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Even if the First Exalt had been Ylissean, children from all over the world loved to reenact the battles between the Hero of Yore and the Dark Dragon Grima. Say’ri remembered how all the children would clamour amongst themselves as to who was to be the brave hero, even if they all knew that Yen’fay would be playing the role yet again.
All those reenactments had become a hazy blur for Say’ri over the years, but one day stood out. One of many that she would grimace as she would remember her naivety.
She remembered perching dangerously close to the edge of the rooftop, watching the ships in the distance bob away gently in the waves, occasionally glancing back towards the bickering. She didn’t mind being sidelined when it came to occasions such as this and was content to be the unnamed soldier who would inevitably die within the first few minutes of the game. As exciting as it was to whack a practice sword at something other than a training dummy, it was a thrill of its own to get to watch her brother play the valiant hero.
“Foul demon! With the divine Amatsu, I will smite thee!” Yen’fay exclaimed at whoever had the misfortune of playing Grima that day. The “Amatsu” in these scenarios was usually a stick or, if they were particularly stealthy about it, like they had been the previous week, a practice sword would occasionally serve as a coveted prop in their games.
The fact that they were likely to be admonished for equating the country’s regalia with a grubby twig hardly occurred to Say’ri. All she cared about was watching and grinning up at her brother from where she was sprawled on the ground as Yen’fay would make a grand show of slaying the dragon.
She still remembered their walk back home, one hand lazily moving the stick back and forth as she devoured a sweet roll with the other.
“Do remember your manners, Say’ri.”
“You were so brave, Yen’fay,” Say’ri quickly said to distract him before he could stop her from licking at the sticky frosting that lingered on her fingers, “if the Fell Dragon was to come back—”
The hand around hers tightened and she blinked as she detected fear in her brother’s voice, “Don’t say such things, Say’ri!”
Say’ri rolled her eyes. Yen’fay sounded more and more like her parents these days.
“I just said if , Brother. Not that I wanted that foul creature to return,” Sayri tossed the stick towards the directions of the bushes as the castle came into view before continuing, “if that were to happen—”
“Say’ri,” Yen’fay warned again, his tone sounded so much like her parents’.
“You never complain when we we’re all going around pretending to be fighting it.”
“That’s different,” he insisted, “the Grimleal is still about in Plegia so the threat of his return is always there.”
Say’ri pretended not to hear him and continued, “I’d wager you could cut the Fell Dragon before it could even open its nasty maw!”
That brought on a chuckle from him. “Well, not quite. As fine of a sword as Amatsu is, only Ylisse’s Falchion is capable of such a feat.”
Say’ri opened her mouth to retort and then closed it with a frown.
“What about the Risen? I bet you could slay hordes without a scratch with Amatsu.”
“Perhaps. I pray we don’t have to find out.” There was a hard edge to his answer, and Say’ri decided to stop talking altogether, annoyed with her brother’s lack of imagination.
That night, Say’ri drifted off to sleep dreaming of her brother facing down an army of Risen. One had nearly ripped her to shreds when Yen’fay jumped in just like he did in all those reenactments. She imagined her brother charging bravely into the horde, Amatsu cutting through their flesh as if they were butter. The sand around him turned a sickly red, the water lapping at their feet tinged with crimson and yet there was no sign of a scratch on him or Say’ri.
Reality could not have been any different, but Say’ri had slept blissfully that night, her faith in her brother’s strength unfettered.
As Say’ri grew older, Grima and the tales of the Ancient Heroes receded into her memories as they did with most children. So, when she first heard children whispering in fear about Grima in the courtyard, she had dismissed it as them going through a rite of passage.
Most didn’t give the first waves of rumors too much thought; it wasn’t uncommon for some Ylissean sailors to spend their days on port raving about those ‘savage Plegians’ to anyone who would listen, and sheltered noble children sneaking about the port looking for adventure were the most prone to get sucked into the fearmongering.
What worried Say’ri was when she heard the same murmurings from the guards.
“Did you hear what the soldiers from the docks said when they came into the barracks this morning?” she overheard one of the passing soldiers muttering as she frowned at her geography lessons in the courtyard.
“The nonsense about the Grimleal and bringing back the Fell Dragon? You know what a zealot that Ylissean merchant is. He’s been trying to start a stir for years now and getting us to cut off trade with them Plegians.”
The soldier lowered his voice and Say’ri scooted along the bench quietly, the maps forgetten. It was one thing for the children to get spooked, but to catch the soldiers discussing such matters? Say’ri couldn’t remember such an occasion ever taking place.
“—It wasn’t Ylissean though, that"s what’s gotten all the dock soldiers talking. It was a Feroxi ship, and who heard of those Khans caring what the Plegians do in their borders?”
“Then does that mean the Grimleal have an actual vass—”
There was rustling as the maps behind her flew off the bench and the soldiers jumped when they looked back to find Say’ri creeping along quietly beside them.
“M-my apologies,” she curtsied hurriedly and gestured towards the bushes, “I’m just looking for my papers.”
When she returned to her maps, Say’ri lightly traced the coarse borders of Plegia. It had been fertile thousands of years ago, but one wouldn’t have ever guessed it looking at it today. Yen’fay had been there once, and he had told her that there was nothing but the harsh sun and the sand as far as the eye could see. It was already a difficult life for the Plegians, and Say’ri couldn’t understand why so many of them would give their lives to reviving a creature that would only bring more strife for their land.
She shook her head and turned back towards her country. The lesson had been tiring enough and she was eager to finish it. The soldiers were muttering now, but it was probably going to be forgotten about by the week’s end. Besides, knowing how ruthless Ylissean politics could be, it was very likely that the Feroxi and the Halidom of Ylisse had struck up an alliance of sorts and were trying to get back at the Plegians for what their King Gangrel had done nearly two decades ago.
Why they would choose to involve her Cho’sin in their constant wars was something beyond Say’ri comprehension. Politics had always been her weak spot.
The rumors had just been just about forgotten by Cho’sin when news came of yet another war breaking out in Ylisse.
The Halidom’s King Chrom had suddenly perished along with his envoy during a diplomatic visit with Plegia. It hadn’t come off as much of a surprise to anyone; the man had been the target of many assassination attempts long before he had ascended the throne. It was only a matter of time until the dagger found its mark.
