"Young lord, where are you going?" The head butler of Castle Themis looked solemnly as the young Duke counted coins from the Themis vault. The coins were from his own personal allowance that the young Duchess Maribelle had given him over the years.

"Chaucer… Tell no one else, but the Princess has been captured due to a betrayal one of her very own subjects." Any sign of shock in the older man was only seen in the slight widening of his eyes. The man was old, older than most others in Ylisse. He had seen five monarchs of Ylisse, the very late Exhalt Farbe, the late Exhalt Lucis the Bloody, the deeply missed late Exhalt Emmeryn, the honorable Exhalt Chrom, and now the young Princess Lucina.

Each and every one of the Exhalts were startling different in their own right, and were it not for personally meeting each of them, he would have never thought they were of the same blood. From the wizened Farbe, to his son Lucis, that change in leadership had scared the man, who was only a simple servant within the castle Themis household.

He had been there when the late of Duke of Themis, the Duchess Maribelle's father was indicted with treason and put into prison for the rest of his days. He was older then, and the raising of the young Duchess came into his responsibility. He had done his best, but he thought the child would never find love. It was only when she came home after that long war with Plegia, a ruffian warrior on her arm who spoke about himself too much had not an ounce of nobility within him, he thought he was even more of a failure.

Then she began to smile and laugh even more than she had ever before, and he learned that the man who grew to be Duke of Themis was a kind man to the poor folk and treated all the servants on the same level as himself.

Then when young Brady was born, he found himself an old man starring happily at the happiness of his charge at her child. A charge whom he taught alongside the Duchess and raised like his own, who used to call him "grandpa" when he was younger, and still did when the Duchess wasn't listening. (The Duchess used to call him uncle when she was younger as well, but well that was before the strictness of noble mindset was made). The young Brady was clumsy, rough speaking, and acted very much like his father, but like his father, held tenderness for the people he governed, and like his mother, wanted to do right by everyone he met.

Which is why he was scared when Brady said he was going to save the Princess. He had met the Lucis the Bloody but meeting that man had not been the same harrowing experience when meeting Princess Lucina. Yes, she had been kind when dealing with children, and aloof at best with the other nobles, but there was that dark inclination that she held. Something seemingly erupting in her eyes most often when she held her swords, or after the other warriors came back; most would be tired and weery, yet he saw there was a mad light of enjoyment in her eyes.

"Do your best young master. Please come home safe…"

"-ady! Brady!"

"Hzah?" the young noble shot up from his position atop a barrel. How he was able to sleep with his back bent completely over. "What? Are we under attack?"

"No, but it's morning." He blinked as his eyes readjusted to the cart's dark covering to see Owain looking at him with a smirk.

"What?"

"Nothing." The wagon hit a rock and rumbling set throughout it, Inigo and Brady's eyes both snapped to side as they heard a yelp. It wasn't Yarne whom also sat in the carriage with them, mainly for his distinct Taguel features. The young boy, in fact, looked relaxed for once, mostly due to that he was both out of prying eyes and nestled within Kjelle's derelict armor. However, the one who let out a yelp was Laurent, who gingerly rubbed the top of his head after a book that sat atop a crate he was leaning on fell and hit him. That same book likewise landed on the sleeping Inigo's stomach, whom promptly groaned awake.

"Are you guys doing fine back there?" Cynthia's head poked through the cloth separator. Yarne's external ear twitched, while Owain and Brady shot the girl thumbs up before she turned back forward. She gently rubbed Magnolia's flank, comforting the Pegasus which served as a mock packhorse.

"I didn't know you could control a wagon Annie," Cynthia asked her driver. Annie's ears began to redden as she held onto the reins.

"M-Mother taught Annie how to do when Father was out. Mother told Annie that learning how to use a wagon and how to sell things are in Annie's blood." Cynthia didn't know how to respond to that so she just hummed and rubbed the girl's head, who held onto the reins even tighter. Besides them, Noire, Kjelle, and Severa walked alongside it.

They'd been traveling for four days now, following the same Northern route that Lucina was meant to take towards the southernmost Feroxi settlement, the Longfort. Under the guise of merchants, who often could walk between captured Plegian settlements and free Ylisse settlements without issue, they were attempting to find the area where Lucina's caravan had broken off… Somehow.

