Story 1: Call for Blood

The Plegian captain crumpled, dead.

I could hardly believe my eyes as I panted for breath, still caked in a dozen different bloods, shivering from the exertion. "Did we…" I started, but was too winded to finish the sentence.

At my side stood Chrom, equally battered, though Chrom's expression was more one of determination and confidence than my shock.

Chrom grinned at his tactician. "We've won!" He stood straight and sheathed Falchion before extending his hand to me. "We couldn't have done it without you, Robin. I don't know how many times we've failed, but all it takes is one victory to set things right."

I clumsily shook Chrom's hand—or grasped, more aptly. Adrenaline hazed my thoughts, so I had difficulty coordinating. "Six," I breathed. "Six tries."

Chrom shook his head. "Clear your mind of the past, Robin. What matters is that we've finally succeeded. You have finally succeeded." He released my hand to clasp my shoulder instead. "Rest easy."

For an instant, I felt exactly as Chrom wanted me to. I started to relax as the stress of battle began fading away, and Chrom's strong grip on my shoulder was as firm as the metaphor the action represented; I could stand there forever…

…Naturally, the moment couldn't last.

Chrom was stunned by the newcomer's words. I, as well, winced in surprise.

Ricken stood in the tent flap, still bloodied and dirt-stained from the battle hours before. "Sh… She's… She…"

"Gods…" Chrom murmured. "I can't believe it… Maribelle…"

Broken tears ran down Ricken's eyes. His lips quivered. "She… Right in my arms, she…" His sleeve came up to his eyes, and he was starting to shake. I saw a small crowd forming outside, having noticed the disturbance.

I quickly turned away from him and back to my work: unpacking. There was a camp to set up.

I sighed irritably, realizing I had left my books in the convoy, so I made to leave. "Excuse me," I asked Ricken.

His arm dropped from his face, and he looked at me, almost disbelieving. In hindsight, I suppose my words were rather harshly delivered.

But Ricken relented, and I marched past him. I marched past the rest of the crowd, too. I caught many judgmental glances as I walked.

Oh, yes, they all saw me. They saw how unflinching I was. They knew that, really, I didn't care that Maribelle was dead.

I had seen her die dozens of times. I'd seen ALL of them die, dozens of times. Hell, in this last battle alone, each unit I had fielded had died at some point or another: but usually, someone's death meant a hole in the formation, a weak link, so the rest of us would fall soon after.

But it meant nothing if anyone died. It only mattered if I did—when I did. Six times. Six. Far from a new record, but even once was too many.

I mulled over today's events as I walked toward the convoy. What went differently this time? How did Maribelle die? If she had stuck to the plan, she wouldn't have. That means something must have influenced her to break from the plan. But what?

I shook my head. It didn't matter. This skirmish had been particularly brutal. Six. Unacceptable. I wouldn't reset.

In lieu of knocking, there was a rustle at my tent flap.

Must be Chrom. It's only ever Chrom. "It's unlocked," I snarked.

It wasn't Chrom. The sight of Ricken was surprising enough to make me close my book. "Ricken?" I said skeptically. It occurred to me that I may have sounded a little confrontational. Deadpan at least. I usually was like that, I guess, so it wasn't anything Ricken wasn't used to.

Ricken smiled. His eyes were still somewhat red, but he seemed oddly chipper, considering. "Hey, Robin. Mind if I come in?"

"Uh… nah, come in," I said, motioning him in. I set my book aside and gestured for him to sit in Chrom's usual chair. "Sorry, uh, about your wife."

Ricken sniffed once, and rubbed his nose. "I-It's okay. Thanks."

I watched him curiously, waiting for him to continue. I guess my stare was a little piercing, because he got really uncomfortable.

Ricken suddenly leaned forward, staring me in the eye. "So I talked to Chrom earlier," he said.

"Great," I said. What a grand achievement.

"A-Anyway… He told me." His stare was intense. "He told me about… you know. Your thing."

An inappropriate joke sprung to mind, but I was too startled by what his words implied to make a jest. "Wh… What do you mean."

"You know what I mean," Ricken insisted. "Your time-travel stuff."

My eyes narrowed. "What, exactly, did Chrom tell you?"

Ricken took a breath. "Okay, so I was crying and stuff, okay? And I, well, I begged Naga to bring Maribelle back to me, and… that turned into begging Chrom, instead… And he told me about you. But he said that it's up to you if you want to reset time, okay? He told me to be clear that this wasn't an order."