What gave the country and the court panic had been the matter of the Fire Emblem. Kings came and went, and empires would rise and fall with a blink, but nothing had the potential to cause as much panic as the news of the FIre Emblem and its accompanying Argent gem going missing. Medeus had been able to rule the ancient continent of Archaenae only because the relic had gone missing. The Fire Emblem had been crucial to seal the Dark Dragon away; if it went missing, what would become of them? Archanae had the Hero-King Marth— there hadn’t been such a legendary figure in the ages since.
The markets were full of gossip as to the whereabouts of the Fire Emblem, but the court barely acknowledged the incident. If it weren’t for Say’ri’s father ordering that security be tightened around the gem Vert, she would have thought Father hadn’t received the report at all.
“Look at everyone, Brother,” Say’ri murmured to Yen’fay as they walked through the busy streets of the city, “they’re all worried about the Fire Emblem going missing.”
She hoped that he’d think her mature enough for him to confide in her with his worries, and that he too was worried what the news meant for them. When she heard his exasperated sigh, Say’ri blinked up at him in surprise.
“It is tragic that the Halidom has lost another leader just as they had begun to look towards recovering from their wars. However, I do not think this matter should be any cause for panic amongst the people of Cho’sin.”
“But Brother, why wouldn’t it? The Fire Emblem went missing right after Plegia’s attack on their king. Argent went missing with it, and Cho’sin guards Vert. Why shouldn’t they worry that Plegia and the Grimleal may look towards us next? They think the gems are just as sacrilegious as the shield itself!”
“They shouldn’t worry because the Grimleal and its leadership were decimated with King Gangrel, and Plegia is an anarchy in all but name now. The King was probably ambushed by bandits that prowled their borders, and I wouldn’t even put it past some crafty Ylissean noble to concoct the whole plot to get to the throne. You know how they are across the ocean.”
“Still, they were travelling with the Fire Emblem. Why would do that if they didn’t have good reason to suspect the Grimleal did have a vassal for Grima!”
“The Ylisseans have a vast intelligence network. I’m sure the Fire Emblem along with Argent will resurface after all the chaos has settled down. Their little princess is probably being primed to make an appearance and rally the masses as we speak, I reckon.”
Say’ri’s heart panged. The Ylissean princess was a child, and it was too cruel for someone to be burdened with so much at such a tender age.
“Brother, do you think we’ll be alright? I know its childish to be frightened by gossip, but I can’t help but imagine the worst.”
But Yen’fay had turned away to converse with some of the merchants, and Say’ri flushed with embarassment. If anyone else had heard her blubbering, how would that reflect upon her house? If it didn’t cause people to panic further, it would only serve to make her family look cowardly.
Steel yourself, Say’ri.
The news came within days of the announcement of the King’s death.
Grima was back. The Fell Dragon had been revived.
Word came by a Feroxi ship filled to the brim with refugees from Ylisse. Plegians, Ylisseans, and Feroxi cramped into the inns would whisper with hushed tones between prayers for Naga to help them. They spoke of how the Risen came and tore their towns and villages to shred. How their claws could tear through brick and steel.
None of them mentioned the Fell Dragon. An ordinary person could not hope to escape Grima. If there was any doubt about the fact, it was all erased when the next day’s ship came the news that Regna Ferox had already been all but burnt to the ground, its vast army of mercenaries and warlords crushed with a mere spell from the Fell Dragon.
The refugess didn’t stay for long; once news came of Regna Ferox’s decimation, they all fought for ships setting out for distant lands. Say’ri had expected her parents to worry then, but aside from announcing stricter measures at the docks, nothing had changed.
Surely, they couldn’t be ignorant of the peril they were in.
Say’ri approached her mother first.
“Mother! We must do something, otherwise the Risen will be at our shores—”
“Hush, Say’ri!” Mother’s eyes widen and she swabbed at Say’ri’s shoulder, “you must not say such things!”
“But Mother!” A note of panic creeped into Say’ri’s voice.
Her mother pinched Say’ri’s cheeks. What was once a comforting gesture had never been so condescending.
“Peace, my daughter. There’s an ocean between our continent and Ylisse. Terrifying as the idea of the Risen is, who has heard of Risen that can swim?”
She gave up trying to reason with her mother after two days of this and nervously approached her father. She stood off to the side and watched him chat amicably with some of the merchants about the shipment of ore that was due to arrive from southern Valm during the next week. Never mind the rumors from yesterday that the Risen had been creeping towards the western shores of Ylisse.
She waited until the merchants were out of earshot to whisper her worries.
“Father, I’m concerned for Cho’sin. Have you heard the rumors? The Risen have—”
To her dismay, he cut her off immediately with a wave of his hand.
“Peace, child. They are just that. Rumors.” Though, she saw his jaws clench after the last word.
“Even if they are rumours, don’t you think we should— “
“Nay, daughter. If we were to panic now, do you understand the disrespect we would be showing?”
Her father didn’t wait for a response and made a sweeping gesture with his hands as he continued.
“Even if the wretched Risen were to crawl their way across from Ylisse, there isn’t a place more blessed or holier than Valm. Ylisse may be the land where Naga bequeathed the Falchion, but this is the land blessed by the Earth Mother and War Father. The land where Naga’s Voice slumbers,” Father’s voice was dangerously low as he continued, “would you dare suggest their blessings aren’t enough, Say’ri? Would you dare utter such disrespectful words towards the gods?”
“N-no, that wasn’t my intention at all,” Say’ri stammered, and her father turned away from her, placated with her response. Then without thinking, she added, “but what about the others fleeing through the ports every day, Father?”
A look of anger — and was that fear? — passed over Father’s face.
“Those who forsake and disrespect the safety and blessings bestowed upon us should be of no concern of ours,” Father muttered, “the fools spread nothing but panic amongst our people before cowardly fleeing with the assumption that they can escape their deaths.”
As Say’ri watched her father walk away, she could hear him muttering to himself, and she had to strain so that only the last of his words were audible to her.
“What is the point in running away? If Valm were to fall, then there is no corner on this planet that is safe from Grima’s reach.”
