Chapter One

Sometimes, if she listened closely to the sound of the wind as it snarled at her back, she could hear a shudder of a low tone that reminded her of what she had lost. Sometimes she thought herself a great fool for letting herself be roped into such childish fancies, but most times she could not help but stop and listen, the hairs on her arms prickling as a cold sense of dread washed over her.

She'd asked Morgan once what he heard when he listened to the wind.

The boy was so very bright, and so very eager to learn all he could to help the war effort. It was unknown to her whether he believed in the cause as wholeheartedly as he pretended to, but if it was truly pretend then he played his part magnificently.

"Lord Grima, of course!" her little brother exclaimed, for he knew no better, and perhaps that was her own fault.

The way of the world was that it was dying in constant, and she could hardly understand why no one understood her motivation. Her people, of both nations, would suffer greatly at the hand of the cruel, wretched world around her. Was it not her job to protect them? To give them a sense of peace?

They would not understand.

No one could understand.

Except Morgan. Morgan always understood.

He heard it too. He felt the voices stirring inside him, a string of dull instruments rising slowly until suddenly they were crashing and singing and bleeding through their bones and eating them up until they were nothing but bags of skin and drumming voices.

The voices were screaming now. Sweet voices, soft voices, low voices, mellifluous and strong and pounding upon her chest, fist after fist after fist of steady blows to her ribs until she felt them crack, and she felt her heart pouring out.

She was on her knees, holding her aching chest as her vision swam with blood and tears, and the wind took hold of her cape and toyed with it lovingly, stray fingers combing through her hair.

Lucina, the voices whispered in the wind and in her heart. Lucina, Lucina…

Sometimes, if she held her breath, she thought she could feel him in the room, watching her with disappointed eyes as she did what she had to do without objection. Sometimes she thought she could smell him, the scent of sweat and grass and blood, the scent of a ruler who could not be pinned to his palace and of a father who could not stay by his daughter's side.

She never told Morgan, but sometimes the illusions were so powerful that she spoke to them.

I deserved better, she'd tell the invisible man.

The wind pressed into her back. No, she realized numbly. It was a foot pressed into her spine. It's cruel to meet my end at the hands of my last of kin.

Sunlight glinted on the whetted edge of the mighty, mythical Falchion. The sword of her father and her father's fathers, the sword of the Exalt. She could not quell the pang of jealousy upon seeing what was rightfully hers in the hands of her mindless, spineless oaf of a cousin. Fate was cruel to deliver her at his feet, weakened and defeated, her will crushed and her mind in shambles.

Her exalted cousin leveled the sword with her face, and he did not smile when she glanced at his reflection in the gleaming surface of the folded steel.

"I've thought about this," Owain told her, his voice different from the last she'd heard of it. Often times, when alone, Lucina had closed her eyes and thought she'd heard Owain's lofty little voice calling out to her, battle cries from a long forgotten play, a war of dirt and sticks and biting, scratching, hair pulling combat. She'd thought about it in her darkest of states, and felt as though she had been removed from that memory in order to observe as an outside. She's thought about this. She's terrified of it. "I wanted to speak to you so badly, because I thought… I only let myself fancy a dream where you'd return, listen and understand, that you'd realize how misguided you were and return to us. But I was wrong. I was wrong, I was wrong, I was wrong to have faith in you!"

"Faith," Lucina said, closing her eyes. "Dreams. Love. Honor. They do not exist, Owain. They're a fabrication. A lie. Just like you."

"Oh, shut up," he spat, digging his heel into her spine and kicking her face into the dirt. "I heard your patronizing loud and clear, Luci. But you just don't get it. You're the one living a lie. You and Morgan both, you served this great and powerful illusion, like it could somehow save your souls from the devastation Grima's caused! You cannot fathom the pain and suffering you've dealt already, and yet here you are trying to inflict more! You're… you're despicable— you're a disgrace!"

She spat, dirt clogging inside her gums, and she felt betrayed in the oddest way. Perhaps she'd been expecting Owain to beg for her to change her ways, to see the light within herself, to challenge her fate.

Instead he leveled the Falchion at the base of her neck, and he whispered a prayer.

She didn't know when it had begun, exactly, only that she had been very young, and very impressionable, and there had been so much she had not understood. She hardly ever saw her parents, and that had left an odd little bruise on her tender toddler heart. She'd wanted the world, and the world at that time and that place had been nothing but the warmth and comfort of her mother and father's presence. Instead she got soft spoken, reassuring words, scratchy, hasty letters, and empty apologies.

Loved was she, the girl who had everything.

She liked to run and hide from her maids, dare herself to leap from high places and flip off things to practice her coordination. She'd balance herself on banisters, stepping toe to toe with a book wobbling on her head in order to improve her footing, and she knew, she knew, she knew from the very start that she was meant to fight.

She just didn't know what yet.

But little girls didn't need a what, really, just a why.

"For my family!" she'd cry, lunging at a pillow with a makeshift sword in hand, nothing but a baton with the safety bulbs torn off. She pictured herself in the midst of a great battle, whirling left and right and all around, dancing a dance of death and doom and laughing all the way.

Her mother came home abruptly, and Lucina felt as though something had gone terribly wrong.

"Mother," she'd said, hardly really old enough to speak full sentences clearly and eloquently, "is father hurt?"

"What?" Her mother looked angelic, her brow pinching in bright, bright amusement, and her mouth parting sweetly. "Oh! Oh, no, of course not, Lucina. Why would you think such a thing?"

Lucina had stood on her stubby legs, her fingers clenching and unclenching as she resisted the urge to cry. "Because," she said distantly, "you're home."

Her mother looked momentarily crushed, as though everything angelic about her suddenly crumpled up like a bit of paper, and Lucina watched her face closely, unable to tear her eyes away. She thought she might be able to count the lines of emotion there, but Lucina wasn't very good at counting, and she did not want to embarrass herself.

"Oh, Lucina," her mother whispered, bending down on one knee before her and smiling something like an apology. "We've neglected you, haven't we?"

"No, I don't think so," she said, though only because she didn't know what neglected meant.

Her mother looked at her, and in her dark complexion Lucina thought she saw little beady eyes blinking at her from behind the lines and the pores and the skin. Lucina touched her mother's face, the tips of her fingers feeling the smooth flesh and nothing more, and she thought she must be tired.

"You know better," her mother whispered to her, smoothing her hair back. "I know you do. You know why we're always gone, don't you?"