Of course it wasn't an order. Chrom would never…

I shook my head. "No."

Ricken blinked. My refusal had shocked him to the very core. What, did he think asking nicely would be enough? "A-Are you serious?" he said, indignantly. As though he had the right to be indignant.

I tilted my head, curious. My thoughts from earlier had resurfaced, so I changed the subject. "How did Maribelle die?"

Ricken blinked, and I realized I had confused him. He probably now thought that knowing the circumstances of her death would be enough to change my mind. I chose to let him believe that, as long as I got what I wanted out of this conversation.

"Okay…" He concentrated, hard, evidently trying to think of the most romantic way to describe her death. "We were in the back of the formation. Strike fast, hit hard: just like you ordered. Maribelle was healing, I was mage-ing. When I notice something to the side: a squad of wyverns."

Wyvern squad! My mouth opened slightly. I had entirely forgotten about them! They hadn't been relevant since the fourth reset, so I forgot to plan around them the last time: Miriel was in front instead of on the left flank, so the front was more bolstered, but the flank was vulnerable… so we should have lost, if it weren't for…

Ricken noticed my reaction, felt he had gained a foothold, and continued. "I break ranks to deal with the lead one. Kellam is with me, so I'm not terribly vulnerable, and Maribelle's close behind. We end up taking all of them out but one, and that one is a Wyvern Lord, with a silver lance and everything. Kellam gets a few hits in, but the bad guy closes in on me, instead." He took a deep, shaky breath. "A-And then… That's when Maribelle jumps in the way. A dual guard, but… she took the whole thing." He closed his eyes, becoming more and more unstable. "The lance… The blood… Oh, gods, she was so… Thanks to her, I killed the wyvern lord, freeing our flank, but… She was already…" He sniffed several times, composing himself. I glanced around, but, unfortunately, I didn't keep any tissues nearby.

Ricken looked me in the eyes. His were tear-filled. "Her last words were, 'I love you, Ricken,' and, 'don't tell Robin.' At the time, I didn't know why she had said that, so when I brought it up to Chrom…"

Maribelle knew? I was stunned. Here I was, for the last several months, assuming only Chrom and I had known of my 'talent.' But now a few things made more sense… some encounters we had had, some rather cryptic things she had said around me… Yes, it was certain, she had known.

Ricken's hands clenched into fists. "It's so unfair! Maribelle, she—she understood me. She was one of the only people to not treat me like a kid. She respected my station as a noble, and treated me like an equal. Gods, she was so perfect! She deserves to live." His resolute stare returned. "And you can do that, Robin! You can bring her back to life!"

My thoughts were mostly gone from here, and were back on the battlefield. Seven times I had tried, and six I had failed. Ricken had been skewered by that very Wyvern Lord before. The flank then fell, and we all died. Instead, Maribelle died, and we won. All that changed was simple, dumb luck.

But it worked.

"Robin!" Ricken snapped angrily, bringing me back to the present. "Are you listening?! Maribelle can survive! We can win without her death! I'm just asking you, please, please reset the day! That's all I ask!"

'That's all I ask.' Heh. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Ricken."

"Yes?"

"You don't know what you're asking." I opened my eyes. "Resetting the day is not simple."

"I don't care!" Ricken exclaimed. "Anything! Anything to get Maribelle back!"

"Resetting involves my death," I explained. "I have to die."

That stopped him. He was out of words, if only for the moment.

"Dying isn't all it's cracked up to be," I said, deadpan. "It hurts. It hurts." I winced, just thinking about it. About those words, the only ones I am ever able to think while… "I can't describe to you how unbelievably painful it is. I'm not sure if it's the dying or the resurrection, but let me tell you, it is truly awful. It's so indescribably, inhumanly painful, such that it's—it's traumatizing…" I was grasping at my vocabulary by this point, trying to find some way to vocalize this. "…I wake up in a cold sweat, shivering just from the memory of that pain, for minutes and minutes afterward. It never truly feels like the pain leaves; the thought of experiencing it again is a nightmare that I know will come true, but I will always fight my hardest to prevent. I literally can't describe it in words: it's incomprehensible. I wish it was possible for me to convey just how much death hurts, to make you understand. …No, scratch that—I would never wish that on anyone." I took a breath. "Today, I was forced to experience it six times. I died six times today, each time to something different, something possibly preventable. Perhaps, perhaps, with time, I could possibly find a solution to this that does not involve anyone's death, but that could take another six times, or maybe ten, or maybe twenty." I shuddered. "I couldn't. I would sooner desert. It's awful. It's awful."

