering it. He didn’t have an answer.

Fortunately, Rafiel did. “If what you say is true, I may have an explanation,” he offered tentatively, and Ike gestured for him to continue. “I believe a Rewarp staff may be responsible for the transportation of your foe, as I believe Rewarp staves moved the Disciples of Order last night.”

“A Rewarp staff?” Ike repeated in confusion. “I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

“It is an invention of the senate,” he explained meekly. “The enchantment was not yet perfected at the time of the burning of my home, but during my…capture, I did learn of their experiments.”

“Your capture…” Ike repeated, his voice and eyes tender with sympathy.

Nailah laid a reassuring hand on Rafiel’s arm, as if encouraging him to continue.

“I was in the custody of the senate the night of the Serenes Massacre,” Rafiel continued, “My wings were already broken, but one senator took pity and sought to free me. It was by an incomplete Rewarp staff that I was sent to Hatari.” He shook his long, white-gold locks. “I am sorry. I had not realized the senate had perfected their enchantment, or for that matter, increased its power such that they could move so many people at once. But when I saw the lights last night, I knew what they were.”

“Thank you.” Ike allowed a moment of silence for everyone to digest this new information before raising his voice and saying: “There you have it. The Disciples of Order have the ability to transport their units anywhere, completely sneaking up on us. And they have General Zelgius on their side, a man who won’t be easy to beat… Unfortunately for those Disciples of Order, however, it’s going to take a lot more than that to stop us! We’re marching straight to Sienne, climbing to the top of the Tower of Guidance, and we are going to slay a goddess and return all of the stone people back to life! Zelgius and the Disciples of Order might have given up on this world, but I’m never going to! Are you with me?”

Cheers and calls of “Yes!” and “We’re with you!” immediately met his words. Even Kurthnaga smiled weakly and raised an old-fashioned-looking salute. Soren couldn’t help but smile too, his anger forgotten. Every once in a while, Ike had a halfway decent speech in him.

“Then let’s move out!” Ike called in reply. “We’re burning daylight!”

 

Over the following weeks, the Greil Army engaged in regular skirmishes with the Disciples of Order, but it appeared there was a limit to the number of soldiers who could be transported at a single time, because their numbers never exceeded two hundred. The Greil Army took to camping in forts, town halls, watchtowers, and anywhere they could defend for a night. But they were ambushed during the day just as often, and sometimes there was nothing they could do but drop their supplies and fight for their lives. This inevitably slowed their progress, and Soren now predicted the trip to Sienne would take closer to two months.

That being said, Leanne reported via the sending stone that Micaiah said that Yune said that they were still making good time. Ashera was amassing her power for a final judgment, and as long as she was doing that, the three teams had time to reach her.

Rafiel shared the reports he received from Leanne and Reyson, and in this way, Soren and the others learned about the Silver and Hawk armies’ triumphs over the Disciples. Tibarn and Elincia, for example, won a particularly hard-fought victory in the Fraria Woods, in which they managed to eliminate Duke Valtome. Apparently the senator had been in command of the Disciples’ troops there.

Soren didn’t understand why Ashera would un-petrify that particular oaf for her army, especially after witnessing his poor command of the battlefield back in Crimea. But it appeared she had a penchant for Begnion senators, because the Silver Army later encountered (and defeated) a large number of Disciples under the command of Duke Numida in the Grann Desert. Ultimately, Soren could only assume the goddess was choosing to free fanatics most likely to serve her without question.

This would normally be to their advantage—facing opponents chosen for political reasons rather than their strength or wisdom. But even pathetic noblemen could make formidable opponents when blessed by a goddess. Wielding advanced light tomes and Rewarp staves, these ‘Sainted’ commanders put up a surprisingly good fight (much to Soren’s chagrin).

As the weeks passed, Shinon began taking a rapt interest in Rafiel’s reports, and Soren discovered that he’d designed a scorecard with the chief senators’ names on it. He, Gatrie, and Heather each had a copy and were placing bets on who would be eliminated next and by which of the three armies.

 

After a month and a half on the road, the Greil Army was finally nearing Sienne, and they made camp in a familiar locale: the mansion of the late Duke Oliver Tanas. A bitter deluge was cascading from the sky, and everyone was soaked and shivering by the time they got inside.

For good measure, Ike ordered the mercenaries to search the main building and ascertain that it was truly as empty as it looked. While Soren and Titania led this endeavor, Ike helped Mist prepare rooms and beds. As he walked the mansion’s halls, lighting old torches, Soren was surprised to find there were no stone servants or soldiers here. Over the past few weeks, he’d grown used to the shapes of frozen people appearing in the dark and around corners. Now their absence was unsettling.