"I know you're fighting," Lucina said, nodding vigorously. "Very hard! Mother, mother… I want to fight too!" She grabbed her mother's hands, feeling the radiating warmth of them tingle through the grooves of her skin. She looked down, and she saw that her mother's hands were bare. She'd never seen her mother without gloves before, had she?

Her mother laughed at her, and she kissed her forehead, and then her hair, and then her nose, and Lucina squealed as she was scooped up into a tight hug, squished in her mother's arms as she was attacked with furious kisses.

"I love you," her mother declared, smooching her cheek and her temple and her ear, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"Moth—" She giggled and gasped. "Mama, stop, it tickles, it—!"

They both ended up collapsing against a wall, breathing heavily and giggling in hushed tones, hiding from a passing maid or Frederick or something like that. Frederick had a child recently, which was nice, because that meant a new play thingy, and Lucina loved playing, so it would be nice not to be lonely anymore.

Lucina sat in her mother's lap, her cheek pressed to her breast and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat drumming vividly inside Lucina's head. It sounded like music, the kind that swooped through the city during the nights of celebration on the rare occasion that their exalt returned. Her mother ran her long, slender, nimble fingers through Lucina's silky blue hair, parting it carefully. Lucina turned obediently in order to allow her mother to cast her long blue strands into tight braids. It was exciting, because Lucina hardly ever got to braid her hair. None of the maids did it right.

"I like it when you're home, mother," Lucina said, uncertain on whether her candid words would please her mother or not. She didn't want to burden either of her parents with her desire to be with them, but at the same time she was aching for their company, and could not bear to part with them. She'd fight a thousand battles, slaughter a million foes before she let them be taken away from her again. But of course that was just a child's fantasy, and even young as she was she was not deluded enough to believe her mother would not up and leave again as she always did.

"I like it when I'm home too," her mother said, her agile fingers working fast at the back of Lucina's head. "It means I get to spend time with you, Lucina. And… that makes me happier than you could ever know."

Lucina's heart stuttered like little butterfly wings beating at her ribs, bones shuddering and organs quivering, and she felt a little queasy and dizzy from elation.

"Really?" she breathed. She could not bear to face her mother, not now with her face so shamefully shocked and red and she was simply baffled.

Her mother tied off the end of her hair, and she rubbed the top of Lucina's head of "Look at me, Lucina," she said. The words weren't commanding, but the request was prominent enough that Lucina couldn't figure a way to avoid it.

So she turned in her mother's lap, straddling her and clinging to the deep purple folds of the lining of her cloak. Her mother held her cheek, and Lucina noted that it was rough to the touch, nothing like the squishy hands of the maids who bathed and dressed her. Robin had the hands of a warrior. Calluses were prominent across her palms and scars marred the tender skin of her knuckles, and Lucina felt the scratchiness of her, the unrefined beauty of her mother, the tactician, her mother, the fighter, her mother, the mage. Her mother. Lucina feared looking into her face and seeing a stranger, feared that the weeks and weeks and months and months away would weather her mother's face into that of a completely different person.

"You're so much like you're father," her mother laughed suddenly, her pale hair curling across her cheeks as her head cocked to the side. "It's really amazing. You crave love and attention, but you don't want to make that apparent so you hide behind your pleasantries and your courtesies and your niceties, and you try not to think much of yourself. Am I right?"

Lucina was taken aback. She could hardly understand what her mother was accusing her of— it was an accusation, wasn't it? It was so strange.

"But, mother," she objected, "am I not supposed to be kind and courteous? Is that not what an Exalt should be?"

"Emmeryn hid behind her kindness and her courtesies," her mother murmured, glancing away from Lucina's face. Lucina had, of course, heard of her aunt Emmeryn before this instance, but never with such offhand regard. Everyone treated Emmeryn as though she were as grand as Naga herself, but Robin talked of her as though she was… human. Lucina was shocked. She was enthralled. "Chrom— your father, he does only what he believes Emmeryn would do. But deep down, he is not Emmeryn. Gods, deep down Emmeryn wasn't Emmeryn— do you understand what I'm saying, or am I babbling?" Her mother laughed weakly. "Ah, gods, I'm rambling nonsense to my own daughter."

"No, mother," Lucina said eagerly. "I like it very much when you rumble."

Her mother regarded her with a long, amused gaze. "Ramble," she corrected with bright smile. "But honestly, Lucina, I'm just trying to make a point. I don't want you to be hiding all your life behind a mask of false confidence. You know your father, of course, but I've known him a little longer, and I'm going to tell you a secret."

Lucina sat with bated breath, her eyes wide and shining with excitement. Her mother was stroking her cheek absently, and her knuckles were discolored and scratchy.

"Your father isn't mighty," her mother said. "He isn't great, or incredibly powerful, or even all that wise. Actually, he's kind of a dope, if you ask me."

"I thought pa— father, I mean, father was very smart," Lucina said confusedly. "Is that not true?"

"Ah, he's clever when he needs to be," her mother said, bouncing her head from side to side. "In truth, I do most of his thinking for him."

Lucina's stomach was jittery at this information. "Wow!" she gasped, leaning forward and grasping her mother's rough hands. "You must be the wisest person in all of Ylisse, mother! No!" Lucina bounced excitedly in her mother's lap, her eyes alight at the thought that this amazing person was her mother. "All of the world!"

Her mother barked a disbelieving laugh, nodding along as Lucina bounced happily. "Oh, I wouldn't say that…" she said, closing her eyes. "But you wouldn't believe how many times your father has said that to me."

"It's because it's true," Lucina said firmly. "You must be, if father loves and trusts you so, don't you think?"

"I did say he wasn't all that wise," her mother giggled. Lucina giggled as well, and she looked down at her mother's hands, running her fingers over the long scars, which were so much lighter than the rest of her mother's sun-kissed skin. Lucina noticed a strange marking on the back of her mother's right hand, and she drew her fingers across the twinkling eyes that seemed to be more or less branded into her mother's skin.

"What's this?" she asked, turning her mother's hand toward her.

"Oh." Her mother sounded a little strange just then, quiet and dejected which was so very unlike her. Worry prickled inside of her, twisting up inside her stomach and making her whole abdomen ache. "It's just… a mark, I suppose. It's been there as long as I can remember."

"Like my brand," Lucina asked, pointing to her eye. Her mother glanced down at her, nodding slowly, although looking uncertain.