Ricken was quiet for a long time.

Then:

"It's… a deep, gnawing pain in my heart," he began. "The thought that I'll never see her again. We will never speak again… We'll never have children, never raise a family together… She will never see an end to this blasted war. But you can change that. Maribelle is a wonderful person, Robin, and you know it! If you reset today, and tell me about what will happen to Maribelle, I will fight harder than I ever have! I would do anything to protect Maribelle."

I saw a sudden, terrifying leer in his eyes.

"Anything!"

I raised a calming hand. My voice was softer now; I was trying to sound sympathetic, but I was unused to such a tone. "Ricken. Death is a normal piece of life. For my part, I envy that Maribelle is capable of dying. I have no idea of my future, but hers… she deserves the honorable, peaceful death she accepted. She died the way anyone would want to. Please, Ricken, let Maribelle go."

"No!" he shouted, rising to his feet. "Stop being so selfish! You suffer some pain, sure, but in the end, everyone lives because of you! You're wasting your power!"

"Selfish? Selfish?!" I stood as well, growing angry. "Me?! I do everything I can to keep this army running! Do you know how many times I've died for you? Dozens! I've saved Maribelle dozens of times! I've saved Chrom dozens of times! And it's all—for—you! The Shepherds! None of you would be here if it weren't for me, so I say, stop flinging accusations, and know your place, Ricken!"

Ricken seemed humbled. I couldn't remember the last time I had shouted off of the battlefield, and my voice was already growing hoarse.

He lowered his head. "I'm sorry, Robin. I shouldn't have said that."

I took a moment to clear my head. "…Right."

"But still," Ricken said. "For Maribelle… Can I not change your mind?"

I shook my head. "Sorry."

"Well, I'm not going to stop trying," Ricken said, determined. "I love Maribelle with all my heart. I'll pester you 'til the end of days, if I have to!"

I sighed. "You can't. Every night, it's locked. If I died right now, I could only go as far back as this morning: no earlier, no later. By the time tomorrow comes around, it won't be possible for me to go back and save Maribelle."

Ricken went sheet-white with shock.

I immediately bit my tongue, regretting my words.

Why? Why would I tell him that?! Why don't I just tell him to—

Ricken closed his eyes, controlling his breathing, and his complexion began to return. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze was averted. "I'm sorry, Robin. I shouldn't have asked…"

I flinched as he started to move, but no, he was just leaving. He parted the tent flap, and was gone.

My heart was racing, my breath haggard, and my brow, sweating. I wasn't safe.

Before this night was over, Ricken would try to kill me. I knew it.

I stopped for a moment to think. Would he really? Was Ricken so psychopathic?

I shook my head. Ricken wasn't a psychopath. He didn't even think he could kill me, so he would feel justified. 'Some pain,' he had said. Hah! He had no idea. I would sooner die for real than experience that pain one more time. I'd rather switch places with Maribelle… were it possible.

But no. Ricken was not a bad person. In fact, I couldn't blame him for what he was certainly going to do. With no reference frame of the pain of death, he couldn't possibly empathize with me. Any rational person would think the same way—would paint me as the villain.

I squeezed my eyes shut and gathered my wits. I was getting ahead of myself. This wasn't a sure thing. I didn't know for certain if he was really going to do it. All I had to do was play careful, and judge Ricken's next move, if there even was one.

I frowned and plucked my pen from my ear. "Only five left…?" I shook my head, scribbling the note down on my clipboard. "Get… more… steel swords."

I reviewed my other notes, and then gave the rest of the armory a cursory glance. Looked like inventory was over. Time to lock up.

I turned away from the weapons, and hesitated. A silhouette stood in the doorway.

"…Ricken?" I murmured warily. "Why aren't you off burying Maribelle? Isn't her funeral in a half-hour or so?"

"I just came to get you," said Ricken, a slightly cold edge to his tone. "I figured you should be there, you know? She liked you."

Yeah, right, I thought. Nobody liked me but Chrom. More guilting tactics. "I'm busy," I said curtly.