"Oi! Peter Cottonmouth, wake up!" Severa's rough voice barely stirred the sleeping half-Taguel as the silver-haired swordswoman poked her head through the curtains. Scowling as she saw Yarne sleeping soundly in the armor, she brought up the stick she had been using to nudge rocks on the road and slammed it hard against Kjelle's armor. A low gong-like noise was heard before Yarne shot up like a tree out of the opening with a look of absolute fear etched on his face.

"Yeeeeee! We're under attack! Under attack! Under—" He got no further before Severa thumped the back of his head with the stick. He let out a whine of pain before he turned with tearful eyes back to the girl.

"Get up stupid sniffer. Sun's almost set now." Yarne poked his head out of the curtain to see the glowing red sky now beginning to overtake the blues overhead. "You know the drill, right? Stay in so far as to be able to at least smell either one of us or the wagon and try to find Lucina's scent."

"I-I know…" Yarne stuttered weakly before stepping out of the wagon as Severa climbed in. Doing a few stretches to warm himself up from sleep, the others began to busy themselves up with switching the travel roster for fresh combat-ready people. For the most part, any fighting they did have were on their terms, with their numbers and general experience able to either overpower or scare off the solitary highway toll man. Plegians and Risen though they had yet to see, however, one can never be too careful in this situation.

"R-Remember to hold the reins just tight enough to keep them going straight. A-Also that Natasha is rather skittish at the night so—"

"I already remember the first time you told me…" Laurent sighed as he took his seat on the front of the wagon, grasping the reins that Annie passed off to him. "Go to sleep Annie. You've been awake far longer than you should." She was about to counter the slightly older boy's remark before he gently pushed her forehead lightly for her to fall back into Cynthia, who laughed lightly as Laurent turned back forwards and Annie was pulled back into the wagon.

"Another long night?" Brady plopped himself down beside the younger man, bring up fur over to cover him.

"Depends…" Laurent mused eyes narrowed forward, his usual lack of depth perception not helped at all by the darkness of the moonless night. If he concentrated enough, even he could hear the occasional shaking of underbrush from Yarne's nighttime circuit. "We have little to no information aside from the direction that the rider took to get here. There's been no sign of any fighting, any sign of a prolonged battle. We're walking in the dark."

"More like peddling in the dark."

"Oh look at you with the jokes," Brady groans as he turns to the sound of Inigo, who laughs lightly as he walked closer to the cart. "All we can do is wander aimlessly in the dark hoping Yarne can sniff something out."

The sound of rushed footsteps queued the two to their left as Laurent heeled the horse's reins, Brady reached for a wood axe at his side whilst Inigo half drew his blade. The rustling and footsteps continued until Yarne's head popped into torchlight, and he blanched upon seeing their readied stances.

"W-Why are you guys pointing your weapons at me?" Yarne's voice somehow was several octaves higher whilst still being maintained at a hushed whisper. Inigo just groaned before sheathing his blade.

"Nothing, it's nothing. Did you find something?" Yarne looked tense before nodding.

"Owain! Brady and I shall go with Yarne!"

"Got it!" Brady's voice was heard from the back of the cart, the sound of a whetstone being ground on a blade soon accompanying the silence. Brady hopped off the cart, still bringing the wood axe with him, before accompanying Yarne and Inigo, a low burning torch in tow in Inigo's hand.

"What did you find?"

"A sign of a struggle?"

"What do you- By the Gods!" Inigo and Brady stopped at the sight of what they saw. Several bodies, Ylissean just by armor, glowed in the torchlight as they hung from the branches. Brady could recognize the Duke of Hub and Lord Diomedon amongst the hanging corpse, swinging listlessly in the air.

Looks of absolute betrayal and despondence etched onto frozen glassed eyes stared at the three, though while Brady and Inigo could stare in shock, Yarne was shaking as he gripped Inigo's cloak. Shaking the reprieve off, Brady quickly began to recite a small prayer, he knew naught the situation for their deaths or their role in Lucina's disappearance, but at the very least a small prayer should be given to those who have died.

"I-I didn't spot L-L-Lucina amongst the bodies, b-but there are s-some ropes that were cut." Yarne shook as he looked at the starring corpse before turning his gaze away. More so out of teaching, Brady cut the men down from where they hung, a pyre would have to do for now, and though he knew that making such a large fire wouldn't be advantageous… His mind wouldn't rest if he left them hanging.