"Something of that nature…" She'd glanced away then, biting her lip nervously. "Listen, Lucina, how would you like to have a playmate?"

Lucina nearly shrieked with delight, but kept herself calm, and let only a small glimmer of her excitement peek through. "Oh, yes," she said. "I'd like that very much."

"Good," her mother breathed, slumping. "That's good. Because you're going to have one. A little sister. Or brother, I don't know which yet. Is that okay with you?"

Lucina stared at her mother confusedly. A sister? Or brother? Well it'd certainly be nice to not be alone anymore. And it wasn't as though she had to worry about another child stealing her parents' attention— their attention was never on her anyway.

"Of course," she replied, blinking wildly. "Do we share a room now? Do I have to move out of my room? I don't really very much want to move out of my room, but if my baby sister or— or brother, or whichever it is, if they want my room, I think that's okay, but can I move my stuff out first?" She chewed her bottom lip anxiously. "You won't give it my stuff, right, mama?"

Robin looked utterly bewildered.

"Lucina," she said, suddenly laughing hysterically. "Lucina, oh gods, you're— you're taking this very well. Chrom owes me a new tome…"

"Mother…?"

"The baby won't be coming for a few months yet," her mother said, lifting Lucina's chin gently. "And it will have its own room and toys and things, don't you fret. I just wanted to be sure you were open to the idea of having a sibling, but it seems we've been worrying for nothing. You're far too mature, you know. You should throw a tantrum. That'd give me some peace of mind."

"That'd be rude…" Lucina shifted uncomfortably. "I don't think I want to do that."

"Ah, it can't be helped, I suppose." Her mother shrugged, and she scooped her into a tight hug. "But at least I have you all to myself for a few months, hm? Your aunt Lissa actually is here as well, so she can teach you how to throw the best of tantrums."

"Aunt Lissa?" Lucina's words were muffled against her mother's collarbone. "Why is she here?"

"Um…" Robin laughed nervously. "The same reason as me, actually. She's going to have a baby too, though she's much farther along than I am. Hard to believe she kept it a secret for so long."

"Why'd she keep it a secret?"

"Oh, for all the reasons I kept mine a secret for a bit," Robin said, grimacing. "It's a hassle to pick up and leave everything so suddenly, and the journey's not pleasant for our… um, conditions, and of course we feel like we're abandoning everyone by returning home for this, but also we just don't feel comfortable leaving everyone behind." She paused, glancing down at Lucina worriedly. "Am I rambling again?"

"Yes, but I like it. I like it when you talk." I like it when I get to hear your voice, she thought, though she didn't have the courage to say it aloud.

"Cordelia will be staying here as well," Robin said thoughtfully. "I guess we'll be having babies everywhere for the next few months."

"I like babies," Lucina told her mother eagerly. I think.

"You're a baby yourself, you know," her mother laughed, ruffling her hair. "Gods, you've grown…"

"Not really." Lucina sniffed, glowering up at the ceiling. "I'm not as tall as you or father yet, so I can't have grown much at all, really. Is father here as well, mother?"

"Oh!" Robin blinked wildly. "No, I'm sorry, Lucina. He couldn't just bring his entire army with him here, but he couldn't desert them either. So it's just me, Lissa, Lon'qu, and Frederick. And Cordelia soon, if I'm not mistaken."

"That's exciting," Lucina said, though she couldn't help but be disappointed that her father wouldn't be joining them.

"Do you remember your Uncle Lon'qu?" he mother asked her curiously. When Lucina shook her head, her mother giggled. "Well. Come on, then. You'll enjoy this."

She'd never met a grown man so uncomfortable around her before. It was strange.

Her mother's presence in Ylisstol during that time had influenced Lucina more than she could ever say. She'd awaken each morning to the scent of her mother's hair, the scent of dust and tomes and something natural and sweet like honeysuckle. In the night she'd dream of ash and dust, and through the screen of miasma there were eyes glowing bright, bright, bright in the distance, red and wild in the darkness. And when she'd awake, she felt strangely charged, like she'd been struck by lightning and absorbed its power.

Once, she'd been tasked with amusing some of the other children, who had begun filling the castle as a result of the imminent royal birth, so she'd taken them out into the yard and played pretend war. She was the oldest, so she got to pick who fought who. She pitted Noire against Cynthia first out of curiosity, both girls being clumsy and awkward to start with. That match had ended in an escalating number of scrapes and bruises, but Cynthia had laughed it off rather heartily. Noire had begun to cry, which in turn had made Brady start to cry, which in turn made Inigo start to cry, which in turn made Gerome attempt to leave.

"Where are you going?" Lucina asked him, watching him halt. He was smaller than her, but only just barely, and he stood with his eyes cast toward the grass. She didn't want to pry, but he made her curious, and he never spoke, so she couldn't tell if he was rude or simply shy.

When he did not answer, she scowled at him. She snatched the wooden sword from Cynthia's hand and tossed it at his feet.

"Fight me, then!" she cried, tiny and electrified, her mind in a foggy dream and her heart in an age-old song. "Fight me, and I'll let you leave!"

Noire had ceased her weeping, wiping her droopy eyes on her long, dagged sleeves. They'd all quit the crying in order to observe her, which she thought rather odd, but she let herself enjoy the attention.

Gerome took the hilt of the wooden sword in hand, and it seemed to fit him better than it had fit Cynthia. He was bigger, and older, and more adjusted to his limbs. Noire offered out her sword, her round cheeks very pink and her eyes bloodshot as she stared up at Lucina in awe. She was the youngest of the group, not counting Nah, who was too small to be allowed to roam the grounds, and Severa who had only just learned to crawl. Nah could at least speak and comprehend things around her, in spite of her appearance being that of a near infant. Severa was just a grumpy baby who wasn't allowed to play.

Lucina took the sword from Noire, and she twirled it between her fingers, feeling as though her entire short life had been preparing for the moment when she could force an opponent flat onto their face. Gerome seemed like a worthy opponent. After all, he was the closest to her age.

Before they could cross play swords, however, Yarne let out a terrible shriek, and both Lucina and Gerome dropped their faux weapons in shock. When they looked, they saw a small twitching, lurching horde of men inching toward them. The grounds should be safe Lucina thought dazedly, stumbling forward and grabbing Cynthia by both blistered hands, yanking her to her feet.

"We have to go," she said urgently, ushering Cynthia toward Gerome. "Everyone! Back inside!"

"I ain't scared of no soldiers," Kjelle declared stubbornly, "not dead nor alive!"