"Yeah," Ricken said. I noticed he was shivering slightly, and his fingers were twitchy. "Pretty much everyone's busy with something. Everybody's off somewhere… doing stuff."

My eyes widened slightly. This. His hint. The armory was on the edge of camp, with only the tree line on one side and a few scattered tents on the other. Far from the rest of the Shepherds.

"So… No witnesses, huh?" I said, smiling my driest smile.

"No witnesses," Ricken acknowledged. "Please. Easy way or hard way."

His fingers brushed against the tome at his back. He hadn't returned his Elwind to the armory after the battle.

"You're a coward, you know," I stated. "This is murder. There's no way to justify this, Ricken."

"Yes there is," he insisted. "You endure some pain, and Maribelle survives."

"It's not just 'some pain'," I hissed. "It's a mortal, soul-tearing, unspeakable pain!" Despite myself, I was shivering with fear. Not of Ricken; he could tear me apart with that Elwind to his heart's content, and it would pale in comparison. "Don't do this, Ricken! You're a better person than this."

"Letting my wife stay dead when I have the power to bring her back would not make me a good person!" Ricken snapped.

His features were becoming angrier, but at the same time, more terrified. A cornered dog.

"Stay still, Robin," Ricken said dangerously, and he suddenly reached for his Elwind.

I dove to the side, dodging the first blast; it knocked several suits of armor aside, all the carefully-organized weapons tossed haphazardly around the tent.

I charged Ricken, ramming my shoulder into his chest. Both of us tumbled out of the tent, and the boy's Elwind clattered aside.

I deftly grabbed the Elwind, prayed to Naga for the strength of a hand-axe user, and threw the book as hard as I could. It flew over the tent and into some bushes, past the trees.

Ricken had a split second to decide on his next course of action. Hand-to-hand with me, or search for the tome? This was only a weapon armory, so he wouldn't have any luck finding more tomes in there.

He chose the latter, and I took the opportunity to run.

My heart pounded in my ears, a deep, primal urge to survive pumped through me, and fear, oh gods, the fear. It had never felt so real. Death had always been sudden before—never had I had so much time to dread it.

All was quiet throughout camp. Where the hell was everyone?! Where was Chrom?!

I glanced over my shoulder, and though I couldn't see Ricken, I knew that running was not a good idea; the camp was relatively open, with wide sight lines. It'd be best if I found a place to hide instead.

I ducked into a nearby tent, and quickly had the flap fall behind me. My breath and my heartbeat were so loud as I stood there, within the confines of that tent that looked like so many others. Terrified, terrified.

"Oh?"

I unconsciously released a loud, startled yelp, and a dark chill ran down my spine.

There she was. She uncoiled herself from her bed, her limbs snaking down from the covers, and furled into a standing position.

Tharja. Her expression was sultry, her movements, seductive—more so than usual. In her eyes, I saw a sort of… triumphant look? What the hell?

"Come in, come in," she cooed, gracefully gesturing me in with a serpentine wave of the hand. "Don't be scared off by little Tharja."

I had never thought I would think this, but at that moment, Tharja seemed much less threatening than Ricken. I complied, following her a little deeper into her small tent.

Tharja sat on her bed, slowly crossing her legs. I could see far too much from this vantage point, so I tactfully shifted my eyes.

"Ricken mentioned your little… ability," she said coolly.

Oh, gods, no. "Who else knows?" Anyone who knew would become practically Ricken's ally, and my enemy. They'd all be out for my blood.

This could be much worse than I thought.

"Just me, as far as I know… But that's not important." She tilted her head. "Resetting time? Tsk, tsk. I'm familiar with many hexes, but that is one I have never known."

A Plegian spear, wet with hot blood—Tharja's body crumpling instantly—the collapse of the rear guard, the arrow hell-bent on my heart—

"It's not as fun as it sounds," I said dryly.

"Ah, but think of all that extra time we have." She slowly stood, her motions slow, methodical, suave. "Of all the things we could do…" A hand came up, and her thin fingers curled around my neck. "So many things to experience." Her smirk darkened. "Come to think of it… Now seems like a good time."

"Uh!" I started, shrinking away from her hand; but she pressed up against me, her lips brushing against my neck. I could think only of her corpse. "No, Tharja! Get—off!"

I pushed her away, forcing her to retreat a few steps. But her sneer did not waver. "Don't worry, dear… We'll be sure to reset once I'm done."

