Archive of Our Own ^beta

Soren knew as he'd fled the capital that this wasn't a war that could be won. He'd seen the devastation Daein had wrought firsthand, barely escaped the burning beams falling down, or the lances of several soldiers that would've made him another corpse in the body-riddled street.

He'd gone along with their foolish last stand, for the alternative was abandoning Ike. And even standing at the edge of death in black-armor, that was something he would not do.

There were simply too many reinforcements, a seemingly endless supply of soldiers. Daein had thousands, while Crimea had a scattered few still alive, and they were even less. A small mercenary band more suited for finding lost animals than fighting against an entire country. Ike's body was pushed beyond fatigue, to a point where every slash and step was slowed. Each soldier fell beneath his sword, their bodies turning to gored and bloodied pieces. Mist drew back, rust-colored stains sunk deep into her boots.

And Soren was forced to watch on, completely helpless. No tactics or magic could help Ike now. His tome had fallen to pieces hours ago. The rain had made the pages stick together, ink wet, and yet he had tried to conjure and fight as much as he could.

It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough to turn the tide, or make this anything but a suicide mission. Had they said yes, could he have bargained his way past this? Had he walked on past the princess, or convinced them she was a liar, could they have found a way out?

He could only speak in what ifs, and watch the rain drip down Ike's neck. Every minute of Soren's life had already been borrowed time.

Ike's head drooped. His arms trembled as he tried to lift them. If only he could be there at the frontlines, be it tome or ancient power. But the spirit inside him offered no secrets, no burst of power for his life.

Nothing to give.

He'd rather have his insides torn asunder than watch Ike be skewered on the enemy's weapons.

"It's no use," Ike said. He looked on at even more enemies coming in their wake. No reinforcements, nothing but the cold walls and steadily falling rain.

Soren, never one for hope, wanted so badly to offer something. A sliver, a crumb, even a prayer. But he knew all too well that nothing he could say or do would make this situation change. From the moment they had helped that princess, they had taken on this unwinnable war.

"Titania. Take the princess and head for Gallia. Take...the rest of the group to safety."

He held too tight to his sword in the rain. Soren already knew he was hiding a limp, a gash deep in his leg, but the last stave had long ago broken apart.

"You can't—" Soren broke off.

"It's the only chance we have. If we fall here, then everything is lost. Crimea's last hope, and what...my father died for."

"I'll stay," Titania said.

"No, you have to lead the princess away from here. You're the only one I can rely on for this. I won't watch anyone else sacrifice their lives for this. It's my responsibility so...I'll go."

"This isn't what dad would've wanted--you promised we'd get out of this together. You promised!"

Mist clung to his tunic. Knuckles white, her body heaved with sobs. As gently as he could, Ike began to pry her hands away.

"Listen, I'll be back. I'm keeping that promise," Ike said.

"You...You're a liar, Ike! You've been lying all this time! You said that you'd never leave, and here you are, you--" She choked off, dipping her head to hide the twist of grief.

"I'm staying," Soren said. He spoke over her sobs.

"Soren...." her voice broke. "Not you, too... I know you're smart and all, but can you take on an entire army?" she said.

Soren looked out towards the number of enemies approaching. Too many for them to fight off. Eventually one of them would fall, and then the other. But they wouldn't be so careless to simply kill them, not with a princess just escaped from their grasp. No, they would make it slow. Cut off pieces of skin, fingers, and other limbs. Starve them in the cold, dank dungeons until they cracked or died.

Death would be far more merciful than what they were going into.

Ike muttered something, a minced oath, a curse. The words lost in the rain and sadness of the broken-down fort. Soren had seen the rise of his dreams of being a hero and finally coming to the battlefield. He'd had to watch parts of Ike die slowly today. His aspirations, his naivety, his hopes.

"You can't leave me all alone. You promised!" Mist's voice shook with each sob. "You promised."

"He won't be alone," Soren said.

"Yes, I will," Ike said.

It went against every grain of his being to defy Ike. And yet, he did, a terse shake of his head without meeting Ike's gaze.

"I'm ordering you to leave," Ike said. "I'm saying this not just as your general, but as your friend–get out of here, Soren."

"I won't leave you alone, Ike. So...don't tell me to go away. Don't ever tell me to go on without you."

Soren was beyond mere exhaustion. Ike didn't even know that the pages of his tome had fallen apart, rendering him useless again, good for nothing but cannon fodder. Perhaps his death would mean Ike's life would be a little longer.

Soren knew when they started that this was an impossibility. He should have fought harder to collaborate with the Daein army. Had they given Elincia up that first battle, they might have not joined the doomed revolution. Titania's morals would get in the way, but Shinon was mercenary enough to not be discerning to who gave him his coin, and Gatrie followed wherever he went. The others could be replaced. They were, after all, nothing more than expendable mercenaries.

Lanterns shone past the entrance.Mist reached out, as if she'd fight them all with nothing but her sheer will. As the lights came closer, Ike pushed Mist past the gate. "Go!" he said. Footsteps echoed in the night, along with the clatter of armor and their impending ruin.

"Two commanders lost in less than two days," Ike said. His voice was dull, numbed by cold and pain. Soren clung fast to his cloak as the enemy lanterns swung in sight. As the first cry rang out, We've found them! and the cold press of a sword to his throat.

Even as he was shackled, he kept close to Ike's side.

The rain turned to a thick downpour. They were marched through the forests without ceasing, without rest. Soren's sandals caught in the mud. In the seconds it took him to disentangle himself, Soren could only hold back a cry as something hard was slammed against his shoulders. Pushed to the ground, his robes were drenched, dirty and bloodstained. Soren gazed up through the dark, but couldn't tell the black-armored soldiers apart.

"Get up," came the voice. Ike bent to try and help, but he too was hit with a sheathed sword across his shoulders. Ike didn't cry out, or even flinch as the soldiers struck him with blow after blow. He gripped Soren's chains and pulled him up. As they rose together, he looked defiant towards his captors.