Lucina, young as she was, had been influential in their little band of righteous play time, and so she rose herself higher, lifting her chin and straightening her shoulders, looking at Kjelle with a gaze so steady that it made Lucina a little dizzy to hold it.

"You won't be so brave once you become one," Lucina warned. "We have to go inside, Kjelle, we have to go warn everyone! If we don't, imagine, just imagine! We'll be hurting more than helping out here!"

"What are those things, Luci?" Cynthia whispered, tears shining in her eyes.

"Those are Risen," Laurent piped up matter-of-factly. He was the only one still sitting in the grass, and he had a notebook in hand, his eyes trailing from the approaching Risen to his page. "If I'm correct, they are a legion of animated corpses."

"Huh?" Inigo spluttered, while the rest of them simply stared at Laurent blankly.

"Yes," Lucina said uncertainly. "Yes, I s'pose so. Anyways, come on!"

Yarne had already bolted, which Lucina didn't quite understand, but she was glad he'd run when she said so. The day was dim, and the Risen were inching closer and closer and closer, their weapons glinting in the sunlight, and Lucina felt compelled to run at them, to beat them all down, to be the hero she'd heard of in glorious tales and songs.

But she didn't. She could hardly move, she was so frightened.

"Lucina," Cynthia whispered urgently, "Luci, Luci! What do we do?"

They all looked to her for guidance.

She had none.

Suddenly they were all screaming, and scattering, and she stood there, feeling utterly lost as she tried to usher them all behind her, but lost sense of direction and time, and felt the darkness of these rotting beasts as they sped up, and without warning, they leapt.

Lucina covered her face with her arms, her heart beating hard and a scream strangled inside her throat.

The reanimated corpse that had moved at her screeched instead, a gurgling hiss of a dying breath, lightning spitting through the air and slicing through its blackened flesh. Lucina peeked at it through her fingers, her mouth opening just enough that she could taste the charred skin, the scent of it blistering and bubbling making her dizzy.

"Lucina," her mother said breathlessly from at her back. "Lucina, gods, are you—?"

She turned to look up at her mother, who was standing with a tome open in one hand, her other hand catching Lucina by the shoulder and yanking her behind her. When Lucina looked around, she saw that all the other children had been caught by at least one of their respective parents, and her being ushered to safety. Lucina was terrified as she listened to the Risen moan and rumble.

She clung to her mother's cloak.

"Mother," she murmured, "we have to run away…"

"I won't," her mother said firmly. "But you must. Go, Lucina."

"I can't," she gasped, shaking her mother's cloak. "Not without you!"

Her mother looked at her, and there was such a brilliant awe in her features that Lucina thought it glowed upon Robin's dark face, glinting with the flash of her eyes, and she stretched out her arm, flicking her wrist up and around, her fingers splaying and the air sputtering as her voice shook nature itself.

"Thoron!" She snapped, something electric pulsating along the edge of her fingers before a grand column of lightning sprouted from her touch, sending the Risen around them into a crisp, jittery mound of charred bones.

Lucina's eyes had followed the zig-zag of light, the spark and the flash and the intoxicating energy of it.

This was the point where Lucina's fate took a different course than she believed it had initially planned.

After her mother and a few others had taken care of the Risen, Lucina had rushed to her side, feeling jittery and uncertain.

"Mother," she said, flushing bright red as she clasped her hands behind her back. "I want to learn magic."

Robin had been so very surprised, and Lucina just did not know if it had initially pleased her to hear these words come from her mouth.

"Oh," her mother said, pushing her pale hair from her brow. She took a breath, and she smiled down at Lucina as best she could. She looked tired, and her warm skin was very pale now, very waxy and wane, bruise-like hollows dipping below the light of her eyes. "Of course, I— of course." Lucina took note of her mother's odd behavior, the excitement in her smile that did not hold inside her gaze. "Come here."

Lucina came, watching her mother kneel and take both her hands in her own, the cowhide gloves smooth and worn as they massaged Lucina's tiny knuckles. Behind Robin, Lucina saw Noire's mother, the dark mage called Tharja, eying them with her shadowy gaze and her ghostly smile. She was holding Noire by the hand, ignoring the child's sniffling as she clung to her lean thigh.

"You must understand," Robin said staring into Lucina's eyes, sweat gleaming on her brow, hair plastered to her cheeks, "that magic is no easy craft to master. It also is very finicky— you may not get the results you wish for, or if you do, you might regret it. It's not like picking up a sword. Magic is very dangerous, and very powerful, and you might decide you don't like it very much."

Lucina considered her words very carefully.

"Mother," she said, squeezing her hands, feeling the remnants of lightning bolts from beneath the smooth leather. "I want to learn magic. I can do it."

And her mother smiled, this one a genuine one, and she pulled her up into her arms, laughing into her hair. "That makes me happy," she whispered, holding her tight.

Does it?

Lucina snuggled closer into her mother's arms, inhaling her scent, the sweat and the sweetness, and she felt something tingling inside her.

She felt the power here, and she was enthralled by it.

Her mother had warned her. Magic was not for everyone.

Lucina had not been very good at it.

"You really need to concentrate," her mother encouraged her, leaning over the slim tome that was a designated beginner's book the magic. If Lucina could not produce a fire, she could not master anything remotely as advanced as what her mother dealt with. "Read the words carefully, and try to reach deep. You're willful, Lucina. Magic should come to you."

It didn't come to her. It was apparent by her mother's teaching methods that she'd never had to do this before, and she was using her own experience to teach, but as Lucina sat for hours and hours, pouring over tomes and histories and conduits, she struggled to find her inner mage.

She often snuck away to watch Laurent practice with his own mother. He seemed to grasp everything so well, and she was stuck with ink stained fingers and zero results. Focus? Focus was something she understood, and she was a girl who could withstand most anything, but her patience wore thin, and her desire to learn outweighed her reason.

"Miss Tharja?"

Lucina was still very young, and Tharja was a very intimidating woman, so she wasn't quite sure how exactly to address her. She'd gone directly to her and Noire's room, not particularly interested in subtleties. She waited at the door until it opened, and the willowy woman stood before her with her shadowy eyes and perpetual smirk.

"Princess," she cooed.

Lucina flushed, and she shook her head furiously. "Miss Tharja," she gasped, clasping her hands together. "I wanted to ask—"

"Yes," Tharja said, opening the door wide and stepping aside. Lucina stood confusedly for a moment, her mouth hanging open.