"Hold on, what's this?" In the death clench of Lord Diomedon, Brady extracted parchment, cramped and slightly rip, but the tight clenching of the fist kept the unknown days of dew and moisture of soaking into the paper and ruining it further.

"What did you find?" Inigo had already picked up what Brady wanted to do, cutting down the men and layering them atop a large woodpile.

"A letter of some kind; bring the torch here." Brady got a better look even with the deadened torchlight. He immediately swore upon reading the letters, stained slightly in blood, of a message from Plegia. He gripped the letter with such force and anguish and understood immediately. Pocketing it himself, Brady looked at Inigo.

"Let's finish up here and regroup with the others, I know where to go no—" A howl interrupted Brady as both himself and Inigo snapped up at the noise. Howls are associated with wolves, however, no such sound could have come from a natural animal of any kind. No this could have only come from one thing.

"G-Guys!" Yarne pointed to the bodies that had been stacked, eyes now no longer glossy and blank, but glowing with a red ethereal gaze. The sound of stiff ligaments and joints being forcibly broken and bent filled the air along with a low moaning.

"Watch out!" Inigo's voice quickly was followed by the swing of his blade cutting just a hairsbreadth away from Brady's ear. He leaped and turned, seeing the once dead Lord Diomedon begin to rise up. Except instead of the immaculately polished beard and kind yet firm eyes, he saw the empty husk of a glassy red. The eyes of a corpse filled with malicious energy.

"Plegain bastards! They cursed the corpses!" Yarne quickly helped Brady up before the young Duke threw the smoldering torch to set the ground ablaze. A fire began to spread as Brady, Yarne, and Inigo stared in abject horror. Red eyes began to glow in the darkness past the flames, more than that had been hung. "This was a trap!"

"Retreat!" Brady shouted before a Risen leaped forward past the flame, embers being lit on its clothes, as the axe came crashing down on Inigo's blade. The force however from a creature that felt no real pain, was almost too much from Inigo and the axe glanced off the blade and clipped his head. Inigo was sent sprawling away, falling back before the Risen raised the axe blade once more intent on finishing him off.

"N-No!" A blur launched into the Risen, sending the creature back into the flames. Yarne crouched atop of Inigo as blood began to cloud one eye, and from his narrowed vision, saw a sort of feral snarl on Yarne's lips.

"Come on!" Brady quickly hauled both of them, the older boy's strength something that he got from his father, hauling the two away. "Inigo are you alright."

"I'm just dandy." Being hauled away so easily by someone who gets tearful just at getting one's finger cut, Inigo couldn't lie and say he didn't feel a little ashamed. Never mind the wound on his head made him light-headed, his spirit felt like it was wavering.

With only limited vision, Inigo had not noticed how close Brady had taken them until he saw the fire. A large roaring pyre that seemed to burn the night sky back into day with its intensity.

"Why would you think casting a fire tome would be a good idea in a FOREST!" Kjelle booming voice could be heard even as wood crackled and the Risen shrieked as flames scorched their decrepit forms.

"It was the most logical solution! How else would we keep so many ba-!"

"The! Forest! Is! On! Fire!" Each word from Kjelle was punctuated by either her shield or spear keeping the Risen back from the cart. Overhead standing on the wagon's canvas and wire top, Noire did her best with her arrows, firing at Risen that came from afar.

"Coming through!" Brady, who's usual timid temperance would gawk at anything noteworthy in Court or in social situations, thought nothing as he leaped clear over the flame that Inigo saw far too late for his sanity. He, and Yarne (though Yarne already would have), screamed in sudden fright as flames licked their noses.

"Ah ha! Are brave compatriots have returned from—"

"Get in the cart you insufferable curs!" Noire's altered voice roared from overhead and cut a laughing Owain off. The sheer audacity of it causing Brady to throw Yarne and Inigo inside to a tersely smiling Cynthia who readied a javelin before launching one, catching a Risen in the leg before Kjelle's spear severed its neck.

"That's everyone! Let's go!" Laurent leaped into the wagon after helping Kjelle in. Annie, who was shaking like a leaf before she turned forward and her eyes tried to spot a clear path.