"We got ourselves a fighter here," came a voice. A General. Soren couldn't see his face.

Hours later they came to a deeper dark, tossed away into abandoned stones. The gates behind them were final, a eulogy for the dead and dying that they would soon join.

*

He woke slowly, past the pain, the cold, and overwhelming dark of the room. Only a thin sliver of light shone from the slit at the top, something that could almost pass for a window. Drops sounded, through the cold, dank room. Soren reached out, and found himself able to move. He felt past the cold, crawling walls, until he found warmth. Skin, touch. Ike.

"You aren't shackled anymore," Ike said.

"He didn't think I was a threat," Soren said in an undertone.

And it wasn't as if he could overpower anyone. It seemed to amuse the guard to have him free, yet powerless while Ike was bound. To have him watch helplessly to whatever horrors awaited them.

"I'm sorry about this," Ike said.

"I made my choice," Soren said.

It was his fault. He should've convinced Ike otherwise, should've pulled back before they ever found the princess who doomed both Greil and Ike. He should've made them pay fealty to Daein immediately upon returning.

Then they could've had at least a chance of living.

But Ike never would've settled for simply surviving. He would never sacrifice his honor and home for a bit of safety.

Hours passed, and no rations came. Soren cupped his hands to catch murky water that dripped from above. He lifted it to Ike's bruised, chapped lips. Drops slid down Ike's chin fell to the floor.

Ike grimaced, as Soren brushed the corners of his mouth.

"Do you know how much time it's been?" Ike said.

"No, I must have passed out at some point after they...left us in here.”

The room was too dark to tell between daylight and night. The moon could've shone bright above them, as if weeks had passed in his dark dreams, and Soren wouldn't have known.

Soren turned as he heard a scraping sound coming closer. He bent to pick up the nearest thing to him--a small, smooth stone.

A guard appeared at the door, the rusted metal of his armor dragging across the cold floor. His skin was leathery, his jaw covered with a graying beard of rough whiskers that stuck every which way like a particularly well worn scrubbing brush. His armor was burnished black, dented and worn. Soren theorized that Canteus Castle had the leavings of the men, those too twisted and broken to be on the field any longer.

Soren's grip tightened on a pebble. Too smooth to work at Ike's bindings, too small to be much of anything but a distraction.

"Another one to feed to the pit," he said.

No rations, no reinforcements or rescue. The soldier moved on, with the same scraping sound that caught like a creeping horror in his mind. What little hope Soren had left faded inside.

*

Soren couldn't tell the hour or days. It was dark when they gave in through the creeping terror of the screams, and when they collapsed to moments of fitful rest. The guards hadn't come for them.

There were no blankets, or even a cot. It was simply a hollowed out room of stone, without even a shred of humanity or mercy. His clothes hadn't properly dried, but Soren had grown accustomed to the cold and shuddering once in his life, he could do it again. The scent of the room had turned even more acrid than before. Five times they'd given in to exhaustion. Ike's wrists had turned bloody from how deeply the shackles cut into his skin, especially when he hung limp, and Soren would force himself awake to count each breath, and each cough. Soren continued to cup his hands to catch the watch dripping from the ceiling. It had a bitter aftertaste, but it kept them alive for a little longer.

The wait was its own torture. They were left continually flinching, and waiting for a blow which hadn't come yet.

Another clank of metal sounded past their cell. Every few minutes the guards would pass, their footsteps a warning of what was to come. Ike and Soren would wake in sudden starts to realize they were not alone, and in their moment of exhaustion, the breathing of a guard outside could be heard, and the unmistakable sound of a weapon being sharpened just outside their gate.

The cell was too dark and narrow, with no window into the misery of the many other prisoners, except for the screams. The closer the cries got, the closer he knew the soldiers were. Someone far from their cell had been screaming almost nonstop since they'd been captured. It was something, how his bellowing about being a Crimean knight hadn't even left him hoarse.

This time, the door opened. Through the dim light, Soren couldn't see the exact number of men. Before his pain and hunger-numbed mind could think of a plan, the man grabbed Soren's hair and yanked, jerking Soren's head back. "Think this one would be worth anything?"

"There's no ransom in that one. The other one's worth keeping alive; he was a leader."

The man chuckled. "That's what they call a leader, now? A boy playing hero with his father's sword?"

In the dark, they became a shapeless form, nothing but metal, voice, and avarice. Had he his tomes, he could summon light to pierce the murkiness. Without them, all he could do was give Ike a few more seconds of life. All he had to do was draw away their ire. Maybe through his blood, Ike could live.

"That's weighty words for Daein dogs. Not even fit to be on the battlefield, and stuck in this pit following the orders of some third-rate general too inept to do anything more than torture."

The first strike stunned him to blackness for a moment. He tasted blood in his mouth. The soldier tightened his grip on Soren's hair, jerking his head back like a rag doll. "With words like that, this one could be an aristocrat. Might find some use for him," he said.

"Don't you dare touch him--"

Ike tugged at the bounds. There was a creak, a scraping of metal and stone.

"Don't, Ike," Soren said.

The man let him fall to the floor in a heap, and prodded him with his foot. Soren tried to push himself up, but the second time wasn't merely a prod, but a hard kick to his ribs. He heard a noise, a crack, and the breath was knocked out of him.

"Soren!"

Beyond the pain, the struggle and desperate grasp for breath, Soren only had one burning purpose, one hope left.

Not him. I won't let Ike die.

Soren rose with a slight limp, a momentary quiver before he raised his chin in defiance. He'd played this facade to live so many times. He’d spent his life lying to superstitious peasants and low-class soldiers. For Ike, he could manage to once more.

"If you let him go, I might let you live," he said.

"Let me live? An insignificant whelp like you threatens me?" He laughed, cruel around the edges, as he gripped Soren's robes again.

"….Even you can't be so stupid as to not know the mark of a spirit charmer," Soren said.

"We checked him, he has no books," a soldier said. But there was a momentary hesitance, a doubt.

