Her first memory was a butterfly.

It fluttered out from the shadows of the trees, smoky black wings trailing behind it like wet ink. As she watched, entranced, golden whorls and curlicues formed along the wings.

A pattern of wonder mapping itself across her heart.

Hardly daring to hope, she stretched out her hand—two fingers extended—and held as still as a six-year-old could, just as she'd seen her mother do when she thought no one was looking.

To her delight, the butterfly accepted the invitation, just as the ravens did for her mother.

Laughter burbled up in her throat as the butterfly continued to fan its wings. The thin golden filigree marking the wings swam in mesmerizing patterns, not yet content with the shapes they had found.

She leaned in as close as she dared, a name for the butterfly already on her lips, when a cry broke the silence, if not quite the spell.

"Robin!" Her mother's voice cracked, a sudden strand of lightning, all sharp and jagged along the edges. The world shivered with the word as her name settled deep inside her.

For a moment the forest went impossibly still and silent. Then her name, firmly rooted, brought back the sun-dappled leaves, the cool breeze, and the nearly invisible swirl of magic.

Not yet aware of the danger, she smiled up at her mother and nodded toward her hand.

Her mother tamed birds, and she charmed butterflies. As though sensing her jubilation, the magic dusting the shadows bunched itself together, preparing itself to rise.

Out of the shadows.

Into the light of day.

All they needed was a name.

A name trembling on the tip of her tongue.

Her mother's brows snapped together, marred only by a worry line creasing the center. Frowning, she slapped Robin's hand, in one movement destroying the butterfly and the magic waiting to be spoken into existence.

It was the look on her face, however, that Robin recoiled from. For it cast a shadow so terrible, it would always linger in the back of Robin's mind, coloring the shape that was her mother forever after.

A moment passed.

And then the terrible shadow turned back into a woman with silver hair and dark green eyes who smiled infrequently, and worried incessantly.

"Do you want to be found?" her mother demanded, catching Robin's arm and dragging her away from the forest and back to the dirt road that led to the village. "And where are your gloves?"

Robin's lip trembled as she stared down at the red splotch on the back of her hand. The sting of it pulsed in time with her heart, and though her vision wavered with a few momentary tears, she didn't let them fall.

That was a lesson her father had taught her early on, and his shadow was far more terrible than even the darkest fury of her mother.

"No," she whispered when she was sure her voice would hold. Shame-facedly, she pulled her gloves out of her pocket and slipped them on, careful to cover the curve of violet lines marring her right hand. Then, because she knew it would be expected, even if she didn't quite understand why, "I'm sorry, Mother."

Her mother stiffened, and the crease in her brow furrowed a little deeper. "Have you forgotten? Your very blood binds you to both the past—"

"—And the future," Robin recited dutifully, the words on her tongue before she had even thought to look for them. And in that moment of falling into the familiar, the fear and confusion slipped away.

"And?" Her mother sniffed, not yet convinced that the lesson had properly taken.

"And," Robin tossed her head to hide the face she was making, "I mustn't work magic or speak to strangers." Or do anything interesting or fun. She frowned at the mutinous thoughts, but couldn't find it in herself to disagree.

If her mother had her way, Robin would be little more than an obedient wisp of a shadow. Seldom seen, and never heard. A pretty flower pressed between the pages of a book that was never meant to be discovered, let alone picked up and read.

Even though she wasn't sure what a destiny was, or what it had to do with her, she could already feel bits and pieces of herself withering and crumbling beneath its weight.

As they continued down the path, their shadows lengthened. Her mother's hair now tangled in her skirts below her knees, and there were new lines about her eyes and in the corners of her mouth.

Robin herself grew a little taller with each step, but it was by such a little bit that she didn't notice between this step and the next. Only after she had walked a hundred more did she realize she now stood shoulder height to her mother.

Her childish dress had gone, to be replaced by sturdy boots and more grownup apparel. She frowned, missing the swish of her skirts.

"And why is that?" her mother persisted, dark eyes scouring the very depths of Robin's soul.

Now it was Robin's turn to furrow her brow. The answer had never made sense to her, but it had always been important to her mother that she got the words exactly right.

"Because the magic is enough to wake the gods and summon the demons."

Her mother nodded sharply, once. But there was one final lesson to be spoken aloud, and it was Robin's least favorite.

They stopped just outside the village gate.

"And what will happen if either gods or demons ever find you?"

"They will eat me," she whispered with a reverence reserved only for monsters that hid in the blackest corners of the night, lying in wait to make a meal of the unwary.

Satisfied, her mother reached into the shadow of an elm tree and shook out something deeply purple with a flash of gold. She held out the greatcoat to her daughter, her lips pursed, and her hands trembling only slightly.