He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. The senate had confiscated Oliver’s fortune, his estate, and his entire hold when he’d been found guilty of slaveholding and treason. Apparently he’d had no heir to reclaim it all after his execution. Now his precious art and collectables were gathering dust. On that note, Soren tested a bookshelf with his finger. To his surprise, there wasn’t actually any dust.

Finding the manse truly empty, Soren reunited with Titania and shared what he’d observed. She’d also found the manse suspiciously clean, but since this shouldn’t actually be a reason for concern, they both returned to Ike’s side.   

“Someone must have been living here; the place is spotless,” Titania explained, “By law, there shouldn’t be anyone staying here. I wonder if someone could have been squatting?”

“They’re a statue wherever they are,” Soren countered. “We didn’t find anyone in our search.”

Ike nodded his agreement. “Well, we’re the squatters now. I hope ol’ Tanas’s ghost doesn’t mind,” he added with a sideways grin.

 

For the rest of the afternoon, the mercenaries occupied themselves in the north wing, which they kept warm by stacking up the fires in every hearth. Soren perused Oliver’s collection of books and tomes, while by the fire Volug was trying to teach Ike the ancient language. Their lessons had only recently begun, and Ike was still struggling with the different sounds and letters.

In the next room, Oscar and Mist were serving a stew they’d made over the grand fireplace. (The kitchen was in a different wing of the building, and it was too cold and dark to venture there.) Jill and Haar were snoozing on one of Oliver’s soft divans, and in a corner, Heather was teaching Shinon how to pick the locks on some of the late senator’s chests (looking for hidden treasure, of course).  It was a pleasant and peaceful scene, and yet a bad feeling was creeping into the back of Soren’s mind.

His foreboding was confirmed when Nailah burst into the study, pushing the door open so hard it slammed against the wall. “The Disciples of Order are here!” she announced, “They just appeared in the outer building!” She pointed to the L-shaped east wing, where lights were leaping to life in the windows.

Ike sprang to his feet. “Alright, let’s get everyone mobilized!” he said, signaling Titania, who bounded off to find the rest of the group. Haar and Jill had already woken up, and Oscar, Mist, and the others had come pouring in from the adjoining room.

Just then, Rafiel fell into the study behind Nailah. He was panting, and his usually calm demeanor had been replaced with one of panic. “General!” he called to Ike, “Come quickly! Our friends are in trouble!”

“Friends?” Ike repeated in confusion.

“This way!” was Rafiel’s reply, and he twisted around, running back the way he’d come. Nailah was right behind him, transforming so he could ride on her back. Ike drew his sword and raced after them—and Soren raced after Ike. The other mercenaries within earshot did the same, and he trusted Titania would find the rest and catch up.

When they reached the east wing, Soren heard the snarls of a tiger, the caws of a raven, and the roaring of fire. Ike and Nailah didn’t stop running until the fight came into view, and when they did, the rest of the mercenaries pulled to a halt behind them.

Soren could hardly believe what he was seeing. On a balcony above, Tormod was chanting Fire and Elfire spells, expertly contorting the bursts of flame into his enemies and fending off their attacks. His opponents were indeed the Disciples of Order.

“Hey! Isn’t that-” Ike started to say.

“It’s Tormod!” Mist cried happily. “We haven’t seen him in years!”

Muarim was fighting beside his adopted son, and while Soren watched, he got his head and withers under a Disciple swordsman and tossed him over the railing. The soldier’s scream came to a sudden stop when he broke his neck on the tile floor not far from where Nailah was standing.

Peering closer, Soren saw another laguz: a svelte raven who seemed to have no problem performing its aerial tricks in the confines of the vaulted room beyond. If Soren remembered the layout of the Tanas estate correctly, they were in the upper balcony of the duke’s main audience chamber.

“Extinguish them!” cried a Disciple.

Tormod laughed while avoiding the Disciple’s next strike. “Funny you should phrase it that way, you soon-to-be-cinder!” he shot back, immediately chanting an Elfire spell. The fireball dropped on the soldier, surrounding him in a cocoon of flame. But when it dissipated, the soldier merely ripped off his burning golden cape and fought on. “What the-” Tormod panted, ducking to avoid the next blow. “That should have worked better. Who are these guys?” he complained, dodging again. Muarim caught the back of soldier’s lance in his mouth and wrestled him for control.

“Tormod, your backup’s here!” Ike announced, cupping his mouth. “Just hold your position!”

“Much appreciated!” Tormod called without turning around. His lack of surprise indicated that he’d seen them enter the corridor. “Don’t worry,” he continued, “We’re not going anywhere!” With that, he finally turned over his shoulders and grinned down at the mercenaries. But when he focused his gaze on Ike, his face fell slack. “Wait a second…Ike? What happened to you, you musclehead!” he called indignantly, turning and pressing himself against the railing.