"A spirit-charmer needs no books. We control the spirits we make pacts with directly, without mere chants or ritual. And those spirits will do unspeakably cruel things to whoever they're bound to. We give our lives, and the spirits do anything we require," Soren said.

One of the soldiers at the gate spoke up. "You think he might put a curse on us?"

"Oooh, yes, a curse. He'll make your arms turn black and fall off." But for a mere moment, the soldier hesitated. In that moment, Soren smirked, as if he had all the curses and powers beyond imagining at his beck and call.

The soldier released Soren, and let him slump down to the dank floor.

"Fine, I've no use for him. We've other prisoners to tend to."

But he didn't touch the bars as he left, as if Soren might have left dark smudges of malevolence wherever he touched.
*

The men at the bar had said there was a wealth in Canteus Castle, just ripe for the picking, and the Fireman himself had told her there was a treasure even bigger than that. He'd never said she couldn't pick a few chests along the way, and a big payday would be in the works if the client was anything as big as he implied.

As usual, he'd told her nothing. Less risk to have the client revealed. As far as Heather was concerned, the client could be the Goddess Herself as long as she got paid.

What they (and the Fireman) hadn't mentioned was that it would be crawling with Daein soldiers. Heather had prepared for hints of ghosts and spiders crawling over an abandoned castle, and maybe stealing some important document, not a battle. Heather's upper lip curled in disgust as she stuck to the shadows. The place stank of urine, blood, mold, and despair.

But the elixirs which kept her mother alive didn't come cheap, and she wasn't the type of girl to do farm work. Even if she were, it would be pointless. A whole season of working wouldn't even buy one of what her mother needed to stay alive.

She drew her knife out of the sheath, and checked about the corner. A few guards, bobbing around like they were drunk. If they were, that made her job that much easier.

Heather peered around corners, mentally cursing her luck as she went. No dragon's horde of treasure to be found here. She suspected the only goods she'd find here were new and old bones—and hers soon to join them if she didn't keep a light step around these soldiers. If she ever found that talky drunk again, she'd steal just to spite him. Of course, she would have stolen his coin purse regardless, but this time she would do it with extra prejudice.

Through the bars of one of the prison cells, she saw the grimy hands of a sole prisoner. So this was what they were guarding all along. She'd heard tales of the coming war, but she hadn't realized it'd come this fast, this far. News traveled slowly in the towns.

Warmongers, every one of them. This would drive the price of medicine up higher than even a horde of treasure could net her. Of course, with Daein's fat treasury, stuffed to the brim with all the pickings from Crimea and soon Begnion, she might just have enough to cover it.

Someone high ranking must've called in on the Fireman. Perhaps they had gotten their hands on some noble's son. Though it must've been something indeed to call him away; he'd never let her go on a mission alone before, especially not one like this.

All the more gold for herself.

A stone struck against the wall. She stood back, clinging to shadows as the lantern swung near. It hadn't been her boot which made the mistake.

"Stop being afraid of every shadow, Jaun," one of the soldiers said.

"Stop being a jackass and do your damn job, Mahk. We're paid to guard, not go around like children afraid of their own shadow," the other soldier said.

"You need to live a little--and get better boots. When we next get off, I'm taking you straight to visit the ladies at the Red Inn. You're definitely in need of their tender care."

She heard a slap, and laughter from the other man.

"You hit like my grandmother, Jaun. At this rate they'll discharge you to the knitting league!" Mahk said.

The sound of their bickering and laughter faded as they went along down another corridor. At this angle she could see it was all open space, all connecting halls. The torches had burned low; presumably they had no mage to tend to the lights. Soon they'd be back around. She'd have to make her move quickly, or risk falling into the spreading pools of lantern light.

With a glance behind her, Heather dared to sneak a little closer in to peer into the dingy cell. The prisoner had hidden back into the corner when the soldiers had passed. Slumped and hidden in the dark, Heather had to strain to see, but as her eyes adjusted, she made out little details. Long teal hair fell across the woman's face, tangled and dirty and stringy. There was a large bruise across her face, blood across her cracked lips. She looked up, and drew back from the sight of Heather.

"They'll put you in here with me if you ain't careful," the girl said. Her blue-green eyes were ringed with purple underneath. If her skin was a map, Heather still couldn't translate the bruises to how long she'd been in this cell.

Heather pulled the pin out of her hair, hidden as a hair decoration like any respectable girl would wear. She began to work the lock as quietly as possible. In the past few years, her lock picking had really improved, though rusty locks were always a challenge.

Not that she'd ever been bad at the thieving arts. Even as a child, she was out picking pockets. At least until she'd picked the wrong one, and ended up in this life of secrets and slashed throats.
The sound of footsteps down the hall made her heart beat in a fast panic. Still, she kept working until the lock finally sprung open. The girl reached out towards Heather, and pulled her, and the door shut. She shoved Heather down, until they lay together in the floor, her face to the dented, cold armor.

She held her breath as the guard walked by. Each step seemed so loud, even drowning out the dripping water, the low moans of another, perhaps unluckier prisoner further down the hall. The lantern wasn't enough to illuminate the cell. The girl didn't even move, her body a human shield.

The sound of steps passed on further down the hall. Only when they were barely audible did she let out her breath. She took long, restrained gasps. Her heart still raced, though not entirely from danger.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, Heather caught the darkened marks across the woman's skin. She touched across the girl's chin, careful to not touch any of the scratches or gashes. "Who did this to you?" She said in a hushed tone that barely concealed her rage.

"You're...you're from here," the girl said. "Though your accent's less thick..."

"Nothing wrong with a country accent," Heather said. "But that doesn't answer my question."

"I dunno if he's here anymore, it was some Daein man. I broke his jaw for gettin' fresh with me. Swift kick to the face."

"Good job, though I'd love to finish it for you," Heather said.

The girl pushed herself up from the stone floor. Her armor looked as if it'd been meshed together from rusted fences and pots.

"They left after that. They ain't sent water or food for days. I was beginnin' to think I'd never get out of this dungeon...and by country folk, too." She smiled, a glint of hope coming across her features for the first time.