"Hyah!" She flicked the reins, causing the jittering equines to break into a full gallop towards the flames.

"Why is it always fire!" Yarne screamed before the horses and the carriage careened through a gap in the dancing flames. Any residual embers and sparks were beaten dead by Noire from atop, or Owain who had nearly fallen off after the initial fall had Kjelle not grabbed him.

"Lucina is not even here for the fire!" That's when Brady's eyes widened as his hand went towards his satchel. Fishing around, his fingers grasped roughed crumpled parchment and pulled it out. It was here, the bloodstained letter of Plegian origin.

The sun's morning rays had begun to rise now, and Brady saw they were on the main road in some flat plains, waist-high grass sprouted around them. Behind him now the fire was the speed of the horse's gallop having brought them far from the source of the Risen and the melee, though now it seemed that exhaustion had taken over the entire party; including the horses.

Even so, his tired eyes flicked through the lines once more. A yawn had erupted from Yarne that became infectious amongst the party, yet Brady shook his head.

"Where did the map go?" Brady searched around before finding it squashed under a shoulder piece of Kjelle. Sitting beside Annie, who's eyes drooped from only getting the partial amount of sleep she could have, his eyes flicked until he found what he was looking for on the map.

"Annie, where on the map do you think we are?" Tired and without a word, the girl's finger sluggishly landed on a spot between Rutermark and Themis.

"Head southwest towards Plegia, I know where Lucina is."

We can't be too late! We can't be!

-1-

They had found it after running away after helping their father in the field. Into the forest, where their mother said never to go, yet they continued to do so because that was their secret spot. Deep in the confines of a dark forest, where that wasn't a field needing to be maintained, or a life that revolved around crops, lay only adventure and mystery.

"Wait for me!" The younger of the two's voices was alight with enthusiasm as he chased the larger and faster figure ahead. His sister, older by two years, his best friend. Their names are Sarah and Paul.

"No way! I'm going to be the first to make it to the oasis!" The oasis, their name for the small creek in the depths of the forest. A place where they would go with the other kids had their parents not force them to stay within the confines of their home. "I can see—"

She stopped and halted, allowing her brother to finally catch up. He did not think why she stopped, only that in doing so, allowed him to run up and hug her from behind, intent to scare her for racing ahead of him. He did not get the reaction of shock he expected, but that of number silence.

Eventually, he looked up to what Sarah was staring so intently at.

A figure kept standing by the five elongated protrusions from their body, three ends exiting from them at the front and two anchoring their back, both keeping it standing calf-deep in the creek. It would not have stood taller, the height of whatever it was barely over their own, yet it seemed even smaller because of its bent and contorted form. It was leaning forward, pushing itself ever so slowly further passed its initial position on the poles that held it up.

The children both saw armor of some kind, not at all like the kind they see on the soldiers who passed by atop their horses when they galloped through the land, that of richly polished steel beautifully molded by artisans and crafted to sturdy perfection by master blacksmiths. No, this figure's armor looked dirty and malformed, as if raw chunks of iron were placed against them.

Greaves that jutted out sharply and with gashes over the top of them lead up to worn leather leggings, cut to show the patches of iron chain mesh below. The figure's hauberk was a ruined mess, stitched together pieces of several pieces of leather with metal inlaid atop like rudimentary armor. Belts, pouches, and several holsters of knives and other oddities line their body and waist, while a ragged tattered cloak hung languidly on its shoulders, a wolf's head perched on its shoulder, its jaw dug into it. A handle boking out from behind its frozen wide jaw.

One arm was encased entirely within a gauntlet, both the lower and upper arm. The pieces looked heavy and fortified as if several layers of iron had been poured over whatever gashes were made until it resembled less like a gauntlet and more like a demonic shield attached to their body. Their other arm was bare of such a monstrosity, instead, it was kept within a thin leather covering, with a forearmed length leather glove over the hand, it is gripping a dull stained blade in its hand.

As the children looked upward, they saw a near demonic visage. If their arm and legs looked as if raw iron had been placed atop of them without form, the figure's helmet looked as if molted iron had been poured atop their head. A misshapen lopsided masked helm, it showed no indication of any life behind the shadows of its cover, nor did it seem any sign of life looking from its beyond. However, the most peculiar thing about the helmet's outer appearance was that at the base where it wrapped around a person's neck, a solid gold band no bigger than half the size of a hand lay. Wrapped around securely, it looked as if it were a functional gorget if it were not made of gold.