Muarim crushed another soldier’s head between his jaws before turning around to see what Tormod was looking at. Then he said something Soren couldn’t hear.

“Between him a Sothe, I’m starting to feel a little inadequate!” Tormod replied loudly, moving his hands to his hips. “Well, that settles it! I’ve still got a lot of growing to do, so I’ve got to survive! I can’t die like this!” With that, he turned back to the battle and started chanting more spells. Muarim shook his head but then lunged forward, tackling another Disciple to the floor.

“Alright,” Ike said, turning to address his mercenaries. Titania had just arrived, and her confused gaze moved from Tormod to Ike and back again. “Let’s help these guys out,” Ike said simply, “Get ready for battle!”

The tramp of armored boots indicated that Disciples were moving in on their location, and a moment later, they appeared around the turn at the end of the hall. There were two ways of reaching Tormod and the others: climbing the narrow stairs to their left or continuing down this corridor and taking the wide staircase at the end. Soren hurriedly recommended Ike split the group into two units, and he agreed.

“Nailah, Volug, Rafiel, Rhys, Shinon, and Heather—head up that way!” He pointed. “Everyone else, we’re going straight this way. Our first priority is saving Tormod’s team. Let’s get to them fast!”

The two groups split up without a word, and Soren was running down the hall, uttering an Elwind incantation. He’d become quite adept at dual casting these past few weeks, and now it had become second nature to conjure a few shreds of wind armor at the beginning of each new assault. The latent Elwind spells would spin around him until they were needed to block, deflect, or counter an attack Soren couldn’t dodge. In turn, that would save him time and energy to cast other spells offensively.

When it came to fighting the Disciples of Order, this was the only tactic that gave him the opportunity to get close enough to consistently target their weak points. But balancing his offensive and defensive magic was always a struggle, and he had to maintain control of the spells he’d already conjured while incanting and aiming new ones.

  

Ike met Tormod and the others at the entrance to the audience chamber, and here they stood their ground while quickly exchanging greetings.

“What are you doing here?” Ike asked in disbelief.

“It’s a long story,” Tormod replied. “Well maybe not long, but definitely weird.” He incanted another Elfire spell before continuing. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but everybody got turned to stone somehow.”

“Yeah, that’s another long story.” Ike shook his head before stepping forward and plunged his sword straight through a Disciple’s breastplate.

Tormod gaped as if the display offended him. “Hey!” he complained, “When did you get so strong?”

Ike shrugged one shoulder and kept fighting. “Haven’t I always been?”

“Sothe grew like a head taller since the war too,” Tormod pouted. Although he must be twenty-one now, he was hardly taller than Soren and still looked like a skinny kid. This was not helped by the fact that he insisted on wearing shorts (even in winter) with his knobby knees on full display. Soren might have thought he was a slow-aging Branded if not for the fact that his own senses confirmed Tormod was, indeed, fully beorc. Apparently he was just short.

“It is not a competition,” advised Muarim in a low voice. He had a long gash running down his side, and Mist touched his flank to coax him into a more protected corner. Here he transformed and bent so she could assess the damage.

Boyd stepped up to take his place, and the raven swept over his head for a moment’s reprieve. Transforming into the shape of a young woman with green-black hair and jet-black wings, she pressed herself against the wall, breathing hard. She eyed the mercenaries warily while fumbling with an arrow sticking out of her left wing.

“Ike, this is Vika,” Tormod introduced her, “She helped fight in the Daein Rebellion too, and she’s one of the few of us back in Zunanma who didn’t end up as a statue. Vika, this is Ike, Titania, Soren, Boyd, and Mist of the Greil Mercenaries.”

Vika moved her gaze over them, and she quivered visibly when she saw Soren. Her eyes immediately darted away.

“Mist is a healer,” Tormod continued, “like Laura and Micaiah. Maybe she can help you with tha-”

“I’ve got it,” Vika hissed, finally wrenching out the arrowhead. Dropping it to the ground, she fluttered her wings and turned on the spot. “I’m going back out.” With a running start, she jumped, beat her wings, and transformed at the same time. She flew back over Boyd’s head and immediately began tearing into a Disciple archer (perhaps the one who’d shot her).

Ike ran to catch up, obviously intent on not letting her fight alone. Tormod and Titania were right behind him, and soon the battle was spilling into the center of the room. Soren was annoyed by the raven-woman’s reaction, but now wasn’t the time to worry about such things. There was a battle to fight.

 

Before long, they made their way to the raised dais in the room’s rear alcove—because apparently Duke Oliver Tanas used to like to sit on a throne like a king when entertaining company. Or at least, that was what Soren thought when the alcove came into view. When he got a closer look, he had to amend his assessment—apparently Oliver still liked to sit on a throne like a king, because the ex-senator was currently sitting right there.