She'd just come here to get some treasure and go. But she couldn't leave the woman alone, especially not with such disgusting beasts about, willing to drop her and let her starve.

"Can you walk?" Heather sad.

"I'll live, but we gotta gotta hurry and find the others. I don't even know if they're still alive, but I gotta try at least," the girl said.

What had been a simple cut and run was now growing more and more complicated. But a glance to the woman, gashes over her arms and bruises on her lovely face.

"I still don't know your name. Do I have to kill a man to get it?" Heather said, winking teasingly at her.

"Oh, sorry. My ma always did say to us young folk that I didn't raise you in a barn. Though when it got hot, I'd go in there. Have to chase the raccoon out, and duck from the bats. Straw would get stuck in your shortclothes, but it ain't all bad. Except for the flies—"

She blushed beet red, her hair falling into her face, while her helmet dipped forward. It was black with either blood or the dirt of the castle, possibly a mix of the two.

"I did it again. Um, I'm Nephenee, miss. And I'm very grateful. Thought I was a real goner this time."

She had a dozen names she gave out, usually to pretty girls. The most used one was Lady Alaine. She'd like to think that she personally kept her mentor's reputation as legendary as it deserved to be--and kept anyone trailing her extremely confused about how she managed to be in two places on the continent at the same time.

But looking into the fragile yet hopeful gaze of the girl, Heather found herself speaking something she hadn't touched in a long time: the truth.

"I'm Heather," she said, and left it at that. Even when she wasn't cultivating alibis, she liked to keep something of an air of mystery about her.

Before Nephenee could reply, there was the sound of shuffling footsteps down the hall. The light streamed down the hall, painting the dingy walls in hints of gold.

A single guard was at the corner. In mere seconds the spotlight of his lantern would tear away what little safety they had.

"Just like them, off to have a drink and leaving me to guard alone," the soldier muttered. His voice was hoarse and very deep. Nephenee shivered just so slightly, and Heather couldn't tell if it was the horrible conditions, or the hint of incoming danger.

Was this the one who tried to hurt her? Or had others left gashes on her, until every one would have to be gutted on her blade? No matter, she'd simply have to kill them all. It wasn't just thieving she knew; along the way she'd picked up a few tricks, the kind she never told her mother.

Heather unsheathed her blade. There was no chance now of them getting out without a fight. The instructions rung in her mind: Strike first, sink your blade deep, don't let them get a shot in.

She'd done it so many times since she was a child, it was something she never thought of, like breathing.

"I could use your help for this one. All you have to do is make a diversion," Heather said.

"All right, I'll do my best," Nephenee said.

Nephenee threw her helmet across the floor with a rattle and a crash. The soldier rushed ahead, without even a cry of alarm to the others. He made the most fatal mistake of his life: turning his back to the cell. She stepped behind him, the knife drawn at ready. Only when she was behind him did he realize what had happened. But by then, it was far too late. She drew her knife across his throat. His last noise was a strangled gurgling sound, not a cry for help.

She preferred a good stab to the back, as they never ended up with blood all over her clothes. Blood made her memorable if witnesses came through, and Heather always was cursed with being extremely memorable. That's what she got for being lovely and clever.

She pulled at her shirt with a sigh. This would never wash off, and she'd have a lot to answer for with her mother. A mishap at the butcher's shop? Or simply burn it and skim off whatever she stole to give to her mother for new clothes.

Nephenee picked up the spear from the fallen soldier.

"I'm still a little wobbly...they ain't fed us in all the days we been in here, but I can still fight," Nephenee said.

"Good. Were there others in your battalion?"

"The whole militia was captured, along with some Crimean knights, and some bishop who was healin' people. Though, the militia was just Brom and me," she said.

"Better allies than foes, I suppose," Heather said.

Another lantern turned around a corner. Heather and Nephenee nodded to each other, and turned around the corner, delving deeper into the dungeon.

They walked in soft footsteps behind the latest guard, until he turned a corner. He was too far away to reach without a chance he'd call for help.

"We'll get him later," Heather said.

"Brom, Brom? Are you in there? I don't want to have to send tell your wife you didn't come back with us!" Nephenee's voice was a small shout, a loud whisper, like a secret across the hay fields. Nephenee gripped the bars. She peered between into the shadows, her helmet made scraping noises against the metal.

"Nephenee? Oh, am I glad to see you," he said. He was portly, his accent even thicker than Nephenee's. His thick sideburns merged with several day's growth of messy beard. His armor hadn't been confiscated, and made a horrible clatter as he moved, as if it'd been crafted from repurposed pans.

"You're all cut up. Oh, Nephenee, what happened to you?" Brom said. Concern marked his features. He reached through the bars and clutched at her wrist.

"I kicked 'em good, sent 'em runnin' back with their tails behind their legs," she said.

"That's a good girl. You always were a tough one. Smackin' down any of those rowdy boys who tried to get fresh with you."

"We've been takin' out the soldiers, and I got some weapons to teach these scoundrels a thing or two. Heather here says there's rumors of some kind of uprisin' comin' on."

"Uprising? I will lend my axe for Crimea's honor!"

Heather looked back towards the guard. The pool of light from his lantern was a faint speck in the distance. "Shhhh, cool it, Red, before all the guards come this way," Heather said.

"I gladly lay down my life for the crown--"

"If you want to get yourself killed, go ahead, but leave us out of it," Heather said.

"No one is doin' any such tomfoolery. Now keep it quiet, Kieran, we gotta be stealthy like, like one of them apple stealers in the night," Brom said.

"Heather's really good at stealth," Nephenee said.

Heather tossed her hair. "It's my job, but yes, I am very good at it. At least when certain people aren't yelling their lungs out."

She was fairly good at apple stealing, too. Though sometimes pretty girls caught her in the act. What could she say? Everyone had a weakness, and hers was women, and occasionally pride.

"I don't think that's all of us, though. There was one other pair, and a Bishop who done got caught. We couldn't possibly leave them behind in a place like this," Brom said.