Having given up on convincing her parents, Say’ri turned to Yen’fay. Not because she thought that he stood a better of chance of swaying their minds — it was no secret that she was the one they all doted on — but to find some comfort and some respite from the dark thoughts that plagued her mind.
Say’ri found him in one of the war rooms, with only a candle to keep him company. He seemed to know why she was here but he didn’t make any move to dismiss her, even though the topic irked him. There was only a sigh and a gesture for her to side beside him. They sat in silence, faces slightly warmed by the glow of the candlelight.
Say’ri opened and closed her mouth multiple times, the words dying in her throat before they could escape her. Yen’fay fidgeted with his hands and cracked his knuckles, a tick that their tutors had worked hard to rid him of and one that Say’ri had thought he had left behind in childhood.
Just like those games we used to play , Say’ri thought as she turned to look at the flickering flame, who knew back then that there was a chance they would become something more?
When Yen’fay finally spoke, she nearly jumped out of her chair, not failing to note how her hand went by instinct towards her waist. Perhaps improper for a lady of her standing but these days she couldn’t bring herself to go anywhere without a weapon; even if it was the small knife that she had hidden away in the pockets stitched beneath her clothes.
“I heard Father tell Mother about what you said to him a few days back,” he said as if he were discussing the weather instead of their impending doom, “they haven’t been ignoring your fears, Say’ri.”
“Then why do they brush me aside as if they do?” Say’ri muttered.
“The nobility must set an example for the commonfolk in our domain, do you not agree? How would it look to the commoners and the soldiers if their protectors are quivering in fear? We owe it to our people to keep up a strong morale.”
“Do we owe it to them to lie about there being no danger at all? Stick our heads in the sand and act like our world is not a hair away from falling apart?”
She hadn’t meant to sound so harsh and when Yen’fay looked up, Say’ri expected to be reproached for her tone. Instead, he looked down towards his hands as soon as their eyes made contact. She had never seen her brother so anxious and so indecisive, not even when they had been children. It was a face that was ill-suited someone so renowned like Yen’fay, who was loved by his allies and feared by his enemies.
It disturbed Say’ri greatly, almost as much as the prospect of Grima arriving to their land. She turned her attention back to the candle, focusing on watching the melted wax drip gently down the candlestick. Her anxiety bubbled as she watched the droplets coalescence with each other, but she dare not speak lest it reveal some frightening, feeble side of her brother’s. Instead, she looked towards the darkened corners of the rooms, wishing that she could take Cho’sin in the palm of her hands and melt away into the shadows.
The candle had been reduced to a stubble when he spoke again.
“I can understand our parents’ position, Say’ri.” Yen’fay whispered. “Faith is all they have left. If there’s even a shred of truth behind the stories and tales they tell children, then we are doomed. The old texts say that Grima brought nothing but ruin and that entire farmlands were made barren because the dark dragon lingered in the area for too long. It’s why they say Plegia is the wasteland it is,” he turned towards her and blinked wearily, “how can we hope to win against something like that? Can you truly blame people for placing stock in the slight chance that Grima would be placated with just decimating Ylisse?”
“No,” Say’ri whispered, and then her eyes widened, “Brother! What do you mean by ‘slight chance’? Surely you cannot mean that—”
“Pray that I am wrong, Say’ri.” Yen’fay said grimly, “and pray that you are wrong for thinking us fools to cling onto hope so desperately.”
She had just finishing clasping her hands together in prayer when Yen’fay spoke again, “I am sorry for frightening you so and robbing you of your sleep, Say’ri but I could not disrespect my sister and make her feel as if she were delusional. I care too much about you for me to do such an injustice.”
“There is no need for an apology, Brother. I will pray for our safety and of our kin in Ylisse.”
“Such a big heart you have, Say’ri,” Yen’fay let out a small smile, “but I still see the fear in your ear. I know its not much but I hope it comforts you to know that no matter what the world throws in my direction, I’ll let no harm come to my dear sister.”
It comforts me more than you’ll ever know, Yen’fay, Say’ri thought, more than I could ever put into words.
During those childhood games, Say’ri and her friends always imagined Grima’s arrival and subsequent ruin to be sudden. There was calm one minute and then the next moment, Grima would descend upon the land, the heavens above blotted out by its shadowy scales. There wasn’t anything to suggest otherwise in the stories they had been told.
That would have been more preferable to what transpired. At least in their make believe, they all had died a quick and relatively painless death.
Their spy brought news of Walhart’s death at the end of the month. Unlike the rest of the Lords of Valm, Walhart hadn’t been content to idly sit by and watch Ylisse burn. No, he gathered nearly every healthy person under his domain and had set sail. Some said he feared the Fell Dragon would turn its maw upon Valm and wanted to slay the beast while it still feasted on Ylisse. Others said his ambitious mind saw the anarchy spreading throughout the continent and had set off in a cunning plan to expand his realm.
One thing they all agreed upon was that Walhart had practically served himself up on a silver platter.
There was only word of his death; his actual body was never found but bits of his armor and axe washing up on Valmese shores was proof enough. According to the missive sent over by their spies, gossip circulated all over court as to the details behind Walhart’s fate. Some said the sea devoured his ships whole, while others muttered about how the Risen must have feasted that day as Walhart’s army disembarked onto the Ylissean shore.
And then one day, a rescue boat pulled into the capital’s port, the blood-streaked and torn flag of Walhart’s house flying from above.
Chaos spread immediately throughout the city when the half-transformed corpse of a Valmese soldier tottered out from the boats. Her parents had sent her away then, with whatever came to pass next deemed too horrific for her ears, but she managed to listen through listening through the secret hallways hidden away in the castle.
She wished she hadn’t; she dreamt of monstrous beings chasing her as fire rained from above and whenever she would wake throughout the night, there was the rancid taste of burnt flesh on her tongue.
The missive had been enough to convince her parents of the danger. When she woke the next morning, her body still trembling from her dreams, it was to the clouds thundering above and her father’s booming voice issuing orders down in the courtyard.
The borders were to be closed — though she’d caught one of the passing guards muttering about it being useless and that the rest of the nations had probably done the same — and that no foreign ship was to dock at port. As she walked down to the main hall, she found her mother busy consulting with the armorer about whether the castle was well-supplied in tomes. Apparently their safest bet against an onslaught of Risen was to bombard them with magic and distract them so they could escape— it was no longer a question of if they were coming but now a matter of when .