Neither child spoke, only stared at the figure showed no sign of seeing or acknowledging them. They were not sure even if there was anyone even alive in the armor had it not been from the sound that came from when they moved.

As if a thousand leaves had been stepped on whilst a thousand bones were snapped. A sickening haunting noise was heard as the figure's head turned to look down at the five... Spears, those were spears that held the figure up, the children soon realized. Spears impaled through its body and yet whatever was within the confines of the armor still lived.

It looked down at its punctured torso, five complete egregious wounds which impaled through their body. While the boy was young and had yet to shed his earliest naivety, the girl had not. Before her brother grew to understand of himself, she had seen her father take up arms with other men and the traveling Ylissean knights against the Plegians that came to raze their village. She had seen men die as they were pierced front to back and left to die in screaming from her home. She had seen it all and thought this figure would meet the same—

The sound of a sickening crunch was heard as they both stared at the figure raised its arm up before smashing through the spear, breaking off one so only a hand length sticking up out of her stomach was left before she pushed it through her body was a sickening noise of raw meat being ground. The boy covered his ears and closed his eyes, the noise was grating and inhumane to the ears. The girl though could not look away, even as the spear within the figure's body was fully extracted and dropped beside it, only to continue to do the same for the next, and the next, and the next, until all the spears were pulled out from it and it was left standing on its own two legs. The blue water of the creek stained with the red of blood that came from the holes in its body and the blood of spears.

That's when the figure's "head" turned to look up at the two, both froze immediately. Like a wolf staring at a rabbit, or snake towards a rat, both felt paralyzed by the visage of the figure in front of them. They couldn't hear, think, or even breathe; they felt paralyzed by the figure as it stared at them.

It took a step, sloshing through the water. Their legs quivered, and she felt her brother grip her tight. It took another step, its arm raising the blade up catching the sun. The blade was covered in dark red flakes. Her brother closed his eyes and tucked his face close to her side as she held him tight. It was closer and now she could breathe its malice, it's hatred, this was something from the very depths of Hell, something which brought death no matter where it went.

And now it was going to kill them—

The blade flashed out, hurtling towards them like a diving hawk. She flinched and closed her eyes, knowing death would come and feeling the pain of a blade slicing through her, only for it to not. Instead, she looked up to the figure looming over them, standing so that her eyes were level to hip as it shadowed over them, its arm stretched out past them.

She turned around, her entire body feeling numb, and her visage clouded like she was in a dream, to see what the figure hit, to find a wolf's head mere inches behind her neck, jaw opened wider than it should as a blade had plunged itself down its throat. She stared wide-eyed as the other wolves that had followed it stare with wide enrapture as the figure dislodged its blade from the lead wolf's head, the dull blade slicing cleanly back out as it went through. It flopped uselessly on the ground and the other wolves scattered back deeper into the forests.

The figure looked down at the children now, and it was then she knew that the figure was staring at her, not passed her as it did once before. And she stared back with wide opened eyes at the dark void from within the helm, where she knew unseeing eyes stared back at her.

The sword was dropped now, clattering to the ground and shattering into shards once it had left its hand and hit the ground. The hand, now free of the sword, was open and began to descend towards her face. She felt fear then, scared that now her life would be forfeited, only for a light pressure to be felt only at the top of her head.

The hand was smoothing her head, back and forth with only the lightest of touch to her, as if in a trance. She stared wide-eyed, and so did her brother as the figure who smelled of iron and steel, and looked like a monster made of metal and leather, give feather-like touches to the top of her head.

Then it froze as it started back up. The hand froze just above her head before a change was felt in the air. Then the figure moved in a flurry a movement, metal, leather, and cloth clattering against it as it picked them up.

"Wah!"

"Woah!"

Both of the siblings had no control over their lives now, as the figure grasped both them up with one arm and began to rush forward as the sky itself began to change. No longer the picturesque clear blue of a sunny day, now it seemed as if night had come hours earlier than it should, and its suddenness made the sky itself bleed as a red glow began to overtake where the bright sun had shown.