"--We will fight our way, through bears, and guards, all for--"

"First things first, we're going to have to gag him," Heather said.

"I can do it," Nephenee said.

"Naw, I got this. Ol' Kieran, you should keep your battle cries silent, for the crown. The crown wants you on a stealth mission," Brom said.

Kieran puffed out his cheeks, and nodded fervently.

"If he dies from holding his breath too long, I'm not burying him," Heather said.

"Naw, he's breathin' through his nose like an angry bull," Brom said.

"It'd help if we had a ring in his nose to lead him around in. We need to get going--the light is coming closer," Heather said.

She and her three new allies slipped through the halls, finding safety in every shadow. Heather couldn't risk that saving them was the job she'd been contracted for.

Of course, that there was a pretty girl sure helped sweeten the deal.

*

Soren tried to push himself up. Each breath ached and scraped at his insides.

"Ike?" he said.

No response.

He felt light-headed as he finally managed to stand up. He leaned against the stonework as he tried to take each careful step past the pain. Rusted chains pitted the damp wall. He moved until he felt flesh, warmth, and the pulse at Ike's shackled wrist.

He'd known hunger intimately for most of his life. The gnawing sensation in his stomach was an unwelcome friend returned to remind him of the horrors of life. But even worse than this was that Ike had to feel this. That Ike had to know even a fraction of the terrors he'd known as a child.

He could hear the clank of armor. They were returning, with even more soldiers, from the sound of it. In the end, his bluffs had only bought them a few more minutes of life.

The black armor meshed with shadows, but the glowing hot poker shone through the dark.

"He claims to have a spirit. I say, burn it out of him. See how many curses he spouts with no tongue."

"That's too easy," said another soldier.

"Of course, we won't start with his tongue. We'll work our way up."

Soren pushed himself up wide eyed. He'd prepared himself for agony, but now that it was here, the fear was cold in his veins. But the cell was small enough that he only backed himself into a corner. He wished in that moment that he was closer to Ike, that he could feel a second's warmth and comfort of skin by gripping his hand. He reached to nothing but cold air and hopelessness as he was snatched, dragged through the dirt.

"Ike," he gasped. "Please--"

The Soldier drew back the tatters of Soren's sleeve. He tried to draw away, but it was of little use. His strength outmatched, he could do nothing but watch the glowing poker come closer and closer, until it was pushed against his skin.

The pain was so sudden, so complete that he didn't even know he was screaming until moments later when he was slammed against the floor. Another Soldier came behind him, roughly grabbing his hair and pulling him up again. Soren could taste blood in his mouth, bitter and metallic. He struggled for breath as the Soldier forced his face to the floor again. Something cracked. Bone, or something deeper.

If he didn't drink, he could die in three days. But they might force water down his mouth to prolong the pain. Daein had devised their own form of torture that was banned in Begnion and Crimea. Not even the beasts of Gallia would fall to such depths.

"I don't see no smoke. This one must be a liar. And you know what we do with liars."

"Soren!" The chains rattled. Ike swore, and tugged harder.

With his tongue removed, he'd be nigh useless to Ike. Little more than a steward kept to reorder the library they no longer had. The soldier forced his mouth open. Soren tried to bite down, only to find leather gauntlets edged with metal. His jaw ached, but still, he tied. Even his last attack would be fruitless and nothing to save Ike.

If only the spirits could hear his call, but they remained silent. For all his lies, he wished just then he could call a curse, and make use of whatever pact had been made before his birth. The knife was still wet from someone else's blood. Recent enough that it hadn't even turned rust-colored and hardened across the blade.

The first cut was shallow across his neck. All Soren could do was let out a shivering breath as the knife was dragged upwards. From each thin cut, beads of blood oozed up.

"Hold his mouth open," said one of the soldiers. Soren tried to turn his head, but two other men held his face still.

A clatter, a crack and a long scraping sound distracted his captor enough that Soren could just see around him. The chains broke, cracked under the pressure of Ike's strength. The bolt dragged on the floor. As the first soldier came closer, spear raised, Ike swung his arms in an arc. The bolt slammed into the breastplate of the soldier. Even still shackled, he'd managed to make a weapon of his own. There was something in Ike's gaze he'd never seen before. The vengeance of a true warrior as he caught the chains about the soldier's neck. The soldier clawed at him, but Ike kept his grip tight even the rough edged gauntlets dug into his skin.

"Ike—behind you--"

Ike whirled around, the stones swirling out around him. The second strike hit the too-soft metal of a slightly tipped helmet. Under the rock, the helmet, and the soldier himself, crumpled as easily as used paper. Red stained the floor where he had collapsed, dull and slick.

The other soldier who had held him down took two moments too long to decide whether to stay to his task or defend himself. In that time, Ike had already reached him. Soren heard only the snapping of bones, and the man's anguished scream.

"Don't you dare touch him," Ike said.

Swords drawn, two against one. Soren looked to the ground, and only found pebbles. He reached through the dark, and grabbed one of the broken off stones from the wall. He heard another scream. In the shadows across the wall, Ike looked beast-like. The other soldiers never had a chance to escape. The screams rose to a fever pitch, then fell off into nothing. The dripping of water from the ceiling, the dripping of blood from the stones. Ike drooped, the chains and stones clattering upon the slick floor.

Soren tried to push himself up. Muscles throughout his body throbbed and ached. Ike bent beside him, cupping his face with blood-slick fingers.

"I'm sorry for getting you into this, Soren. I should have sent you away with the others," Ike said.

"I wouldn't have gone. If you'd forced me, I would've followed the soldiers until I was back here by your side," Soren said, even though each word, each movement of his mouth caused the ache to worsen.

"But not before you'd been hurt. I've made a mess of things. I brought you into this, and I don't even know if the others survived."

"I knew when I came with you that we were going to be tortured. I wasn't about to let you die alone," Soren said.

"The truth is, I was selfish. I didn't want to be alone," Ike admitted in the dark.