"Wait," she said, "I didn't ask it yet."

"Oh, I already know what you're going to ask." Tharja's smile was poisonous, and even Lucina could tell that this lady wasn't much of a Lady at all, and more like some sinister snake her mother and father had plucked from the desert sands. Still, she was desperate, and Tharja seemed the least likely to tattle. "You want me to teach you magic so you can impress your mother. That's something I can do."

"Really?" Lucina asked eagerly. She quickly entered Tharja's room, bouncing excitedly on her heels. "You can teach me?"

"If I can't, I'm certain no one can." Tharja leaned against her door, staring down her nose at Lucina. "You're very much like her."

Lucina whirled around to face the woman, shocked and a little overjoyed. "My mother?" she gasped, her eyes brightening. "You think I'm like my mother?"

Tharja tilted her head, her long, sleek black hair pooling like roughspun silk, and there was a crease in her dark brow that suggested bemusement. "Is that odd?" Her voice was low and lilting, sweet and chafing. Lucina could not truly fathom this woman. "You have the same… presence about you. Come sit."

Lucina followed her deeper into the dim chamber, which had been changed around to accommodate Tharja's darker tastes. The draperies were black, the candles burned low, and the windows all covered while incense burned in spiraling trails in the corners of the room. It was an overwhelming scent.

She sat down at a round table, folding her hands in her lap as she continued to look around. Her own room was bright, but a little closed off for her safety. This room was dark and massive, but also airy and balanced. It was a nice room regardless.

Tharja retrieved a thick looking purple tome, much like the kind her mother had often moved up to higher shelves so Lucina could not reach them. Its spine was cracked and its leather bound face wrinkled beyond belief, and it coughed up a flume of dust as Tharja dropped it onto the table.

"Firstly," Tharja declared, rolling up her papery thin sleeves, "I want you to promise me that what happens in this room stays in this room. You will not tell your mother, nor your father, nor anyone else in the castle."

Lucina understood that this was strange and scary, but she could not help but be deeply curious about why this was so secretive.

"I was going to ask you the same," she replied earnestly. "I don't want mother to feel as though she's not teaching me right— I don't think that's the problem at all. I just don't think I'm good at the kind of magic she's trying to teach me."

"She's trying to instill the basics in you," Tharja said, resting her palm against the old, withered tome. "You don't need the basics. You need the darker arts."

"Dark magic," Lucina said, nodding. "Yes. But I don't want mother to know I've gone to you."

"Once you learn the old, arcane magicks," Tharja said, "making a fire in the palm of your hand is baby stuff. Just listen to me, my dear little princess. I'll show you exactly how to do it."

Needless to say, Lucina learned how to do it.

It wasn't as hard as she had been expecting, once she stopped clinging to her niceties.

Nobody needed niceties with magic.

Magic was raw. It bled.

Lucina took a small dagger, its hilt of bone and ivory still somehow too big for her chubby hands, and she slid the iron blade over her palm and held it before her tutor. Tharja held her skinny wrist, thumbing the wound as Lucina's eyes welled up with tears, and her lips trembled, and finally she gasped and bit her tongue to contain a sob. Tharja did not smile as she lifted her red soaked thumb to her lips and dragged Lucina's blood down her tongue.

"Not bad." Tharja took the knife, wiping Lucina blood on a towel she'd set out. Noire was never in the room during their training sessions, always sent away when Tharja knew Lucina was going to show up. Apparently Tharja could not force the dark magic out of Noire as she did with Lucina. Of course, Lucina did not mind at all. She had Tharja all to herself, and she was really impressing her mother with her newfound magical prowess. "Now do me."

"W-what…" Lucina's hand was throbbing, and tears glittering on her cheeks, reflecting the candlelight. "What is this going to do…?"

"It's merely a precaution dark mages must take when officially designating a fledgling such as yourself as an apprentice." Tharja sliced her palm open as though it was nothing, and Lucina merely flinched as she offered the bloody hand out to her. "I'm cursing us, in a way."

Cursing?

"Cursing," Lucina whispered taking Tharja's dark hand and watching the blood congeal along the line of the cut. "Hm."

"Hm?" Tharja smiled at her grimly. "Would you like to curse someone, little princess?"

"I'd very much like to curse Gerome," she said, clenching her bloody fist and dragging her thumb along Tharja's open wound. "I'd like him to curse him to smile."

Tharja laughed at her. She had a dark laugh, a four-syllable chuckle that went right through Lucina. She was a little fearful as she opened her mouth and rested her bloody thumb on her tongue. It tasted foul, like something was burning her taste buds clean off, and she had to deal with that fleshy, charred aftertaste.

The door burst open, and Lucina licked the rest of the blood off her thumb, aware that a bit of it was dribbling from the corner of her lip. She stared in horror as her mother came marching in, her head eye and her eyes ablaze, her hand at the hilt of her Levin sword.

"Robin," Tharja purred.

Her mother froze at the sight of them— Lucina garbed in tradition Plegian clothing, black muslin robes and a sheer shawl, blood smeared on her lips and dripping from her hand, and Tharja with a bloody knife and a coy smile. It was an awkward image at best. Robin took in this sight, rolled her shoulders back, and turned to face Tharja calmly.

"I've put up with this long enough," she said in a firm but gentle voice. "No more, Tharja. You will not fill my daughter's head with thoughts of curses and hexes and blood magic."

"She came to me, Robin," Tharja said innocently, setting her knife on the reddened towel. "Your teaching methods, though I'm sure are effective on the average little mage-to-be, had no real effect on our dear little princess. Not to say she isn't talented— she truly is immensely gifted, you know."

"I know," Robin said, this time very coldly.

"I was the very same way," Tharja said. "I never learned the basics of magic, only the dark arts, which allowed me to understand the fundamentals. You can't really blame her, can you?"

"I don't blame her at all," her mother said. Lucina found herself slumping in relief, her heart giving way as all her fears and anxieties were lifted from her shoulders. "I feel responsible for this entire situation, for not giving her the proper attention, and for not seeing this coming. I would have done the same, if in her shoes."

"Mother…" Lucina whispered, tears blinding her.

Her mother turned her attention solely to her. "I understand perfectly how you feel, Lucina," she said. "I understand that you wanted to earn my respect, and to somehow impress me, but you didn't need to go through this sort of length to do so. You already impressed me just by asking me to teach you. The idea that you went to Tharja when you realized you weren't catching on to magic right away, instead of confronting me about your uncertainties, honestly is very disappointing to me. I thought— I'd hoped you'd care more for spending time with me than impressing me."