Did she know—? Yes, she definitely did. The way she said that, she knew exactly what 'resetting' entailed.

She took a step closer, and I backed away. "You don't understand," I said calmly. She hesitated for a moment, her head tilted… animalistically. Words wouldn't stay her for long. "If I reset, I'm the only one who remembers." I pointed at her sharply. "You won't remember anything. You get nothing out of this except making an enemy of me."

Her smirk died, and her hands fell limp. Her expression became the one she held for everyone but me: disappointment, judgment, her eyes half-masked by bangs. No bright, seductive smile. Seeing her like this was… different.

"Oh." She turned away, walked over to her bed (with much less hip-swaying this time), and sat down. "Fine."

A long, uncomfortable, silent moment. Tharja looked irritated, while I felt a mixture of fear and awkwardness from the situation.

Ultimately, I felt hardly safer here than I did out there with Ricken. If I stayed any longer, Tharja might bring out some seduction hexes, and I'd rather take my chances with a mage whose powers I knew.

"I'm gonna go," I said carefully.

She waved me off. "Let me know how it goes with Ricken. This is a tasty story indeed."

I pursed my lips. I begged to differ.

Clear right, clear left. I slipped out of Tharja's tent and continued sneaking toward the center of camp.

Duck here, dash here. Not a soul in sight. Ricken was nowhere to be found, but neither was anyone else.

Fear, it was gripping, all I wanted was to sit, to huddle over, but I couldn't, I had to fight it, I had to keep moving.

This camp was so damn empty that I was startled when I actually saw someone. I peered around the tent, and there was Lissa, carrying a small box along, whistling to herself.

I relaxed. Lissa. The friendliest face…

I whistled a high note, catching her attention; she frowned, curious as to my secrecy, and walked over.

"Hey, Robin," she said, now grinning a little bit at my unusual gait. "Ricken said he was looking for you."

Oh no. Lissa. Was she my enemy, too?

…No… No, she didn't know. Her expression was far too upbeat, and she definitely would have mentioned by now if she knew about my ability. Lissa was still a friend, just like always.

"Yeah, well, that's a very bad thing," I said, still checking over my shoulders as we talked. "I'm trying to get away from him—just until tomorrow."

Lissa's expression became a little more serious. "Why not run into the woods? He's probably looking around camp, he won't find you out there."

I blinked. Here I was, trying to sneak my way to Chrom, when Lissa had a much easier and more obvious solution. Didn't I feel like an idiot. "Thanks, Lissa," I said, grinning.

Her hand touched her cheek, and her expression genuinely lit up. "A real smile…" she murmured. For a moment, her smile flickered, as though conflicted.

That half-smile reminded me of the last time she'd died. We had been paired up, and she'd taken the lead for just a moment, to heal: all the time that bandit had needed to bring down his axe. Reset.

My antisocial tendencies kicked in again, and my smile died. "Never mind. Sorry for wasting your time." Cold, callous. Maybe next time she wouldn't volunteer to be my partner, and that wouldn't happen again.

She hesitated for a moment as I started to walk away. Then, she got over her inner conflict: "Um… Wait!"

She hurried after me, and pointed aside. "There's a path that way… so you can find your way back easier." She looked at the sky. "It's almost nightfall, so… it'll be helpful. Okay?"

I nodded. "Thanks, Lissa. Later."

I left her behind.

It was dark… and cold. I had nothing but my own thoughts; soon, I could barely see even the path before me through the canopy-filtered moonlight.

I had no one to blame but myself for this, I knew. It was my own antisocial attitude that got me in this predicament. I was a jerk, and now I was paying my dues to the Shepherds. If we had been friends then, Ricken would be less willing to sacrifice me now.

I didn't like being a jerk. I didn't want to be alone. I liked the others. I wanted to make friends, I wanted to be as outgoing as everyone else.

But with my power… it was just impossible to avoid becoming jaded. So much death, such terrible pain… And speaking to people multiple days in a row, and knowing that they are going to say the exact same thing they did last time… It's dehumanizing. It makes the others feel more like automata than people, like you can always manipulate events to make them act the way you want.

Chrom was the only one who knew my secret, and the only one I trusted to know it. Chrom would never ask—

snap

I collapsed in a writhing heap, screaming in agony. The bear trap was unrelenting; its fangs dug deep into my ankle, spilling my blood across the grass path.