“You! You’re still alive?” Ike demanded in disbelief.

“The world simply could not bear to be without me,” squealed Oliver, who kicked his feet like an excited baby. “My execution was just a ruse!”

Ike threw himself at the guards in front of Oliver’s dais, but they were tough and repelled him. Oliver laughed again. “Your crude weapons have no effect against true magnificence! Blessed with such beauty, I have no foes…only inferiors!”

“Glad to see you’re still barely clinging to that last shred of sanity,” Ike returned, continuing to fight. “Just—urgh—give it up already!”

There were still plenty of soldiers between the mercenaries and the duke, and more were pouring in from side corridors by the second. Instead of helping Ike, Soren turned his attention to the reinforcements. He incanted additional Wind and Elwind spells until there were six unique gusts churning around him, ready to deflect whatever came. However, the winds were jumpy and difficult to control, so as he fought, Soren moved away from his allies. His concentration was already stretched to capacity, and avoiding friendly fire was one less thing to worry about.

When he was a safe distance away, he began chanting new spells, but Elfire and Elthunder weren’t having much effect on these Disciples anymore, especially the members of Oliver’s guard who came from the alcove. Flipping to his more advanced spells, Soren decided he would have to push himself even further if he was going to be of any use. He cast Thoron on a golden-armored shield night, and sustained the spiraling bolts until he was sure the man was dead. Then he cast Bolganone under a couple spearmen on the opposite side, fueling the bubbling lava until they’d lost their legs and were sure to die.

Meanwhile his armor of wind was snatching arrows of the air and even deflecting a flying hand-axe. Soren ducked to avoid the swing of a sword, and then twisted out of the way of a lance. The winds leapt to block an axe he was about to stumble right into, and although Soren was grateful that his preplanning had paid off, he wished he wasn’t running through his prepared spells so quickly.

He began chanting new ones: a defensive Wind, an offensive Elwind, a defensive Elwind, an offensive Tornado, two more defensive Wind spells, and so on. He could hardly catch his breath, and soon the arrows and enemy blades were coming so close that they grazed his skin before the winds stopped them.

Soon Soren was bleeding from dozens of stinging cuts but it was better than being seriously maimed—or more likely, dead. He continued to whip the winds around him until he felt someone familiar come closer: Tormod. Soren glared. If he weren’t so busy chanting, he would tell the overeager fire sage to stay back.

“Let me help!” Tormod offered, immediately chanting two Elthunder and two Elfire spells to push back the Disciples closing in on him.

Soren didn’t say thank you. Instead he used the momentary reprieve to focus on incanting a powerful Bolganone spell. He melted the tiles atop a nearby staircase, momentarily slowing the flow of Disciples.

“Again!” Tormod called, reaching his side.

Soren suspected he knew what he intended, and he started chanting the words to Bolganone again. Tormod began at the same time, and they incanted together. Peeking past Tormod’s arm, Soren eyed the ancient writing there and decided to use one of Tormod’s spells instead of one from his own tome since he was starting to run low.

When they reached the end of the incantation, they both cast out their arms and willed the wave of lava to push down the stairwell, raining molten stone on the heads of the Disciplines. Those who couldn’t retreat fast enough were killed. As an added advantage, when the floor cooled, the stairs became a steep slope.

“We did it!” Tormod cheered, clapping Soren’s arm. “Just like old times.”

Soren gave him a withering look, but at least now he had a moment to breathe.

Then the young man glanced down and realized Soren had stolen one of his spells. “Hey!” he complained. “Did you just-”

“Thank you,” Soren said stiffly.

This seemed to placate Tormod, who grabbed his arm and pulled. “C’mon! Ike’s fighting the fatso; let’s help!”

Soren ripped his arm out of Tormod’s grip, because the pressure had stretched the lacerations there, causing them to sting even worse. Tormod didn’t seem to realize he’d caused him any grief or that he now had Soren’s blood on his hands. He merely jaunted away, hopping over the dead bodies Soren had left on the ground.

Since there were no more Disciples to fight here, and the ones at the bottom of the stairs were having a hard time dragging their heavy armor up the incline, Soren decided to run after Tormod. Soon he was immersed in the fray again, but since he was no longer surrounded by enemies, Soren cast only a single Elwind spell as a guard. He then fought with Thoron and Tornado spells, which he was able to concentrate on just one or two opponents at a time.

Tormod was using Elfire and Bolganone, and after eyeing Soren a bit, he called out: “Hey! I see what you’re doing! Here, let me try!” A moment later, he conjured a protective Elfire spell that spun around him in a ring but exploded at any Disciples who tried to attack him. “Woo! It’s working!” He strutted forward, throwing his hips side-to-side at his opponents. With each thrust, a burst of flame shot out at an unlucky and confused-looking Disciple.