Her mouth had dropped open, the taste of blood still clinging to her tongue, and the tears were rolling fast and firm, flushing her warm cheeks and making her truly feel the pain in her hand. She was overwhelmed. No, she thought, no, no, mother, no, that's not it at all. But she had no real explanation. She was so ashamed of herself, and she couldn't even properly articulate how sorry she was.

"I didn't…" Lucina's eyes flashed wildly from her mother to Tharja and then back. "Mother…"

Robin held up her hand. "No more," she said. Lucina didn't really know if she was talking to her or to Tharja, but it didn't matter. They both got the message loud and clear. "I'm thankful to you, Tharja, for… imparting what knowledge you could on Lucina." Her eyes were narrowed dangerously into slits. "However, your teaching methods are not welcome, and undeniably creepy. You will not lay a hand on my daughter again, you understand?"

Tharja shrugged. "I've hardly landed a hand on her at all," she said, wiping her hand off on the towel. Robin glowered at her. "Oh, I love that look on you. But honestly, Lucina made herself bleed more than I ever did."

"On your command," Robin snapped. "You told her to hurt herself, and because you are her teacher she listened! She doesn't understand that it isn't okay!"

"A flaw in you, not me," Tharja sighed. "Though it's best if they're obedient, I think. It makes them easier to mold."

"Do you hear yourself, Tharja?" Her mother sounded so distraught, and Lucina was shaking in fear and guilt. She hadn't meant for this to happen. She hadn't meant for her mother to be so angry and sad. "She's a child, not a toy! You cannot simply break her and expect her to be sunshine and smiles once you've maxed her out!"

Tharja looked surprisingly puzzled. "Why would I want her to be sunshine and smiles…?" Tharja blinked rapidly, and tilted her head. "That's stupid."

"Tharja!"

"Robin!" Tharja mimicked, resting her bloody hand on Lucina's head. Lucina's eyes widened as she saw the look that crossed her mother's face. "If you're so angry about our little training time, why don't you teach the girl some dark magic yourself?"

Robin inhaled very sharply, and her face was as hard as sandstone. "Your leave is over, Tharja," she said in a low voice. "Pack your things. You're going back to camp."

"That's fine," Tharja yawned, prying her sticky fingers from Lucina's damp blue hair. "I've been itching to try out some new hexes, and Libra's probably gotten antsy with me gone, gods know."

Her mother stood rigidly, though she did not look surprised at how offhand Tharja's response was. "I may still tell Chrom," she warned, "and he might not be so forgiving."

"I hardly did anything wrong," Tharja said. "She never even cursed anyone. I only gave her the smallest of tastes of what her true power holds."

"And look how much that's tormented her!" Robin waved her hand at Lucina, who shrunk back, her tears still streaming steadily. Quickly, she rubbed her face on her scratchy sleeve, leaving her cheeks itchy and raw.

"She's your daughter," Tharja said vacantly. "How could I turn her away?"

"If you cared about me at all," her mother spat, "you never would have dreamed of hurting her, because she is my daughter."

Tharja looked, for the first time, visibly dismayed at Robin's words. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

"Lucina," Robin said, holding out her hands. Lucina ran to her side, and nearly broke into sobs as her mother hefted her into her arms, hugging her tightly and kissing her red slick hair. She rubbed her back, small, soothing circles massaging her spine as her mother whirled from Tharja and left the room, kissing her wet cheek and her earlobe, nuzzling her bloody blue hair and smiling into her warm skin.

"I love you," she murmured. "Even though you snuck around and kept secrets from me, I still love you."

"Really…?" Lucina hiccupped, clutching her throbbing hand to her chest. "Even… even if I'm bad?"

"You're not bad, Lucina."

"But I used dark magic," she gasped. "Laurent said that dark magic is bad magic, and bad magic breeds bad people!"

"Laurent, smart as he is, does not know yet the complexities of the world," her mother sighed. "He may very well use dark magic in the future, if this war… ah, never mind that. Anyways, magic doesn't determine what type of person you are. I use dark magic all the time, but I still think I'm a good person."

"Is Tharja not a good person?" Lucina asked confusedly.

Her mother did not answer right away. "Tharja is a troubled person," she said slowly. "But… I think she's good. And Henry— ah, you've never met him, but he's Inigo's father— I think he's also a good person, in spite of how disturbing he can be. He's truly very nice when he's not undeniably creepy as hell."

"Inigo's father?" Lucina tried to wrap her head around it. "Is he anything like Inigo?"

"Oh, gods, no," her mother laughed. "Inigo is so sweet and shy— he's his mother's son, no doubt. The only thing he really inherited from Henry, I think, is his smile."

"Henry smiles lots, then," Lucina stated.

"Lots and lots," her mother murmured. "It's not really all that pleasant, honestly, but he's really quite nice all in all, and he'd probably adore you."

Lucina nodded, burying her face in her mother's neck and inhaling her scent of sweat and ink. Her hand was bleeding freely down Robin's side, dampening her dark coat and even smearing blood across Lucina's chubby thigh. As they moved a little more hurriedly through the hall, they passed by Frederick, who was still on paternity leave. He moved past them, and then promptly froze.

"Robin," he called.

"Damn," she muttered against Lucina's cheek. Lucina peered up at her mother's face, noting she looked a little stricken as she turned around to face her father's right hand man. "Hello, Frederick… I haven't been to see Severa in awhile, is she well?"

Frederick eyed her suspiciously, his gaze trailing between Lucina's disheveled appearance— the blood and the tears and the Plegian garb— to Robin's sweet mask of a smile.

"She's very well," he said, his shoulders squaring. "May I ask what's happened to you both?"

"Ah." Robin glanced at Lucina, and she smoothed her damp hair from her forehead, leaving sticky red trails across her skin. "Just a little hiccup in magic lessons. Nothing too severe."

"Robin, she's bleeding!" Frederick neared them, reaching for Lucina but faltering as his hand came close to her throbbing, crimson fist. "Gods, she looks like she's battled a whole squadron of Risen!"

"Oh, it's not that bad," Robin sighed. She pressed her palm to Lucina's forehead, and a rapid wave of cool energy rolled over her flesh and knitted all around her, attacking the open wound that dug at her palm. "Don't you fret, Freddybear. She's fine."