I reached down to the mechanism with shaking, pain-numbed hands, but I was too weakened, and the trap was too tight.

I continued contorting in pain, forced to watch more of my blood spill.

I glimpsed a figure out of the corner of my eye: small stature, obscured by shadows. Fear, pain, and adrenaline numbed me to the point of inability to recognize it.

It moved into the light and revealed itself as Ricken. His face was twisted into a horrified grimace, staring down at me with pity and terror.

"Ricken!" I snarled, spittle and blood flying from my lips. "You son of a bitch!"

"I'm sorry," he said, and a downpour of his tears began. "I'm sorry!"

I noticed something in his hands. He apparently never did find that Elwind, because he now tightly clutched a crude knife.

And he was working up the courage to use it—to finish me.

"You bastard! You piece of—" I cringed at another jolt of pain shooting through my crippled leg.

Ricken made up his mind, and wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry, Robin! I have to do this for Maribelle!"

He strode over to me, and I futilely tried to crawl away; a pointless effort, and soon I was on my back, panting in this cool, night air as I awaited my murder.

Ricken crouched over me, raising the knife. In a rough motion, he brought it over his head and down; I reflexively tried to jerk away, but it was for nothing. The knife dug into my abdomen.

Pain and light flashed through my eyes, and I tried to scream, but couldn't. My blood was everywhere. Ricken was crying again, yelling at me to hold still, but he didn't know how to use a weapon, he was just a mage, so he kept stabbing, looking for that killing blow…

"You… tricked… Lissa," I moaned. "I… trusted…"

"She didn't know!" Ricken cried, pausing in his destructive efforts. "She never knew what I would do! I only asked for her help!"

"To lie to me…!" I hissed with blood-covered lips. To send me to Ricken's trap…

My hand weakly reached up, grasping his collar with a minimal amount of force. "Ricken… I'm gonna… I'm gonna fucking kill you," I rasped. "You… you'll die… I'll make it happen… I fucking promise you that…"

Ricken could barely hear me. He didn't care. He'd rather be with her, one way or another.

Stabbing. Fear. Crying. Tears. All for Maribelle. So be it.

My hand fell from his collar. The pain, it was terrible, but what was to come…

It was messy. This was the worst. The worst yet.

Ricken was drenched with my blood. His hands were covered in it, and resetting time would not make that come off.

He hesitated, panting for breath, sobbing. His hands were still wrapped around that knife, shaking. I could hardly see anymore. Just waiting. Waiting for this terrible pain to be replaced by what came after.

Ricken cried out, lifting the knife over his head, and brought it down into my chest one final, decisive time.

I grunted, the last of my breath escaping me. My head lolled to the side, and my hands went limp.

My vision went completely dark.

it hurts

it hurts

it hurts

it hurts

it

hurts

it

… …

I jolted awake with a startled cry. My clothes and bedsheets were damp with sweat. This was the worst it had ever been. The worst case scenario. The worst.

Good morning. It's today again.

I huddled in the fetal position, panting heavily. I could still feel it: the pain was still fresh on my mind. In a few hours, it would feel like a dream, but for now… it hurts.

Chrom lifted the tent flap to find me in that state. Again, and as always, he asked: "How many?"

He allowed me a moment to catch my breath. He knew how this was.

I sat up, clutching my abdomen. Vomit seemed likely. "S-Seven," I panted. "Seven resets."

Chrom frowned, concerned. "Seven. Good gods." He stepped aside, holding the flap open for me. "What makes this skirmish so difficult?"

Chrom and I were walking to the conference tent when I noticed something important in the corner of my eye.

"Would you hold on for a minute, Chrom?" I asked.

Chrom frowned. "Uh, sure. I'll be here."

I left him behind, approaching the happy couple before me.

Ricken smiled as I approached. He seemed a little confused, understandably so; I wasn't one for small talk, especially on days featuring combat. "Oh, hey, Robin! What's up?"

I ignored him and nodded at his wife instead, whose arms were daintily curled through Ricken's. "Got a moment, Maribelle?" I asked, deadpan.

She tilted her head curiously. "I do, as it happens." She smiled up at Ricken. "I'll meet you later, okay, dear?"

"Got it," Ricken said, and left her with a kiss on the cheek.

I glanced around, making sure we were away from all prying ears, before turning back to Maribelle. "Maribelle. I think you know what this is about."