Soren shook his head at Tormod’s antics and continued fighting his own battles. He’d been trying to get closer to Ike and Oliver since returning to the alcove, and now he used wind magic to open a path in that direction. Soon he was able to see Ike ducking, dodging, and appearing quite frustrated. Oliver was standing in front of his throne, and his immediate guards were dead. However, the duke was wielding a strange kind of magic, and it was clearly giving Ike a hard time.

Soren pushed closer, listening to Oliver incant and trying to identify the spell: “*Thieving spirits of darkness, magnanimous spirits of light, take their life and make it mine!*” Oliver sang, and to Soren’s confusion, it sounded like he was calling on both the spirits of light and darkness to do his bidding.

He thought perhaps he’d incanted two spells at once, but then he saw the magic in action and realized his mistake. A shadow shot across the ground from Oliver to Ike while, at the same time, a beam of light shot above it. Ike raised his sword and his pauldron to hide behind its meager protection, but the light didn’t burn. Now Ike tried to duck away, but the shadow had him immobilized. The light intensified, and Ike began panting and growing pale. His knees started to buckle. When Oliver finally terminated the spell, Ike lurched gracelessly but didn’t fall.

“Ike!” Soren called in alarm. “It’s Nosferatu! Light and dark magic together!” He tried to get closer, but there were still soldiers here that wanted to kill him. Soren cast Tornado to defend himself.

Meanwhile, Ike showed no sign that he’d heard his warning, and he was already running in a zig-zag to try to get closer to Oliver. However, the senator was a surprisingly fast incanter despite the heavy-looking jowls and mustache that swamped his lips. He finished the next spell and froze Ike just after he’d sliced his chest and arm. Oliver was left with only a small scratch and stumbled backward. The shadow between them stretched, and still Ike couldn’t move. Oliver laughed, and his cut healed instantaneously.

“What was that?” Ike asked weakly, and Soren realized he was talking to him.

“He can immobilize you and steal your lifeforce for himself!” he called back. “Watch the ground!” There were more Disciples coming from behind, so Soren turned to face them, casting Thoron this time. He had to trust Ike could handle Oliver on his own.

When he could, he glanced back to see how his commander was faring. Unfortunately he was swaying on his feet while Oliver was positively glowing. The nobleman was faster and nimbler than he should have been, which was likely a side-effect of consuming Ike’s vitality. However, Soren suspected Ike had more strength in reserve than he was letting on.

When Oliver attacked again, Ike plunged his sword in the mortar between the floor tiles, lifted himself off of his feet and sent a flying kick right into Oliver’s face. The shadows couldn’t find him and dispersed, and Oliver fell backward. Leaving Ragnell imbedded in the floor, Ike pummeled the duke with a dozen punches that sounded disgustingly like he was beating a sack of wet meat. When he was done, Oliver couldn’t rise. Soren had concluded his own battles and could finally approach.

“Aagh,” Oliver whined, his mouth filling with blood from his lost teeth and bitten tongue. “Shtill sho many beaut’ul hings…’at…I don’…own.” With that, his voice collapsed into gurgling as he struggled to breathe and roll over.

Ike pulled his sword from the ground, and in one wide arc, he cut Oliver’s head clean off. “He was overdue for his execution,” Ike grumbled, flicking the blade so most of the blood splattered onto the floor.

“Agreed.” Soren turned his attention to the rest of the battle and cast another Tornado spell to keep Mia from becoming surrounded. A moment later, she and Jill had finished cutting down all the Disciples around them.

Looking for another opponent, Soren couldn’t find any. Every golden-armored Disciple still on two feet was already locked in battle with someone else, and as the seconds ticked by, they were all falling. When no one was left and no more enemies presented themselves, the mercenaries looked to Ike for direction.

“Well,” Ike said, sounding tired, “that’s another storm weathered.” His forehead was beaded with sweat, and Soren knew those Nosferatu spells had taken their toll. “Let’s get back to the north wing. Everyone, try to get some sleep and be ready for tomorrow!”

Sighing, giving halfhearted cheers, and groaning as they stretch sore limbs, the mercenaries got their bearings and headed for the nearest exit. Soren and Ike had each taken a few steps in the same direction when a sudden circle of purple light caught their attention. Someone was warping into the corner of the room. The circle filled with a triangle and then lifted in a shower of glowing sparks.

When the light was gone, an old man was standing there. He was balding, slightly hunched, and dressed in white robes. He was leaning on an ornately carved, silver cane that Soren had to assume was a Rewarp staff. “Wiped out…” he observed with watery eyes. “Not a man left standing… It must be the will of the Goddess.”