She lifted her head, feeling lighter and brighter and utterly relieved. She ran her thumb over her healed palm, small circles massaging the creases of her skin. She'd never been healed by magic before. She'd never witnessed this sort of thing, and it intrigued her, enthralled her, held onto her with clingy fingers.

"Be honest. What happened?" Frederick asked, taking a large step toward them. Lucina watched him, and she was reminded of something Tharja had said. Every man, woman, and child have weakness, she'd whispered with a coy little smirk. Your job, princess, is to find it. Exploit it.

What was Frederick's weakness, she wondered?

"Ran into a little snag with magic training," her mother said, peering down at her. Absently, her mother began to stroke her cheek with her knuckle, wiping away the remnants of Tharja's blood. "It could've happened to anyone. Um, we really need to go, though." Robin shot Frederick a weak little smile. "I've got to clean her up. You understand, I'm sure."

"Of course…" Frederick's eyes moved warily from Robin's face to Lucina. She watched him, her cheek pressed to her mother's shoulder and her eyes droopy from exhaustion. She smiled at him.

This man's weakness was that he loved too much, and trusted too little.

She noted how his eyes narrowed at her suspiciously.

Wary even of a child!

It'd be difficult to curse him.

It'd be mean too.

Very mean.

"Well then," Robin said brightly, "goodnight, Frederick!"

"Yes," he said distantly as her mother turned away, clutching her very close. "Robin, you know I am here not only for my daughter and wife, but for you as well. You can tell me anything."

She paused. Lucina looked at her face, and saw the wideness of her eyes, the shadowy panic of her features, which she schooled so fast, it was mind reeling to a tiny child with little experience in the art of fooling.

"Of course I know that," she laughed, turning only her face to him. "You are one of my closest friends, regardless of your duties to the House of Ylisse. If I had something to tell you, Frederick the Wary, don't you think I would have by now?"

"I'm not so sure."

"Trust me, Frederick," Robin pleaded. "Everything is fine. Go back to Cordelia and Severa. Gods know when either of you will be sent out again."

"Not me, milady," Frederick said softly. "I am here indefinitely."

Lucina felt her mother stiffen, her muscles rigid and her smile tight.

"You don't need to take care of me," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'm a big girl, and I've been through all this pregnancy nonsense before. Was it Chrom's order? Or your request?"

"It was a mutual agreement."

"Ah," Robin said brightly. "Well, trust in my boys to make me feel safe as can be."

"I beg of you," Frederick sighed, "not to take this the wrong way."

"I understand," her mother said earnestly. "And I really do appreciate it. I just… hate being worried after, that's all. It's so stifling, and you know how capable I am."

"I know," Frederick said. "I know…"

"Then prove it," she said. And she whirled away, Lucina resting at her hip, and her cloak gliding behind her as she strode down the corridor, leaving Frederick to his aching concern. Lucina buried her face in her mother's collarbone to hide a smile. You're amazing, she thought in awe. Mother, you're amazing!

She was promptly stripped and dumped in a tub, soaps and incense tossed into the water, sweet scents that Lucina realized were of her mother. Beneath the clinging smell of sweat and ink, her mother smelled of sweet grass and daffodils. Lucina swished the water around, smiling as her mother dropped a handful of flower petals over her head. They were pale pink and thin, fluttering slowly against the steam that drifted from the sudsy tub.

"I'm still disappointed in you," Robin admitted as Lucina shook the flowers out of her hair. "But I can't say I'm surprised, or even angry. Honestly, I know I would have done the same."

"You would have?" she asked in awe.

"I'm a perfectionist," her mother laughed, dragging a bar of soap over Lucina's back. "And Tharja isn't all bad, really… she's just a little extreme. What did she make you do?"

"Um…" Lucina had to think. The remnants of the taste, the dull tang of blood, still hung on her tongue. "Well, she tasted some of my blood, and made me… taste hers…" She lowered her head in shame. "I don't know why…"

"It was probably just a binding hex," her mother explained gently. "It can't harm you, unless you attack Tharja or anyone who shares her blood. It's a precaution some dark mages take when accepting an apprentice. To ensure you'll never curse her out of revenge for some way she treated you, or something like that."

"Oh." Lucina was silent as her mother washed the blood from her dark blue hair, tugging at the knots and laughing sheepishly as she apologized. She explained that she didn't know what she was doing. Lucina wondered what she meant.

"These are actually Sumia's flower petals," Robin admitted, dragging a wooden bowl across the ledge of the tub. "She said I could use them. You know Sumia, right?"

"Of course," Lucina said, blinking. "Cynthia's mother. Of course!"

"Of course." Robin smiled. "She's been giving me advice, but… oh, I don't know…"

"What?" Lucina twisted in the bath, water swooshing and petals clinging to her skin. "What is it, mother?"

"It's silly," her mother sighed, dragging her fingers through Lucina's fine hair, wringing it slowly. "I just… feel as though I haven't been fair to you, Lucina."

"What do you mean?" She was at a loss. Her mother was the kindest person she knew. She was just, and she was brave, and she was wise, and she was beautiful, and she was kind. Lucina could not fathom the idea that she felt such a way. "You're always fair!"

Robin poured water over Lucina's head, and she covered her eyes so the soap wouldn't get in them. "I don't know," her mother said. "Like I said, it's silly. Do you feel as though you know me, Lucina?"

"Yes…?" She held her damp fingers to her eyes, darkness spread out all around her. All she heard was her mother's soft voice, and all she felt was water flowing over her head, a warm sensation flowing from her clean hair to her warm skin. She felt as though she were floating. "Of course…"

"I'm glad…" her mother said distantly. "But, Lucina, aren't you ever angry? Aren't you ever sad that your father and I… that we're hardly home?" Her mother pulled her hands from her eyes, and stared at her with a stricken face, with parted lips and dazed eyes. "Don't you blame us? Even just a little?"

"No," Lucina whispered in shock. "Never."

Robin stared. And then, she smiled, and she laughed, and she kissed Lucina's wet forehead, splashing her in the face. She could only yelp, half submerging beneath the suds and the petals and the hazy water, and she splashed her mother back, shrieking with joy.

"Ah!" she cried as her mother dumped the bowlful of flower petals into her palm and blew them into Lucina's face. "Mama!"

Her mother burst into a fit of giggles, kneeling on the floor with her head thrown back and her cheeks flushed with delight. Lucina sat, her skin freckled with little round flower petal stuck very firmly. She puffed out her cheeks, and she noticed as her mother leaned back that beneath her thin beige shirt her tummy had grown significantly in size. She stared vacantly, uncertain as to what that meant.