Maribelle frowned. "I'm not sure I do."

"About me," I said quietly. "About my… talent."

One eyebrow raised. "Goodness, and here I thought I was being so sneaky," she said coyly.

"Now, I don't really care how you figured it out," I said, "but I need to know if you've told anyone else, or if anyone else knows."

Maribelle shook her head. "I have told no one. You can trust me."

I grimaced. No. No I can't. "Maribelle… If someone… someone very close to you… were to die, would you ask me to reset the day, knowing what a terrible thing that is to ask?"

Maribelle hesitated.

That was all the answer I needed. I barely heard her lies afterward, her "no, of course I wouldn't," these meaningless platitudes.

I forced a smile. "Thanks, Maribelle. I appreciate that."

Maribelle smiled widely. "Of course! You can count on me, Robin." She touched my cheek affectionately. "If you ever need to talk to someone about these things… come to me, okay? I am a friendly ear."

Hah. She considered herself part of the circle. Me, Chrom, and Maribelle. What a trio.

I let her return to her husband, and I joined Chrom.

Chrom started to walk again, but I stopped him. "Chrom. Have you told anyone about my ability?"

Chrom frowned. "What? No, I haven't. Should I not?"

"No," I said forcefully. "Never tell anyone."

Chrom's eyes narrowed suspiciously. I feared he would ask for a reason for my sudden question… but he didn't. "You have my word, Robin. I'll not speak a word of it to anyone without your permission."

I nodded several times, and pat him on the shoulder. I felt a little out of breath. "Th-Thanks, Chrom. That… means a lot."

Today had been—would be?—the worst-case scenario. Everyone found out about my power, thanks to Ricken, and I died a messy death as a result. This could never happen again. As long as Maribelle had that information, it was only a matter of time before her husband learned; then, another worst-case scenario would be inevitable.

We continued on to the conference room, to make battle plans for now the eighth time.

The battle was effortlessly won.

It was much easier with two sacrifices on hand.

There wasn't much in the way of celebration afterwards; then again, I was the only one who knew the significance of this victory.

Chrom and I were both silent as we sat in my tent. Reverent for the lives lost.

Every passing moment, I waited for him to speak. I waited for him to ask.

He never did.

I was proven right. Chrom would never ask me to sacrifice myself. Not for anyone. He showed, once again, that he is the only one I can trust.

Though… there was a sort of, a sort of disappointed look in his eyes… A hope that I would, perhaps, offer my life instead. That I would take responsibility for the two fallen Shepherds.

…Or perhaps it was all imagined. A piece of the back of my mind that still hung on to guilt.

So I played with my glass of wine, looking into its rosy depths. Did today's victory make me feel better?

No.

Did this victory preclude another worst-case scenario?

Maybe.

I chuckled humorlessly as I peered into the glass. I am prey. In a worst-case scenario, I am the rabbit, and everyone I've died countless times to save becomes the fox. What a joke.

It doesn't MATTER if I feel better now. I took hold of my own fate, and prevented a future where I could die again. Today was a victory. If I were to do today over again, I would make all the same decisions.

I pressed the glass to my lips, and tilted my head back, letting the spicy drink trickle down my throat.

I'm a master of my own fate. I won't let fear control me, and I won't let anyone else inspire that fear in me. And may the gods help anyone who tries.

My eyes were cold, hard, as I set the drink on the desk, next to Chrom's.

The only one I can trust.

My eyes narrowed. But… is he?

Perhaps not. Perhaps… if certain people had known about me… the worst-case scenario could have been avoided.

My hands fell to my side, and I excused myself for the night.

Though the camp was more somber than usual today, it was a far cry from the tears and sadness of yesterweek. They would get over it.

Meanwhile, I sat at my desk, my hands folded anxiously, as I wore a grim expression for the newcomer.

Lissa tilted her head. "So… what's up, Robin?"

"Lissa," I began coldly, "before I tell you what I'm about to tell you, I need you to make me some promises."

"Anything, Robin," she said with a smile.

Anything, I mused, and couldn't resist a small smile myself. Yes, I was making the right choice.

Perhaps, after all this, I had learned something indeed: I need more people I can trust. Possibly Frederick next…?

But I was getting ahead of myself. Back in the moment, I straightened my face and took a deep breath.

"Lissa: can I trust you?"