“H-Hetzel!” Rafiel called in a strange, strangled voice, “You- You’re-” He fell forward and caught himself as if the sight of the old man had taken the ground from under his feet.

“Rafiel? How-” The man—Hetzel—gazed at the heron in equal alarm. Then his expression softened into a tearful smile. “You’re still alive! I’m so glad you’re safe…” Tear spilled onto his wrinkled cheeks, and he took a step forward. His fingers were outstretched, but he held his hand near his body as if restraining himself.

Ike had drawn his sword as soon as the man appeared, and now he raised it in warning. Nailah stepped in front of Rafiel and crossed her arms. The heron closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. His fists were clenched in a way that made him look more like Reyson. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Hetzel took a step back, and his head sank even lower. “So, you know then…” he said in a quiet voice. “What we did was unforgivable… I was against it from the beginning,” His voice cracked. “I argued with the others time and again!” When Rafiel offered no response, Hetzel took another step back into the corner where he’d arrived. “Ah, what’s the use.” He wiped the tears from his face. “It doesn’t matter what I say now. Rafiel…despite everything, I’m very happy to see that you’re alive. But I beg of you… Stay away from the capital. You must not anger the Goddess!” With a shake of his head, he tapped the staff against the floor and muttered a single word in the ancient language: “*Rewarp*.”

The purple lights encircled his feet, and Ike lurched forward. “Hey, stop!” But he couldn’t reach the old man in time. A moment later, he was gone.

“I suppose this indicates that those wielding Rewarp staves can use them on themselves,” Soren observed aloud. “How peculiar. We should alert the other teams to this fact.” He turned to Ike, but he clearly wasn’t listening. He strode toward Rafiel, who was wiping his eyes with a handkerchief Nailah had just given him.

“I’ve seen that man before,” Ike began, “He’s a pretty influential senator, isn’t he?”

“His name is Hetzel, Duke of Asmin,” Rafiel answered in a shaky voice. “I owe him my life.” Nailah patted Rafiel’s arm. Although Soren supposed it was possible this man had been the one to teleport Rafiel to Hatari, he couldn’t help but think that this wasn’t how a person reacted merely upon seeing someone who’d taken pity on their life. 

“Ike, I’m sorry,” Nailah said, looping her arm under Rafiel’s wings, “but can we talk later? Rafiel needs to rest.”

“Yes, of course,” Ike replied, although the confusion and unasked questions in his voice were clear. Nailah led Rafiel away, and the rest of those who’d lingered to see the aged senator appear resumed their trudge out of the audience chamber—Soren included.

 

Back in the north wing, Soren sat beside the fire and dabbed vulneraries and elixirs onto his cuts, and one after the other, they closed up. Since none of his wounds were imminently life-threatening, he decided not to bother Mist or Rhys with them (although they did offer).

While he did so, he was in a good position to listen to Ike’s conversation with Tormod, Muarim, and Vika. Nailah, Volug, and Jill were here as well, since they’d become friends with the trio during the Daein Rebellion. Rafiel, however, was sleeping in an adjacent room.

“Well, we stayed in Daein for a bit,” Tormod explained, “and Micaiah and Pelleas tried to help us find Izuka, but we never had any luck.”

“We heard rumors of a mad scientist in Begnion,” Muarim added, “so we returned.”

“We didn’t have much luck here either though,” Tormod sighed. “And then there was that whole Laguz-Begnion War, and we were told ‘politely’ to go back to Zunanma and stay there.” He shot Ike a petulant glare, “Thanks for that one.”

“Wait.” Ike raised his hands in confusion. “You can’t blame me for the Laguz-Begnion War. Also, who the hell is Izuka?”

“A bad human,” Muarim growled.

“Wow, I can’t believe that never came up!” Jill said apologetically. “I guess all the laguz kings should’ve had a right to know…”

“I am equally at fault,” Nailah sighed, recrossing her legs and leaning back on her forearms. She didn’t seem particularly apologetic. “I did not think he was a threat, and I did not wish to sew distrust between the laguz and Daein.”

“Okay,” Ike said, “But can you tell us now? Because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I would like to know as well,” added Ena, joining their group.

Volug wordlessly vacated his seat for her, and taking on his wolf form, he curled up in front of the fire instead. (The reticent wolf-man had a penchant for half-shifting, which meant slithering out of his clothes and walking around with his balls on display like a regular dog—it had certainly taken some getting used to these past weeks.)

Soren continued to dab the wounds on his arms, but not before twisting his chair slightly so he would have better access to the discussion. Vika shivered and glanced away when their eyes met, and Soren tried to ignore the way she rubbed down the goosebumps on her arms. “What were you doing in Daein before the war?” he addressed Tormod and Muarim, indicating that he too wanted a full explanation.