What of believing in the blessings that the dragon gods bestowed upon us? What happened now that we’re sure they won’t be offended by us taking action? Say’ri thought bitterly as she saw all the nobles and soldiers flanking her father’s side for guidance, and then realizing how heretical her thoughts may have sounded, quickly glanced towards the sky and mouthed an apology.
No, no. I meant no disrespect! Please, I beseech you to help us! We must make preparations to fend for ourselves for that is what the War Father taught us. But surely it is a just a precaution and you will save us this time too, will you not? You always do.
The sky thundered in response.
“Thank you,” she murmured to the old vendor as she passed over the coins resting in her palm without so much as a glance. A small bun dusted with sugar was gently placed in her hands in exchange.
“You paid twice the price for that though I’m sure you’re well aware of that,” A voice called out to her as she climbed the steps to the watchtower. Yen’fay’s eyes didn’t waver from where he kept watch over the coast though she saw his lips quirk.
“Oh, Brother, these are hard times,” she grimaced as the tissue beneath the bun clung to her fingers, “I’m sure I am the old man’s first sale today and I doubt he is going to get anymore today.” Sweet treats were the last thing on anyone’s mind these days.
She took one more bite and finished off the bun — stale and sparse on the sugar, just as she had expected — as Yen’fay gave her a fond look. “Aye, Say’ri, you’ve a kind heart. Too kind for your own good, but it would pain me more to see you lose that about yourself.”
Say’ri smiled and paused to bask in the glow of the words and as Yen’fay turned back to look over the horizon, she reached to peer through the spyglass, “Now then,” Yen’fay stretched his arms, “Keep watch — we just have to wait for that last fishing boat to tow in and then I shall see about getting that baker a few more sales.”
“Don’t you mean two ships, Brother? Or is there a blot on the spyglass again? Hang on, let me check,” she quickly turned the spyglass around in her hands and frowned as the pristine crystal shone back at her. She nearly poked her eye in as she peered through the spyglass again, “No, Brother! Look! There are two!”
“What?” The spyglass was snatched away from her hands, and she saw Yen’fay go still before his shoulders began to tense up, “That can’t be it. Only five boats went out to port today.” Say’ri peered over the post towards the harbour, and her heart began to race as she saw the four fishing boats lined up neatly against the docks.
“We sent a spy boat the other week, didn’t we?” Say’ri suggested, “I... I overheard Father talking about in with one of the admirals. It hadn’t come back yet so could that be it?”
The entire time she spoke, she had clasped her hands together, a drop of sugary syrup dripping down her wrist as she silently prayed, please let it be true, please let it be true. There hadn’t been any signs of Risen near their borders for months, and there was no reason that a nation would send a lone ship to attack them. Her mind raced with the justifications and soothing explanations as to why they were safe, even as she saw Yen’fay gesture towards the soldiers stationed at the watchtower with the cannons.
“If it were one of our ships- spy ship or otherwise- they were under strict instructions to fly the Cho’sin flags as they were to approach the port.” Yen’fay gestured for her to cover her ears.
“But, what if-” she stammered, her heart feeling as if it were moving up to lodge in her throat.
“That’s not one of our ships.” Yen’fay said firmly.
“But-”
Her voice was cut off as Yen’fay yelled for the troops to fire and Say’ri flinched, her hands cupping around her ears with the boom of the cannon. The watchtower shook asthe second missile launched and she nearly stumbled off the tower, Yen’fay grabbing her to keep her from falling off.
The first two cannonballs missed, but the third found its mark and the vessel splintered in half. The port had gone silent as they watched the waters claim the remains of the ship. There hadn’t been any sign of a rowboat, or a flag waving surrender at any point during the assault. What unnerved Say’ri the most though was that it went down silently; not a scream or shriek as it went down, the only sound being the squawking of the fleeing gulls.
The water bubbled for a few seconds and then it went still, all evidence of the ship gone.
And then, the bubbles were back and the waves around the lumber turned a strange purple. The waves parted and she heard screams and Yen’fay was yelling orders, but it took her some time to recover from the shock to realize that there was something- no, not something but somethings- coming out of the ocean.
They glowed a strange hue of purple, enveloped by miasma. Their eye sockets had a harsh red glow, that was visible even from all the way over on the tower.
“Risen,” Say’ri whispered. Her breath hitched and she dug her nails in her arms, as she used to whenever she suspected she was in a bad dream.
But there was only a slight prick near her elbows, and she never woke up in her bedroom. The stench of gunpowder continued to burn in her nose and throat and her ears rang violently.
“ All cannons! Fire! And mages! Full-on assault with the Thunder tomes!”
Boom! Boom!
The sky was littered with cannon balls and flaming arrows. She thought she would go deaf from all the thunder and lightning booming around her. And yet, the Risen didn’t seem to decrease in number, and more and more Risen seemed to rise from the depths, replacing the handful that had been struck down almost immediately.
How many of them are there? How can there be so many of them on one boat?
With a gasp, Say’ri watched as one of the Risen, its chest covered with arrows like it were a pincushion, rise almost immediately after it fell into the ocean, the arrows slipping off its skin with ease.
“Say’ri, run for the castle!” Yen’fay nearly dragged her down the ladder; her legs weren’t working anymore, her gaze fixed as if she were spell-bound on the descending horde upon them, “tell Mother and Father what has happened.”
As if the screams and thunder and the wail of the horns hadn’t warned them already. And where would they run to? If Risen had the ability to swim, they were probably swarming the countryside as well and even if they did run, where would they go? Father was right, if this divine land, where so many of their gods had thrived and called their home was about to fall, then where else could they possibly hope to flee to?
Yen’fay had left her side and was sprinting towards the sand, “Troops! With me!”
The stampede of soldiers rushed past her and their cries of ‘For Cho’sin’ rang in her eyes. When she stood up with shaking legs, Say’ri remembered the words of her tutors and her parents and her beloved brother about the nobility’s duty to the country, rushed in after them, her hands acting of their own accord as they drew her blade from its sheath.