But not as selfish as he was, for he would've sacrificed the entire mercenary troupe if it meant Ike's life could be spared. The people who he'd worked beside for years, who probably even thought him a comrade. He would've given the princess over to Daein, betrayed his company as long as Ike would have come along.

"The only way out is going through the leader," Ike said.

A tough mission even with all of the rest of the mercenaries with them. Alone and with no weapons, it was a suicide mission. But if they stayed here, more men would come. And even if Ike had managed these few on his own, he couldn't take on armies with his own rage born from imprisonment and grief.

Upon one of the remains of the soldiers were keys. Soren twisted free the locks, and rubbed at Ike's wrists. If he had a vulnerary, he could've healed away these wounds. But every last resource had been used in that battle. All he could do was rub and wish his pact had given him powers to heal.

The minute his hands were free, Ike pulled Soren to him. He cupped his face, inspecting every inch of him in the low light.

"It's nothing a healing staff won't fix," Soren said.

Ike ran his finger across Soren's mouth. Each word made his mouth ache more, but for Ike, he would take that pain. "We'll get through this," Ike said. His voice was filled with uncertainty and false heroism.

"We will," Soren echoed. It was more for Ike's sake than his own.

Ike limped as he walked towards the gate. Each step was slow, and without grace. He picked up a sword from one of the fallen soldiers, and wiped the blood from the handle on his tunic.

"Stay close, Soren. Until we find you a tome, and a healer, I don't want you taking any chances," Ike said.

A part of Soren wanted to look deeper and see you are important to me, please never leave my side, because I love you in those words.

All he managed was: "Yes, Ike."

He pushed the other words down, like so many other thoughts and feelings ground underneath his heel over the years.

*

In the dark, Soren stumbled. Ike caught him before he could collapse onto the stone floor. The torches all around them had been doused. Soren bent to feel the wall. He drew his hand back, to find it wet with blood.

Ike bent over the protrusion, only to find not a loose rock, but the body of a soldier. The floor was slick and sticky. He held tight to Soren's arm to keep him from slipping.

"Reinforcements?" Soren said.

"Let's just hope they're on our side," Ike said. His voice was small, and filled with a grim hopelessness that Soren knew all too well.

The gates of the next cell swung on a rusty hinge. Just at the edge of the light, Soren could see another body hidden from view. Further on light pooled together in two lit rooms, and a gate. Ike clutched tight to his sword as they advanced.

There was only one entrance, and it was heavily guarded. The chance of a sneak attack was unlikely, at least not without a diversion.

"Ike, follow my lead," Soren said softly. He explained the bare bones of the plan. Ike scowled.

"You're using yourself as a diversion? Absolutely not--I don't want to see you getting yourself killed. We just barely survived one attack."

"That's the point. They'll be drawn in, so you can get the upper hand," Soren said.

"You're already injured. You can't even fight back," Ike said.

"You're injured and exhausted; you can't fight an army alone. Please, Ike. Trust me on this."

Ike closed his eyes for a moment. He shook his head. They were dancing and scraping at the edge of survival as it was.

"If they so much as make a scratch on you..."

"Then I'll enjoy watching you gut them," Soren said.

Ike reached one last time to hold to Soren's ripped sleeve.

"Be careful. I don't want to lose anyone else. Especially not you."

Soren nodded. "Yes, Ike." He remained a few more moments. This last touch might be the last time he spent close to Ike.

Soren stepped out from the shadows, and into the first guard's vision. "Daein dogs," he said, just loud enough for them to hear. "Even a pit like this is too good for such filth."

A door closed in the distance. It was an echo that rang through the entire prison, sharp like piercing flesh. Spears were leveled, a cry for reinforcements rang out. Not for the first time, Soren wished the spirit within him would heed his call, that all the tales about spirit charmers were true. But he was a mere mage. Even he couldn't tell if his lies and these tales meant anything.

A cluster of soldiers guarded several treasure chests, and presumably, the key to the gates. Their dark armor was bloodied and dented. Soren couldn't tell it was from torture or battle. Or maybe it was both. Spears lifted, they rushed forward. Soren lifted his chin, as if his defiance would somehow shield him. All it did was aggravate them more, and draw them closer. Already wounded, he wouldn't last a second attack.

Perhaps not even the first.

Inches away from his throat, the spear clattered to the ground. The soldier made a gurgling noise, the thick, blood-smeared sword stuck entirely through his chest. Soren smirked as he fell, the last spasms of life ebbing out on the floor.

"You'd think Daein would give better armor rations," Soren said.

"Lucky for us, they don't," Ike said.

The second soldier paused for just a moment in stunned indecision, and that was his undoing. Before he could even strike, Ike slashed his sword. The soldier coughed, blood spilling from his mouth.

The last soldier could barely even scream, his throat slit red and dripping. In his last moments, the soldier reached for his neck, before he fell to the floor. He had no last words, only moaned and garbled breaths that faded to nothing. Soren stepped past the growing pool of blood. Stealth was no longer an option.

Ike's swordsmanship had improved so much in just a few short weeks. Desperation truly was the greatest teacher.

"Let's not make a habit of cutting it that close," Ike said.

"I knew you'd save me, Ike," Soren said.

"I should've trusted you; your plans always work," Ike said.

"We're not out yet," Soren said. He narrowed his gaze at the grim surroundings. Like a monster's lair, scattered bones littered the floor towards the general's room. Soren couldn't tell if they were human or animal.

Before them, there was the clash of metal. Soren looked past the doorway, only to see a different group. They looked nothing like the soldiers and men of Daein. Led by a woman in purple splattered in blood, another several others which could only be fellow prisoners with their dirt and disarray.

The woman in purple looked their way. "Nephenee, we got some reinforcements."

"Thank the heavens; I knew the Crimean army wouldn't be leavin' us to rot."

"Hey, you. You're a mage, aren't you? I recognize the robes."

She moved fast, dodging arrows and spears alike. As one of the soldiers rushed her, she looked back with disdain. She never even had a chance to use her unsheathed knife; the female soldier stabbed her spear right through his chest.