Mist and Titania each approached, sitting on the floor near Volug. “Alright, alright, is that everyone?” Tormod asked with mock-indignance. (He obviously loved the attention.) Ike gestured for him to continue. “Well, way back when Begnion was still in control of Daein, me, Muarim, Vika, and some others from Zunanma went on a mission to find the guy responsible for poisoning the feral laguz, those experiments at Gritnea Tower, developing that smokescreen, starting the feral smuggling ring—all of it.”

“The man who twisted my Rajaion?” Ena asked. Her hands fell protectively to her belly. “Izuka… He is still free?”

Tormod turned to her in surprise. “You sound like you know him.” Ena shivered, and he seemed to regret the accusation in his voice. “Sorry, I-”

“Of course I knew him,” Ena cut him off in a soft voice. “I led Sir Ike and King Tibarn to Gritnea Tower to kill him. But he escaped… I thought you beorc would deal with him after I left for Goldoa.”

“Well it would have been nice to know his name!” Tormod complained, but again he winced and apologized, “Er, sorry.”

Ena shook her head slowly. “I wanted to forget everything… I wanted to go home. I am sorry. I did not stay and try to repair Ashnard’s damage.”

Tormod took a moment before resuming his story: “Uh, anyway, since we didn’t know who the guy was, it took a long time. In the end, we found him by accident. We were in Daein when the rebellion started and got mistaken for part of Micaiah’s Dawn Brigade. Micaiah and Sothe saved our skins, so we ended up joining their little band of revolutionaries anyway,” he added with a grin.

“It was like the old days,” Muarim purred softly, “fighting in the Emancipation Army and then in the Crimea Liberation Army.”

“Sounds like fun,” Ike replied stiffly. Soren knew he still had mixed feelings about Micaiah and Daein.

“Anyway, Izuka was the name of this gross old guy who was Prince Pelleas’s advisor, or tutor, or something. I never got the full story on how they met.” Tormod shrugged. “Turns out he was exactly the man we were looking for, but we didn’t realize it until he tried to poison Muarim!” He crossed his arms as if to say he was still holding a grudge.

“That’s terrible!” Titania exclaimed.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” Mist added, addressing Muarim.

He nodded in thanks. “I wouldn’t be if not for Prince Rafiel,” he said. “His galdr saved me.”

Ena wiped her eyes hastily, and Tormod turned to her as if terrified she was going to break down. “Oh, uh, sorry. I’m sure this is a sensitive topic…”

“I am fine,” Ena assured, and her breath was calm. Her eyes dried in a moment. “Please continue your story.”

Tormod nodded and seemed to think for a moment. “Anyway, after that happened, Izuka should have been arrested on the spot, but dummy Pelleas wouldn’t do it!”

“Please do not call King Pelleas a dummy,” Ena said quietly. Once again, Soren wondered why she and Kurthnaga cared what happened to Daein and its king.

“The boy speaks the truth,” Nailah addressed Ena, and there was an edge to her voice. “You know the cost of Pelleas’s misjudgment.”

“And that would be?” Ike asked, obviously confused again.

Nailah jerked her head to the side to indicate she would say no more. 

Ena just stared at her hands. “You speak truly, Queen Nailah…” she mumbled but said nothing more.

Tormod glanced from one to the other as if he had no idea what they were talking about, but then he resumed the story: “So Izuka, yeah… We kept our distance until after the war, but we still wanted to help Micaiah and keep fighting alongside her.”

“We assumed there would be a chance to petition King Pelleas for justice after his coronation,” Muarim added in a low voice. “We believed he would let us have Izuka when he no longer relied on the madman for his war.”

“Well, that didn’t happen,” Tormod sighed in exasperation. “Izuka completely dropped off the map! We’re back to square one trying to find him again.”

“And you returned to Begnion,” Ike said, as if collecting the lost threads of the story. “You were stuck in Zunanma during the war. Then what happened?”

“After the Laguz-Begnion War, there were all these rumors of a civil war,” Tormod answered. “The Senate sent a messenger saying that we were suspected of treason even though we hadn’t done anything. Then Commander Sigrun showed up to check on us and said we had better keep a low profile until things blew over or until Empress Sanaki came with an army.” He raised both palms. “Explain that one to me.”

“I probably could,” Ike chuckled. “That army was us, and we really were on our way. In fact, Sanaki and Sigrun are with Micaiah right now. They should just be leaving the Grann Desert. They probably passed Zunanma.”

Tormod looked flabbergasted.

“Suspend your disbelief,” Titania warned, “There’s much more.”

“You mean the reason everyone was petrified?” Muarim asked gently.