She was at the tail end of the formation and her body quivered with fear and adrenaline as the soldiers in front of her fell and dwindled in number. And then before she knew it, the sand had dragged her over to a Risen that leered at her as it tossed a body aside and picked up a discarded lance.
It was a skinny thing, nothing like the looming monster in her dreams. Its eyes were hollow, and nearly blinded her with their crimson light. Its skin was dry, and reduced to scales in some parts, and it shot towards her with inhumane speed, even though its sunken skeleton would suggest it incapable of such a feat. She dodged the blow by a hair though the miasma enveloping its skin nearly drained her as the spell brushed against her skin.
“Fie.” She spat out the sand, her mouth burning.
There was an ear-bursting shriek behind her and she narrowly dodged as it swiped with its lance again. The steel end lodged in the wet sand and the Risen struggled as it tried to pry it out. Her instincts took over and the lessons about combat etiquette long forgotten, Say’ri gave the lance a heavy kick and it spiraled away from the Risen’s hands.
The Risen turned to her with a snarl and it was then that Sayri"s eye went to the Risen’s blackened nails. Bits of tough seaweeds clung to them and they looked so sharp that it might have well have been ten daggers that had been pointed at her. When the Risen swiped at her, Say’ri brought her sword in front of her to parry the attack.
She gasped in horror as the claws dented the sword. As it were made of the cheapest metal rather than the finest silver from the famed Cho’sin mines. She didn’t have time to dwell on it, and as the Risen brought its other arm to swipe at her left flank, she brought the sword up again in a vain attempt to hold the Risen off.
The sword snapped in two, and Say’ri was thrown back by the blow of it, the hilt of her weapon slipping from her hand and flying off into the sand. She wheezed and tried to climb her way up when the Risen bared its yellowed fangs at her and lunged for her.
If it weren’t for Yen’fay coming in to slice the beast in half, Say’ri was sure she was to have met her demise with the rest of them on the docks.
The Risen’s limbs twitched and the torso spasmed and miasma pooled in all directions from its corpse. As Yen’fay pulled her up and began to drag her away, she looked on with horror at how the miasma gathered into a cloud above before rushing down towards the scattered parts and drawing it all together like a crude magnet.
“Say’ri! Go!” With a final push towards the castle, Yen’fay turned and sprinted for the shore, unsheathing Amatsu as he did so.
That was the last time she ever saw him.
She didn’t remember what came next but a vague sense of bodies pushing against her, then pushing her in this direction and that. Roars and thunders and shrieks and the horrid sound of steel crashing against steel. She didn’t even know if she was headed in the direction of the castle, the chaos of the crowd dragging her wherever it willed. She gasped and wheezed, and bile rose in her throat and she felt she was spun here and there and for a moment, she felt herself being pushed out of the crowd and finally getting the whiff of air her body was so desperately craving before her feet met the air and her body lurched backwards.
She braced herself to meet the ground, and her arms flailed as her body crashed against the water. It was a struggle, fighting against the current of the canal as it pushed against her and over her, and around her legs trying to drag her down in the depths during one minute and then pushing her towards the sea the next minute.
At first, she tried to fight it, but eventually the burn in the eyes from the water proved to be too much and she let her exhausted body be carried through the dark canals. It was almost a respite that the rest of the journey was through the dark tunnels, the roar of the water blocking out the screams and yelps from above. She floated on her back, and time ceased to exist for Say’ri. Her vision darkened as the last of the light grew distant and after swaying around in the water, she slowly started to taste the salt in the air. The taste grew stronger and stronger until the salt was almost as overwhelming as the roar in her ears and a cool breeze flitted by her ear before the canal threw her to the sea with a final roar and left her at its mercy.
She expected the Risen to take her almost immediately, and that the last sounds she would hear would be that of her fellow soldiers’ final yowls intermixed with the dreadful shrieking of the Risen.
Except there was nothing but the gental lapping of the waves hitting the rocks, and no claws reached out to slash at her or drag her to the depths of the sea. Something scratched against her back and she flailed in the water trying to reach for it, and gasped in relief when the lumbar scraped against her hands. Say’ri reached out to grip it, spitting out the water as she kicked towards the shore.
There was no sign of the Risen, but Say’ri felt a pit in her stomach as she saw the shapes scattered helter-skelter all over the sand. The watchtowers — or what remained of it — were upturned. She tried not to think of who the bodies could possibly belong to, because she knew if she let her mind wander- oh, Yen’fay- she’d have given up hope right there and then and let the water claim her .
She told herself that here was no way that Yen’fay could have been taken down so easily, and when her feet began to scrape against the sand, reminded herself that her brother had been just as gallant and heroic as she had imagined him to be in this sort of scenario. He had cut through the Risen so effortlessly so, of course he must have made quick work of them and ran towards the castle to help everyone else. Her brave, strong, courageous Yen’fay proved himself to be the hero once again.
Amatsu greeted her as she took her first shaky steps onto the shore, the water rippling gently against its curves. A pile of bodies lingered not a few feet from the blade; some of the arms were reaching out in the direction of the blade.
She remembered her brother’s virtues as she quietly reached down to grab the hilt of the blade, and the sword sighed in her hands.
Say’ri waited, shivering, for the tears to come but they never did and she turned away from the hands reaching out to her, wanting to remember her brother as the man who, just a few hours ago, had been gently chiding her for being careless with her money. Her beloved brother who told her to never lose her kind heart.
If she let herself look for him amongst their grotesque and maimed faces, Say’ri knew the sight would forever taint her memories of Yen’fay.
So, she quietly walked up the sand and towards what remained of her old life.
Say’ri didn’t return to the castle. The darkened flag, raised only in situations of dire emergencies warning allies to stay far away from the castle grounds, was flying high from the flagpole. That had not been enough to ward her off, but a quick survey from her perch showed that castle grounds and entrances to the secret passageways had been overrun with the Risen.
A small part of her hoped that her parents had managed to flee and were waiting for her though it was crushed immediately when she remembered that they had sworn their entire lives that they would rather die a warrior’s death than run with their tails between their legs. She prayed that their deaths were quick and they were watching over her from above.
Amatsu hummed gently in her hands, and stared down at it dejectedly. The sword had been regaled as one that could pierce through the sharpest of armors and could take down battalions with ease.