She had long known this day might come, just as she had feared it. She could only hope that this story would have a happy ending.

And that Robin would forgive her one day for doing what must be done.

Robin readily slipped her arms into the coat, standing still for a moment as the weight of the coat settled on her shoulders, holding her steady and filling her with courage.

Except for a tiny spot in the corner of her heart. Now that she was aware of it, she shifted uncomfortably. It was dark and cold and empty. And, oh, so very hungry.

She looked up at her mother who had been watching her silently in a way that felt as though Robin was being weighed, and her mother wasn't sure if she had found something wanting.

"You must be brave, Robin. For gods and demons are not all that walk upon the earth."

Robin nodded, the hazy memory of different faces parading across her mind's eye, and the unsettling notion that she'd lived a thousand lives between the butterfly in the forest until she'd arrived at the place she now stood.

Her mother pressed her lips into a fine line as though saying, 'This is the best I've got, so there's no use hoping for better, and no time to be wishing for more.'

"Will you come with me?" She held out her hand and raised a snow white brow. "Now?"

Robin gazed at the village entrance, wondering why this one was any different from all the others they'd walked through before.

"I have a choice?"

Her mother nodded. "You must come with me of your own free will."

She looked back toward the way they'd come. "And if I don't?"

Some of the villages, she remembered mistily, had been less than pleasant and more than unbearable.

Her mother's eyes flashed, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. "Then you will go back to the forest, back to the time before, where you will fade into nothingness. The gods and demons would both be at a loss, but it is always possible that one or the other could pull you back into reality."

Robin gulped, her breath suddenly gone. "What would the difference be?"

Her mother gave her a mirthless smile. "The difference is that here, I'm asking. You have a choice. Both gods and demons, I'm afraid, consider themselves a little above such considerations."

Robin shivered. Another question hovered on the edge of her tongue, but her mother shook her head.

"Are you coming?"

Feeling as though the world had turned upside down and landed on her shoulders, Robin did her best to breathe. It was only the knowledge that she would much rather face either gods or demons—please don't let it be both—with her mother by her side that allowed her to step forward.

The world rippled as she put her hand in her mother's.

For a moment, her mother's expression softened until Robin could almost see the girl that she had been.

"You might just save us after all," she whispered.

Before Robin could ask exactly what she meant by that, her mother was pulling her up to the village gate.

"I shall be with you always, even if you don't remember how exactly. Don't forget to check your pockets, and keep the keys you find safe."

"Wha—" Robin gasped as her mother pulled her with an iron grip.

"I've placed a book inside your pack. Don't worry. It's attuned to you, so you can't lose it." Her mother shoved the gate aside and soldiered on.

Robin shuddered as she met with stiff resistance. It was as though an invisible barrier had formed around the entrance for the express purpose of refusing her entry.

And it was starting to grow teeth.

"What book?" Robin gritted through a clenched jaw as pinpricks of pain soon turned to needles and thorns that tore at her flesh as she pressed deeper into the entrance.

"It holds all the answers," her mother sounded breathless now, and beads of sweat were forming along her hairline.

"Answers?" Robin cried as the needles and thorns turned to swords and daggers intent on impaling her.

"To the questions you won't remember to ask and the questions you never knew you needed to know." Her mother was straining now against something neither of the, could see.

"I don't understand!" Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. She couldn't bear much more of this, but her mother's face was set in a way that clearly indicated they would press on or die trying.

Robin hoped very much that wouldn't be the case.

"And you won't." Her mother gasped for air. "But none of that matters. What matters is that he finds you."

"What?" Robin shouted, the pain lacing through each and every letter, pinning them in place.

"May his heart guide yours, because you're the missing piece she didn't know to look for!"

"I don't underst—"

"Trust him. That's all you need to understand."

By now the pressure and pain were ringing in her ears and threatening to tear her to pieces. She almost begged for her mother to turn back, away from the biting pain.

Then, unexpectedly, she felt the invisible barrier shift slightly against the whole of her body. And so she asked the one question her mother might answer without turning it into a maze of riddles.

"Who?"

"Chrom!"

And then the barrier gave way to the sound of shattering glass, and Robin felt herself falling. Such a thing would have normally been alarming, but all she could muster was relief that she'd escaped from the torture they'd been wading though.

Just as she let out a breath and allowed herself to hope again, what whatever was on the other side of the barrier burst into violet flames and dark laughter that frightened her more than the pain of the crossing.

But it was too late now. She had fallen far enough that she'd finally found the ground, and it met her with its own bone crushing welcome.

Silver pain lanced through her head, and Robin cried out as darkness swooped down and swallowed her whole.

It smelled strangely of clover and sunshine.

Standard disclaimer: I don't own anything. Fire Emblem belongs to Intelligent Systems and Nintendo.