She brushed aside the blood that landed on her arms, and reached into the bag slung over her shoulder. In a few mere moments, she pulled out a wind tome.

"I pulled this off of one of the soldiers, but none of us are mages. Help us fight, and I'll call it even," she said.

Without a word, Soren took the book and opened the pages. The dank air in the dungeon changed. Tense with waiting, with anticipation. Green spirals of wind curled around his fingers. His rage, his fear, and misery were drawn out, strengthening the force. The roaring of the wind drowned out all other sounds.

"You'll want to move your forces out of the way. I haven't seen Soren like this in a while," Ike said.

Soren couldn't hear anything after that. The woman in purple called something lost to the wind, but the few ragged reinforcements moved out of the way, until it was just the last general and him.

This was the man who had ordered Ike's treatment, and left them in that tiny, fetid cell. He felt the spirits gather to him, feeding upon his heightened emotions. He mouthed the words of a spell, and the whirls came up, casting up the scent of death through the room.

The general was engulfed in wind, until only hints of black could be seen through the storm. A cry, a scream of pain, yet Soren did not stop. Once again, he called up the full force of magic. His head ached, his body from overuse, and yet he still pushed himself on more. He'd never unleashed such a rage, like the anguish in his soul had built up, until all the years of hunger, all the years of the beasts of the forests shunning him, the people seeing him as nothing but a tool, and the loss of Ike for so many years was unleashed.

It was a storm, a downpour of green light and captured wind. The General was slammed against the wall, his cry drowned out by the roar of the gale. But that wasn't enough. Once released, the spirits could only feed upon all this emotion.

The armor was bent, the bones of the thing that once was a general. Gore and rust, he was so warped from a human as to be unrecognizable. He heard the rumble, and yet it was only when he felt the warmth of Ike's arms pulling him out of the way that Soren realized how far the storm had gone. In stunned seconds, he found himself against Ike, cradled in the closest thing to safety he'd ever known. He rested his head on Ike's chest and heard his heartbeat rushing faster. Without gauntlets, Ike's hands were coarse with years of practiced callouses.

"I know you're tired, but we have to get out of here. It won't be long before the rest of this place falls in on our heads," Ike said.

The ache was down to his bones. Ike rose first, and helped him up, and through those last few steps to the door. Behind was rubble and ashes, split bone and the ghosts of the dead. They were left nameless, their unburied remains left with no mourners, and no marker of their passing.

They barely escaped the crashing stones and spires.

"This way!" called one of the number, he couldn't tell through the dust of the cave in and dim light. Ike's hand was in his as they ran together through those last crashing gates.

The rest of the castle remained, but that one room had fallen to Soren's fury. The remains of the soldiers were buried deep under stones and wood. Hands and shattered bones split from cleaved limbs showed between the rubble.

As soon as the burst of energy had come, it left. Exhaustion was so heavy upon his shoulders that he stooped. It was only because Ike supported him, slowing to help his every limping step, that Soren didn't collapse entirely.

Outside, something like freedom awaited. Soren never thought he'd see the sky again. But in the dark, he could see scattered stars. Constellations of bears and fish across the sky.

Through it all, the woman in purple hadn't let an insignificant thing like a battle or a room caving in stop her from plundering the treasure chests.

"There's nothing much to speak of. So much for a grand treasure," she said. There was no hidden store of gold, only stronger weapons, along with the few supplies which had been lifted from them.

Still, she spread them out, with some disgust. Nephenee stepped forward. The spear she held was bent and damaged almost to the point of being useless.

"That spear looks pretty sturdy. I'll take it off your hands if you don't want it. I don't have any gold, but I'll hand over some of my pay once I get it," Nephenee said.

Heather held out the spear. "Be my guest; a smile from you is plenty payment enough," Heather said.

Nephenee blushed as her fingers wrapped around the shaft of the spear.

"A blush? Now that's enough payment for two, maybe even three, for a cute country girl like yourself," Heather said.

With the spoils of war hoisted over their shoulders, they made it outside and back into the forest, and fresh air. Their relief was short. Only Kieran let out a whoop, before he was shushed by the others. Soren took unsteady steps forward.

"May I see your stores?" Soren said.

"You sure have a way of making polite words sound like a complete insult," she said.

"He's good at that," Ike said.

"I'll say. Ah, why not? There's nothing much worth selling there anyways," Heather said.

Soren pieced through until he caught sight of a sword he knew too well. etched in gold at the hilt was an family emblem none of them knew.

If he couldn't bring back Ike's father, the least he could do was bring back Ike's father's sword.

He found Ike again against the large weaving roots of one of the massive trees. Soren held out the sword hilt first. Ike held his Regal Sword, and ran his fingers over the memories.

There were so many words lost on his tongue. If I could bring back your father from death, I would, just to see you smile again once more. and If I could will this war over and us safe, I would, but I do not have that power.

"You found it," Ike said. He put the sword inside the custom made sheath, his first taste of manhood weeks ago. Back then Ike hadn't realized just how bitter adulthood would be, and what it would take from him.

"Thank you, Soren. I guess I have many things to thank you for, including my life."

Soren looked down to where Ike's fingers touched along the hilt of the sword. The one thing he could return.

"It was the best I could give...I wish it could be more."

Before the moment could linger, before his heart could betray him with that skipped beat and breath, Soren pulled back.

"We can't stay here long," Soren said.

"I know," Ike said.

More reinforcements would come. More black-clad warriors to destroy them. Just because they'd escaped Canteus didn't mean the war was any less an impossible one.

From the gates came another, a bishop cloaked in dusty white robes. He must have rose from one of the opened cells, though Ike and Soren had not seen him along the way.

"Daein even stoops to cage holy men? What fiends! Oh, I suppose this belongs to you," Heather said. She pulled out the unused staff, which she'd somehow managed to pocket, despite few places to hide in her form-fitting purple clothes.