“What use were you?” she muttered to it, “you were supposed to protect my family and now they are gone from the world.”
She glared at the sky, seeking out the constellation of the Divine Dragon. When she failed to find it, she turned to look for the stars denoting Mila and Duma. The clouds had hidden them from view and she gnashed her teeth as she tore her gaze from the sky and began to make her down from the perch.
The Divine Dragons had deserted them, and left her people to die. Part of her wanted to climb back up to the perch and demand answers as to what they had done wrong. Had they not been devout enough? Had her words actually offended them? Part of her wanted to plead with them. Offer her life for her parents or her brother, someone more worthy of wielding Amastu—
No , Say’ri told herself, to plead and to throw your life away as such would be disrespectful to Yen’fay.
He had not given up his life so she could curl up at some roof whimpering as she waited for a Risen to sink its claws into her. He would want her to set out into this cruel world and prove herself worthy of Amatsu.
And I shall, Yen’fay, she promised the sky, Father. Mother. Brother. Watch as I do your memory proud.
The Risen had made quick work of the city; there was nary a sign of it being a thriving city only a few hours ago. She stayed to navigating the streets towards the outskirts of the city after noting that the Risen were drawn towards the centre of the town, where the castle loomed over the sea.
Carts were overturned, and there were bodies scattered all over the city, and Say’ri tried to let her eyes not linger on the bodies anymore than necessary.
Her breath hitched when she heard footsteps behind her, and she ran up to the nearest door, nearly tripping over the body that lay right in front of it. The door was unlocked and she forced herself in and crouched behind the wall. If the Risen came in and went further down the hall to investigate, she would at least have a head start.
Say’ri held her breath when she heard something scrape against the stone and then the door pushed wide open.
A woman’s harsh voice cut through the silence.
“Hoo! Would you look at this! We haven’t had a good haul here since a long time, and the first street too! Lady Luck must be smiling down at me.”
“Announce it to every Risen, why don’t you?” The second voice was harsher, and his voice grated against her ears. “Hurry it up, Boss, before they stop feasting on whoever is left here and come looking for us.”
“Who’s in charge? Me or you, you mangly pup? We haven’t hit this big since months now and the reward here is very well worth the risk, I’d say.”
“How dare you?” Say’ri spat as she stepped out of the shadows, “you will plunder from my people no longer.”
The woman jumped and glared at her, arrow nocked ready at the bow. Her companion wasn’t as fazed and only turned from his position at the door to stare at her coolly.
“And who the hell, do you think you are?” the woman spat, “Should have had run for it when you had the chance.” Then her eyes passed over Say’ri’s robes and Amatsu. “Heh. By the looks of you and the sword, probably some royal brat. Ever seen this one, mangy pup?”
The man said nothing and the woman aimed for Say’ri, “I’ll try to make this one real quick, Your Highness.”
Say’ri braced herself to dodge and as her fingers gripped the hilt, she felt a jolt as the blade gave her a surge of power. The woman chuckled,
“Ha! That sword can’t save you. In this close space, you’re easy pickings—“
The woman’s sneer broke off into a painful gasp and crimson erupted all throughout her dark shirt. Her partner did not spare a glance towards her as he pulled the dagger from her chest, his cruel gazed fixed on Say’ri.
“Bastard.” The woman sputtered at him as she fell to the ground. The man didn’t even blink as the life drained out of his prevois partner and turned to grin at Say’ri, “after all that I did for you, you mangy…”
His eyes were as cruel as his smile, and his mop of unruly red hair caught in the moonlight as he took one step towards her.
“Cho’sin’s princess, I’m guessing? You wouldn’t be able to be wildly swiping at the air with that thing if you weren’t.”
“Stay back,” Say’ri swiped in his direction again for emphasis, “and cease your babbling! I shan’t forgive you of your crimes!”
He held up his hands but his smile deepened and there was a thud as the dagger slipped out of his hand.
“Easy now, Princess. You would do well to remember your courtly etiquette— your tutors used to place a huge emphasis on that, didn’t they?”
Say’ri narrowed her eyes. How did this man know so much about their court? He didn’t look to be more than a lowly thief but his accent was foreign to Cho’sin. His show of surrendering meant little to her; a thief’s pledge was nothing to her especially with the fine example of his forme partner to show what happened if she made the foolish decision of trusting.
“Easy now. That’s no way to treat a fellow royal now, is it?”
“You? A royal?” Say’ri scoffed indigently. “Methinks you give the nobility less credibility than they’re worth.”
“Aye. A disposed royal but a man deserving of an alliance with you nonetheless.” He placed a hand on his chest and dipped his head mockingly. “I am Gangrel of Plegia. Charmed.”
“You? Gangrel? I would have an easier time believing that you were Walhart instead. “
Still, she had little reason to doubt him. They’d never found his body and Gangrel’s reputation preceeded him. One of the few members at court who had met him had called him a jackal, and the man in front of her looked exactly like one turned human with his deranged smile and cruel eyes. The man was reviled throughout a globe; not even the lowest of scum would want to associate with him.
His leer deepened as he saw her hesitate.
“How about you and I make an alliance? We gotta survive, don’t we? I don’t imagine your family would have wanted you to—”
“Keep their names out of your filthy mouth, you cur!”
“Ah, you aren’t very grateful for someone who saved your life, are you?” He gestured towards his deceased partner, “and I thought the Cho’sin people swooned at these sort of grand gestures.”
“How do I know I won’t end up like her? She seemed fairly comfortable with you and you stabbed her without a second thought!”
“I was in debt to her,” Gangrel grunted, “and she would have turned on me soon enough, its a tough world out here now. There isn’t any room for being soft.”
“And yet, you seek to make an alliance with me.”
“I would be insane not to. You survived the initial onslaught for one. And that sword — it"s not that damned Falchion that everyone else is loosing their mind over — but that is one nifty thing to have. No point killing you if you’re the only one that can yield it.”
She considered her options. She excelled in all her lessons, be it the sword, harp, embroidery, drawing or the ancient languages. Aside from her training with the sword , none of them would be of any use in surviving and outrunning the Risen. Gangrel, as much as it revolted her to ally herself with such a loathsome person, was probably her best chance at survival. If she didn’t know any better, she would have tried to convince herself that the Divine Dragon had cleared a path for him to help her.