“That was the medallion,” Ike explained. “The dark god was released—except she wasn’t a dark god at all. She is Ashera’s opposite, and it was Ashera who turned everyone to stone. We’re on our way to fight her now.”

“Fight…Ashera,” Tormod repeated incredulously.

“So,” Ike moved on, “Why are you three here—‘here’ as in Duke Tanas’s mansion?”

“You won’t believe me.” Tormod shook his head (apparently accepting the Ashera situation), “but it came to us in a dream.”

“A dream?” Ike repeated.

“Yeah. Not long after that light turned everyone to stone, I had a really strange dream.” Tormod looked at the ceiling as if trying to recall it. “I don’t remember it very well, but it was like there was a voice in my head, whispering encouragement. When I woke up, I knew what I had to do. I knew that everyone who hadn’t been petrified was heading to the Tower of Guidance, and from there we’d all be saved.”

“I had the same dream,” Muarim added. “I thought this must be a divine revelation, so we left the desert to make for the tower. However, we had hardly set foot beyond our home before we were called here instead.”

“Sounds like more of Yune’s handiwork,” Ike proposed.

“Agreed,” Nailah said with an appreciative smile. “This must be her way of gathering able bodies. I suppose a Goddess of Chaos will do things her own way.”

“Yune?” Tormod repeated. “Is that the dark goddess I keep hearing about? Should I even be listening to her?” He clamped his hands over his ears and pulled a disturbed face.

Ike chuckled. “I can’t really put it into words, but I can feel it inside. Listening to her is the right thing to do. I guess it’s a lot like the dream you described.”

Nailah bobbed her head once. “We laguz are pretty intuitive,” she said, casting her gaze from Volug, to Muarim, and then to Vika. “I feel it in my blood—in the soles of my feet and my connection to the land—Yune is the goddess of our ancestors,” she declared, “I trust her.”

Each laguz nodded, and that seemed to be enough for Tormod. “Alright,” he agreed with a grin. “That makes it a little easier to come to grips with. We’ll definitely be joining you in Sienne!”

“We’ll be glad to have you.” Ike nodded firmly. “You too, Muarim, Vika.”

“You have not explained one thing,” Muarim spoke up. “Who were the golden soldiers we fought this evening?”

“Oh, right,” Ike sighed. “The Disciples of Order…” While he continued the explanation, Soren only half-listened and once again focused on attending his cuts, which were nearly all sealed now. Only those on his back and the back of his legs remained, but he judged they weren’t deep and he would feel foolish struggling to reach them in front of everyone. When Ike finished his explanation and the discussion devolved into yawning and sleepy murmuring, Soren decided nothing else of value would be said this evening.

Although he was glad to finally know the identity of the man behind the horrors of Gritnea Tower, in truth, it hardly seemed to matter anymore. They were nearly to Sienne. In only a couple weeks, they would face Ashera. Whether they died in battle, lived long enough to be petrified, or somehow managed to defeat her and survive, nothing would ever go back to the way it was. Villains like Izuka were a problem for a different world.

Soren excused himself, deciding to finish mending his wounds and go to bed.

“Wait up.” Ike reached him before he’d even made it to the hall.

“Yes?”

“You’re still bleeding. Come on, I’ll get those for you.” He started walking toward the room where most of the mercenaries would be sleeping.

“That is not necessary,” Soren replied, but since that was the direction he was headed anyway, he followed.

“I saw you fighting today,” Ike continued with a yawn. “You’re getting good—I mean, you’ve always been good. But since we started fighting these Disciples you’ve really pulled out all the stops.”

“…Thank you,” Soren replied warily, wondering where this was going.

“But you still try to do too much alone,” Ike concluded, glancing at him.

Soren bit back his reply, because it irked him to hear Ike say such a thing: Ike who, despite relying on his friends in battle for years, still insisted on fighting the Black Knight—Zelgius—by himself.

Ike pushed open the door, revealing Oscar, Boyd, and Rolf already inside, all sleeping soundly. They’d been fighting harder recently too. Everyone had. Soren decided not to point this out and instead submitted to Ike’s ministrations, saying little and only in whispers so not to wake the brothers. As weak as he was when it came to Ike, Soren couldn’t help but enjoy his quiet voice and the gentle pressure of his fingers on his stinging wounds.

When the task was done, Soren grudgingly thanked him and prepared for bed. The room had been filled with Oliver’s mattresses and soft cushions, and it was kept warm by the smoldering fire. Soren chose a spot in the corner of the room where he imagined he could be alone with his thoughts. Around this time, Rhys also came in to sleep. Ike greeted him softly before lying down himself. The spot he chose was nearby. Soren was curled facing the wall, but Ike’s closeness still made his heart race. These were strange days and stranger nights.