"Kaaaaaaaaaaaaaah"

Both siblings looked up towards the figure that held them as it ran, with a hollowed and strident voice of a beast than a man. It made guttural noises and sounds that the girl heard from the creatures that went about at night, monsterous to the mind of a child, and seeing one now had her paralyzed. Its mutterings sounded rambled and frantic, bordering on maddened and enraged in a tongue that sounded inhuman; it continued to run closer and closer towards their home until at last, they broke the forest and into the farms of their village to see everything aflame.

The children gasped as they saw their parents run towards them, eyes wide as the figure that held them deposited them on the ground.

"Sarah! Paul! Thank Naga your safe!" The figure brushed past them and walked towards the burning village. Already she could feel them, could feel her blood roar in rage that they still continued to persist after all she has done. Hatred, loathing, and rage, so much rage was pooled within her now.

She could hear screams and roars of ethereal brutish power the further the burning inferno she got through. More and more villagers ran past her as she walked further and further towards the source of the flames. Already some of the villagers to slow to make it out, or too close to ground zero lay slain on the ground, blood pooling around them as the flames grew stronger.

"Raaah!" The decrepit roar of a Risen rang in her ears as she stared at the creature's grotesque form burst through a burning home. In one hand a massive bloody axe, in the other, the body of a woman, bisected from her shoulder. She saw red once more and rushed towards the Risen.

It dropped the woman's body as it roared and charged towards her. Its mind was deteriorated, but its body knew conflict as much as she did. It swung towards her head, and she dove to the side to avoid the swinging axe launching a foot out to collide with the exposed knee of the Risen Chieftain.

By all accounts, there are major differences between a Risen's body and that of a normal man. Flesh is flesh, and between the two, flesh is what is shared. However a Risen's bones are arguably harder and stronger than of a man's, like iron to rock, a Risen's body itself could be a weapon, and for who's method of slaughter came with their bare hands. No blood flood through a Risen's body, instead it was more accurate to say liquid malice and dark power from another realm was what allowed a Risen to move. If a man unarmed were to try and fight a Risen, a Chieftain at that, it would be like assailing a wall with a twig.

The Chieftain cried out as its knee exploded in a shower of dark energy, the force of the kick shattering through the bones and flesh like a club itself. It felt only a shadow of pain that a normal person would feel, yet, even so, this shock of a human body able to injure it so was shocking.

Before it could stand on its limped leg, another strike came hurtling towards it now, the armored left arm, moving at its head in an almost snake-like motion as wrapped itself securely underneath its chin. It struggled and flailed within her hold as she held on it, squeezing, squeezing, and squeezing some more. It needed no air and was vaguely confused why this person had its arm around its throat until it felt tearing.

Starting from its side, it began to realize what the person was doing and flailed even more. The axe barely able to cut her, only grazing skin, and to its horror, though blood was shed from her, the wounds did not serve to cease her attempts as she squeezed and squeezed and pulled even more, until—

In a sickening noise of flesh being torn, the Chieftain's head had been wrenched from where it lay on its body, as that flapped uselessly to the ground. Its jaw left in a horrific expression of an enteral scream as she held the head in her hand before dropping it and crushing it beneath her foot.

"They still die all the same time…" Her voice sounded like metal scraps being ground against an anvil, rough and grating to the ears, yet there was something more behind it. Then she looked up and noted with some sadistic glee that had long ago been unleashed, the feeling of euphoria once more ignited. More and more Risen began to fall from the sky and land in the remnants of this burning village. A tongue slithered out to moisten her lips as she grasped the Chieftain's fallen axe before slowing advancing towards the growing Risen hoard. "They all die the same…"

-End of Chapter 12: The Consequences Of Miscommunication-

Note 1: It has been a long time since I updated, life sucks and I have the waning motivation of a sunflower in a place where the sun has "meh" chance of rising.

Note 2: There is meant to be a disconnect and differing feeling between the two passages of this chapter. It will be revealed later as for why and how I plan to rectify this disconnect, if I can pull it off that is. At worse, this will leave people so disapointed they'll drop it. At best, I do something good.

Note 3: We've now entered more bloody territory as we go on forwad, so heads up.

Note 4: I've also changed the scturte of the "post-fic" section.