Say’ri lowered Amastu slightly and gave him a curt nod.
“Excellent choice, Princess. You’re wiser than you look,” Gangrel grinned and gave another exaggerated bow in her direction. When bent over, she saw the Levin Sword peeking out from beneath his robes and she suspected Gangrel wanted her to notice it.
He would have attempted to strike her down with it if she refused, she realized, and even with Amatsu, she would most likely lost to someone who had no doubt years of underhanded tricks to survive and escape death countless times.
Gangrel saw her dubious look, and he grinned again, “I’m afraid I’m not big on blood oaths, but how about we, I don’t know, just take the other’s word on not doublecrossing each other, shall we?”
She pushed past him without a word. Gangrel followed with a chuckle.
They left the town, immediately. Say’ri refused to let him rob anymore of the houses and Gangrel had in scoffed in response that there wasn’t any point staying if that were the case but didn’t resist her wishes further.
“But what of the people? We can’t just leave like this without checking the town once. There could be more of my people stuck there, waiting for help.”
“Look, we hit, what? About twenty houses tonight before we ran into you? All the pantries were nearly empty. Everyone fled when they could and the only people left behind are the ones turning into RIsen as we speak,” Gangrel grimaced and looked back with a grim look, “and you don’t want to be around when that happens.”
He turned towards her, and spoke to her the first time that night with some shred of sympathy.
“Oh, and Princess? I wouldn’t dwell too long about what we did and we didn’t leave behind. Unless you don’t want to be long for the world, that is. The thinking types don’t tend to survive our here. Not for long, anyways.”
It was an uneasy alliance. For all his barbed remarks about her puffy red eyes and blinking back tears in the mornings, and Say’ri calling him every insult (but of course, he didn’t so much as flinch) that she could think of for a depraved man as him, they never turned on each other. She still slept uneasily though, marveling at her luck when she didn’t wake up to a deserted camp and a knife deep in her belly.
They trekked through the murky swamps, surviving on whatever scraps Gangrel had scrounged together from the capital, and when that had ran out, taken to hunting whatever game came their way.
Gangrel had wanted to go towards Northern Valm to catch a ship for Ylisse. When she had questioned if he had lost his mind, he rolled his eyes and gestured to his crudely drawn map.
“There’s more prey for the Risen here,” he kicked at the sand, “Ylisse? Grima has probably tired of razing Ylisse to the ground by now.”
Say’ri stared up at him, “How could you be so callous? Ylisse is your home.”
“ Was my home,” Gangrel corrected her. “Where I grew up, I learnt pretty quick it’s best to not get attached for places for too long.”
That had been the first time that he had alluded of his past, and he had been very tight-lipped as to how he had actually survived up till this point. All she had gotten out of him was that he had met some pirates after his country lost the war and they had slowly dwindled in number until it was just him and his former captain.
She waited for him to continue, but he dragged his foot to erase his sketch of Valm and scowled at her, “Well? Oh — don’t give me that look. It’s the best course of action for you anyways.”
“How so?”
“The princeling’s young brat. Lucia? Lucy? Lucina? Well, whatever pretentious name the Ylissean whelp goes by, I heard she’s still alive, last I heard. And she’s rallying troops to form a merry band going around Ylisse helping people.”
Gangrel checked his reflection in his dagger and ran a hand through his beard and added, “sounds like just the crusade you’d be wanting to drag that sword to. A dumb cause to get yourself killed for, but I never understood the chivalry you Cho’sin lot tend to prattle about.”
She ignored the jibes at her expense and considered the idea. There wasn’t anything left for her in Valm; Gangrel never minced his words and if his accounts of traveling through her continent were true, she would likely have to face a slow, agonizing death or turn to a life of plundering.
Both options brought bile to her throat.
“Fine” she said reluctantly, “We shall sail for Ylisse, then.”
They had walked only for a few minutes when Say’ri turned towards Gangrel.
“How are we to find a ship? They’re likely to be scarce and I’m sure there would be a crowd to contend against with.”
Gangrel let out a snort of amusement, “leave that to me. It’s better that you not worry yourself about these things — for your own sake.”
Say’ri took him up on that advice.
Say’ri wished she had visited the Mila Tree at a better time.
“Huh,” Gangrel peered as the lowest of branches came into view, “they weren’t exaggerating when they said that the tree seemingly pierced the sky.”
“You know of the legend?”
“I didn’t tell you the rest of the lesson. The gist of it is that Grima apparently swore to cut down the old tree. No sign of the Risen here, so I assume that Grima‘s either become senile or that becoming a woodcutter is fairly low on the Fell Dragon’s list.”
Gangrel’s casual and rather scathing remarks of the Fell Dragon were something that never failed to catch Say’ri off-guard. She would expect a Ylissean to make such remarks, but she was sure that Gangrel would be hailed a heretic if any of the Grimleal were to overhear his words.
She was about to ask him whether he ever truly followed the Grimleal’s teachings when she nearly tripped over a gnarly root and her own lessons returned to her.
“Naga’s Voice rests here,” Say’ri gasped and looked around wildly, “Gangrel, we have to find her!”
“And why would I bother with that?” Gangrel scoffed, “we’re running short on time as is. We can’t afford to waste our day with such nonsense.”
“You don’t understand,” Say’ri muttered as she turned towards the direction of the tree. She pushed through the foilage, not waiting for Gangrel to follow. She didn’t have to though; the leaves rustled behind her and he joined her side with a sigh.
“And pray tell, what don’t I understand about why its a bad idea to spend hours taking a detour towards the tree?”
“Lady Tiki is in danger. I’m sure Grima must have sent Risen looking for her. And the Fell Dragon is right to be afraid. Lady Tiki’s power is only a fraction compared to Naga’s but even that is enough to do considerable harm to Grima.”
“First you say that she’s in danger if we she doesn’t have the sense to wake up from her nap. Then you prattle on about how strong she is. Kind of being contradictory here, aren’t we?” Gangrel said in his jeering tone.