Some time later, Lucina found herself in the yard dueling with Gerome. This was a thing that happened often enough, for they were the closest in age amongst the young Shepherds, and they were both eager to get better at swordplay. Lucina almost always won, using her size and her strength to her advantage, while Gerome lost his footing more often than not and fell to her tricks every time.

"That—!" Gerome, quiet as he was, squeaked in dismay, a scrape running along his elbow. "That was unfair!"

"You stepped too wide," Lucina retorted, prodding his foot with the point of her wooden sword. "Not my fault. Anyway, get up, let's try again."

He got up without complaint. He was good at doing what he was told.

"Lucina!"

From across the yard, her aunt Lissa shouted and waved her arm. Her newborn son, only a few months old, sat in the crook of her elbow, peering at the sky and tugging at his mother's pigtail. Lucina glanced at Gerome confusedly, and she dropped her play sword, bolting across the yard, dirt coughing up around her as she skidded to a stop, leaving Gerome in the dust. He caught up eventually, and he looked disgruntled and embarrassed.

"Lucina," Lissa gasped, bouncing excitedly. Owain bounced in her arms, smiling his toothless smile and reaching absently for Lucina. He was constantly trying to get at her, to tug at her hair or her lips or the fabric of her gowns. He just loved to tug at people, to get them as close as possible so he could stick his nose in their face and nuzzle them half to death. He was grossly affectionate. Lucina prayed her new sibling would not be such a hassle.

"Aunt Lissa," Lucina said, blowing her hair from her eyes. She'd been keeping up with both her magic training and her swordplay, learning both in order to keep both her parents as proud of her as possible. She was thirsty for praise. "Is something…?" The elated look on Lissa's face told her everything. "… Wrong?"

"The baby's coming!" Lissa cried, clapping her hands excitedly. "Isn't that wonderful?"

That wasn't the word Lucina would use for it.

This meant her mother would leave soon.

It meant that their months of laughter and magic were over.

She took a page from her mother's book, and she smiled big and bright.

"Yes!" she cried, jumping in feigned excitement. "Is it a boy or a girl? Do we know yet?"

"We'll know soon," Lissa laughed, ruffling her hair and smiling big. "Come on, let's go wait."

Lucina began to follow her, and he paused to look back at Gerome. He was stuck with them, it seemed, for his mother and father had both returned to fight. He was the oldest among the younger Shepherds, not counting Lucina. And he was perpetually awkward and lost, following Lucina if only to not be stuck alone in his room all day.

Her mother had explained that the younger Shepherds were welcome in Ylisstol for as long as need be, but it'd been months since the lot of them had arrived, and more and more of them were left by their parents. Lucina was glad for the company, but she wondered if any of them had homes of their own, in all honesty.

She sat obediently outside her mother's room, her knuckles white against her stained training breeches, and her eyes held straight and forward. She listened to her mother's screams, confused and bewildered, because she had not been near her aunt Lissa's room when Owain had been born, and this was a totally new experience for her.

"Why is she screaming…?" she whispered. Gerome sat beside her, watching her with the expression he always wore. Somber, bemused. He was a boy of little words and little emotion, but he was kind, and he was there. Always. She just could not shake him.

"It's just how birth is," Lissa said, smiling down at Lucina and shrugging. "It's really not all bad. Of course, I was a teensy bit out of whack when I gave birth, 'cause I got spiked with some poppy seed before it happened…" Lissa tilted her head toward the ceiling. "Huh. Lon'qu should've been the one drugged, to be honest. He totally fainted when he came into the room." She giggled a little, but her jokes did not make Lucina feel any better.

She must be in a lot of pain, Lucina thought wildly. So much pain… for what? Some stupid baby?

Lucina squeezed her eyes shut, and she wished Lissa would let her leave. She didn't want to hear the screaming anymore.

She felt a sudden weight in her lap, and she looked down to see Owain's round face beaming up at her. She felt the urge to shove him off, a tingly little urge to scream at him and cry and run away from all this pain and this bad air.

He reached up with his stubby little fingers, and he touched her hair gingerly.

"Lu…" he mumbled happily. She stared at him, unsure and disbelieving. Even Lissa looked confused, her mouth open and her eyes wide. "Lu-lu!"

"Huh?" Lissa looked distraught.

"Lu-lu!" Owain tugged on her hair, and she yelped, wincing. He planted a sloppy kiss on her nose, and he giggled loudly in her air.

Then, without much else to feel happy about, she began to giggle too.

Not too long after, the screaming stopped. She was thankful, and she was relieved, and above all else, she was anxious. She wanted to see her mother. She needed to see her mother. She needed to. She needed to, she needed to, she needed to…

In the back of her mind, there was a dark voice singing.

Drums and hums and thrumming beats.

She felt the world around her. The air, and the breaths, and the trailing silence. She felt the earth turning underfoot. She felt the sky, and she felt the mystic, the magicks, the thrumming of life being pulled and tugged.

She felt something in the shadows. She felt something at her back.

She was led into the room by the hand, her head bowed and her mind in shambles.

What a weak little thing you are, her mind hissed at the little squishy blob in her mother's arms.

She was instinctively drawn to it. She wanted to protect it, and she could not say why. The voice in her head was hissing, chanting, cooing at her to hold this child tight.

"Lucina," her mother said, her voice weak and her eyes bright. "Come meet your baby brother."

Brother.

Brother.

Hello, brother, she thought, moving slowly to her mother's side. She smiled at him, her excitement stirring her to excited laughter.

"His name is Morgan," Robin whispered, cradling the boy gently.

"Morgan," Lucina said, tasting the name and finding herself reminded of the trickle of warm, acrid blood down her throat.

She saw his hands, and her smile fell.

On the back of one was the brand of the Exalt. This was unremarkable. Lucina looked upon her brand every day when she glanced in the mirror.

On his other hand, the six eyed marking of the mother that held him, a birthmark that tied him to her, an eerie thing for an eerie boy.

Lucina stood and stared.

Submit, a voice hissed in her ear.

She smiled, and took his little hand.

Her envy was dampened by her unyielding loyalty.

"Morgan," she whispered, running her thumb over the dark little brand. "I'm Lucina. I'm your big sister." She brought his dark hand to her lips, and kissed the eyes of the beast. I'm here to protect you at all costs.

Such was her fate.