She glared at Gangrel and narrowly avoided a branch from scraping her shoulder. “You disrespect the Divine Dragons. You mock the Fell Dragon — not that you should worship such a fiend — but is all of this a joke? All this time I thought you were a secret follower of Naga’s faith but you have nothing but scorn for the Dragons.”
“And why wouldn’t I?” Gangrel said coolly, “the Divine Dragons never did anything for my country did they? Grima did whatever they pleased with Plegia and her people but it was only when Grima declared war on Ylisse did Naga do something about it.”
“Your ancestors renounced the Divine Dragons though.” Say’ri said, and then added hesitantly, “or at least, that’s what we all heard Plegia did.”
“We’ve heard the same all our lives too. Don’t know why or if it even did happen so don’t ask me for a history lesson there,” Gangrel brought a hand towards his to shield himself from the glaring sunlight and scowled before adding, “not that I get the point of fussing over useless details like this anyways.”
“I just want to understand something,” Say’ri said.
“What?”
“Why Plegia worships the Fell Dragon.”
When Gangrel didn’t respond, she continued, “The last time Grima had been unleased upon the world all those centuries ago, it had been the work of a dedicated priest. A lowly ranking one, but the tales told he had nearly withered away by the time he had gathered the dragon’s bones and snuck away the Fire Emblem.”
Gangrel let out a grunt of affirmation.
“When Grima was revived, he had feasted on what little flesh remained of that devoted follower. Even after the proof of that reward, thousands blindly devoted themselves to Grima. Some out of fear, yes, but most followed that monstrosity out of reverance,” Say’ri gave him a confused look, “So why? The Fell Dragon never rewarded his followers. It viewed all of humanity with the same contemptful gaze, and if any human was spared by the dragon, it was only because there was use to be found from the puppet.”
Gangrel didn’t respond and it was only when the base of the tree came into view from the top of a hill that he spoke again.
“Desperation,” he said softly, “we always have been a desperate people. Why else would they let a pauper like me anywhere near their throne? There was nothing that Plegia could give to us. It was a struggle to see the sun and the burning sands and then hear about Ylisse and how they reaped in bountiful harvest after harvest but wouldn’t look towards us unless if their zealot king wanted to wage war on us. I always hated the Ylisseans for what they did and how they look at us self-righteously as if they didn’t have crimes to answer for,” he gave a dry chuckle, “I imagine it wasn’t that different for my ancestors either. A being arrives promising that it’d destroy the very thing you hate? Many a fool would devote themselves to it.”
“But you didn’t,” Say’ri whispered.
“No. I learned very early on in the streets that there‘s always a catch to someone promising miracles.”
“Did you know about the vassal?”
The question hung in the air and Gangrel didn’t speak again till they had finished climbing down the hill.
“I heard about the vassal. But I didn’t believe them — no one did aside from the really devout followers — they always claimed to have one every few decades or so.”
Say’ri opened her mouth but Gangrel nodded towards tree, “Well? I’ll keep watch. You check if your Lady has had enough of her nap yet.”
She made her way towards the tree and did a light jog around the tree, one hand resting on her sword. She frowned when she realized that she nearly circled the tree twice and hadn’t seen any sign of a sleeping manakete.
Say’ri cautiously approached the tree and paused as she heard a slight crunch beneath her feet. She slowly raised her foot to reveal blue shards crushed into the dirt.
Gangrel cocked an eyebrow at her swarming towards him with panic.
“Vert,” Say’ri gasped and looked around wildly, “I forgot about— the gem is still back in the castle! I just saw Azure — the gem Lady Tiki was entrusted with — the Risen were here and they crushed it! I couldn’t find Lady Tiki. I can’t tell if she’s dead or ascended to join the other dragons but oh Gods — Vert! The Awakening can’t be performed now!”
“It couldn’t be performed as soon as the Grimleal got their hands on the Fire Emblem and destroyed Argent. If anything, Vert may have very well been the last gem left in the world.”
She brought her hands to her mouth to hold back her wail, but a whimper escaped through her fingers.
“And I thought that we could do something for the world. I thought there was a reason behind why I survived and my family didn’t. But there isn’t. Even if I were to find that Ylissean princess, what then? We’d have no hope for defeating Grima without the Fire Emblem.”
Her legs buckled beneath her and she felt Gangrel catch her by the shoulders just as she was about to collapse onto the grass.
“Hey, no. No, Say’ri, listen.”
Say’ri looked up at him blankly. He’d always called her ‘lordling’ or ‘princess’ and always with that mocking tone of his. He never bothered to use her real name.
“There is a purpose behind you surviving. Even if the Fire Emblem and its fancy gems are gone, that doesn’t mean there aren’t people back in Ylisse who need help. And that sword of yours? Believe or not, people there are more sentimental than you lot in Valm. They’ll flock to you like mad. You’ll bring them hope , Say’ri.”
“Hope?” Say’ri muttered in a daze.
“Yes, hope. Because if a princess could fight across the tides to make her way to a broken continent and take up their cause, then what is stopping them from fighting back? Just because we needed the Divine Dragons before doesn’t mean we can’t figure out a way to stop Grima. We just have to try.”
“Try?”
“Yes, try. And we won’t get to try if you sit around the grass moping.”
He didn’t let go of her arm until they were out of sight of the Mila Tree. Say’ri had been too dazed to speak until they had settled down to eat that night.
“Gangrel, you said ‘we.’ Does that mean you’re going to...?”
“Fight? What other choice do I have other than waiting to die like a dog?”
He scowled down at the fire before staring at the sky.
“Besides, I have a bone to pick with Grima for destroying my Plegia.”
The salt stung at her tongue, and as she watched Valm slowly disappear into the mist, she felt her wounds from losing Cho’sin reopening again.
“It was hard the first I left Plegia too,” Gangrel mused from he stood beside her on the rickety boat, “Guess we all have sentimentality for our homeland no matter how hard we try to kill it.”
He turned away from her, and began to walk away towards the cabins, “don’t stay up too long. Save your energy for the trip. It’s a long journey ahead.”
Say’ri watched him leave before turning towards the sky.
I shall return one day, Yen’fay. Mother. Father. she vowed, I will return once I’ve made our house renowned all across the lands with our resistance.
The last hints of her home receded into the horizon as she finished her prayer.
Until then, please watch over me.