"Thank you for rescuing me," the man said. He was soft-spoken, yet his voice held a power unlike any spell Soren had known. There was some sort of magic deep in him, reeking of unknown lore and mystery. Something inside him--likely the pact spirit--told him that there was something more. But the whispers in his blood would not elaborate.

As he looked at Soren, he felt a twinge across his spine. His eyes were an intense, even piercing shade of green. His long dark hair hung loose. He must have not been captured long, unlike the other Crimean soldiers.

"I am but a simple bishop. They caught me attending to the sick, and injured, and demanded I pay fealty. When I refused, they imprisoned me."

"Daein curs," Heather muttered.

"We're going to rejoin our group. If you wish to travel with us, we'll ensure no Daein soldiers capture you on the way back," Ike said.

Soren looked to Ike. Ike didn't show a hint of suspicion.

"No...I must return to my abbey, and I fear it is not the same place you're going," said the man. "They have likely already erected a tombstone in my name."

"Perhaps we will meet again," he said. That last lingering glance held more secrets than Soren's spirit charming could tell. Something within him clenched, not with fear but something deeper. A knowing he couldn't unravel.

Just as they rounded a corner, it came to mind. They hadn't told him where they were going. Soren took one glance back, but the bishop had disappeared in the thick brush and darkness.

His attention was diverted by the sound of bent branches and leaves underfoot.

"They would've gone on to Gallia if they survived. But I can't tell what direction that would be in these blasted woods. And I've no compass to tell." Ike said.

"I can take you all over the country, but my meemaw always told us to stay out of these forests. The beasts get awful territorial, especially around matin' season."

"He left that part out, too," Heather muttered.

But Soren could see it clearly, as if the path was outlined in light. So the pact spirit remembered him after all. He motioned for the group to follow.

"Are you sure you're strong enough to make the journey, Soren?" Ike said.

"We've no choice. We can't bed down this close to a Daein fort. Still...we'll have to rest soon," Soren said.

They went into the darkness, with only Soren's senses to lead them. A light might draw soldiers in, like insects to a flame.

*

They only lasted two hours’ travel. The denseness of the forest made travel harsh, even more so in the dark. They'd chosen an indent, with the thick cover of roots large enough to look like a catacomb, to rest at.

Before they'd bedded down, another appeared from the shadows. Just as Ike drew his sword, Heather spoke up.

"You said there'd be some great treasure in there. All I found were some prisoners and a few common swords," Heather said. She gestured in disgust towards the ragged group, and their new sturdy, but otherwise not noteworthy weapons.

"There was," he said. He tossed a thick pouch filled with rattling coins towards her. She caught the pouch before it fell.

"This is my cut? Then you've netted a good payday indeed," she said. She opened the pouch and marveled at the gold. She flipped up one in her fingers to catch the faint torch light, then bit it. "High quality, too. None of this backwater swill Fool's gold."

Ike reached for his sword. "Soren, be ready."

"Heather?" Nephenee said.

"Oh, please. The castle has made you foolhardy. I wouldn't join up with Daein scum even if they paid me well. Actually, I might, but only to backstab them and steal their gold. An ugly maniacal king who torments his people and all the surrounding countries will never have my support," Heather said.

"There's still him," Soren said softly.

"Him? Who knows, but I don't think Daein has deep enough pockets for him," Heather said dismissively. "The Fireman doesn't come cheap."

The Fireman fixed his gaze on Ike. From this distance, it was hard to see exactly what color they were. Even the shape of his body and face were indiscernible. Hidden away by shadows, masks and silence.

"Greil's son," he said, more as a statement than a question.

"You knew my father?" Ike said. He let his sword fall to his side, but he didn't sheath it.

"A long time ago," he said. "He left something for you."

"He did?" Ike said, with a sharp intake of breath. "Where is it? Was it a letter, a note---?"

"Twenty-thousand," he said.

Heather nodded knowingly.

"Twenty-thousand? That's more than a decade's pay," Ike said.

"I'll stay until the debt is settled. If you ever need me, just ask for the Fireman," he said.

"So it was someone up in Crimea who hired you. Someone with deep pockets, I'll say. Good to see that Daein scum didn't clear out all the nobles, especially the ones who want dirty tasks done quickly and efficiently," Heather said.

Kieran held his hand over his heart. "Then... You've seen the princess? Nay, don't lie to me and crush my hopes, tell me she still lives!"

"She was alive when we last saw her. We stayed so they could escape," Ike said.

"How heroic! A true mark of a guardian of Crimea," Kieran said.

"The princess?" Heather said. She showed a renewed interest. "But the queen had no heir..."

"No known heir; there's a difference," the man said.

"I should've guessed you had your fingers in some deep conspiracy. Secret princesses too? How romantic! This sounds like quite an adventure," Heather said. She twisted her blond hair around her gloved fingers thoughtfully. "I might just find a place for my loyalty after all."

"Loyalty?" The Fireman said. For just a moment, Soren could've sworn he saw the hint of a smile at the corners of his eyes.

She ignored his comment, and turned towards Ike and Soren.

"It sounds like you've got your hands full with this impossible war," Heather said. "It's pretty daring to take on Daein with a little group. Pretty foolhardy, too, but I like these odds. Hmmmm. My services don't come cheap. I've got a lot of things to buy. I'll be happy to rob the other side blind, with a hefty fee for every piece, of course."

"Like medicine," Nephenee said.

"Nephenee, you're not supposed to tell! You'll ruin my reputation!"

Nephenee blushed and clutched to her spear. "Oh--I'm sorry, just ignore me--"

Heather let out a sigh. "I guess it isn't so bad. If you find any elixirs along the way, I'd be most grateful if you let me have them. I'll buy them off, and you won't have to haggle with any shopkeepers."

"We'll discuss the details later; there's still some among us wounded," Ike said.

"If you wish to part ways, do it now. We'll need a united front when we come to the beast kingdom," Soren said. "They can smell the weakness on us."

"Nay, I serve the Crimean family until death! Neither cold, nor bears, nor Daein troops, nor bears will stop me!"

"You said bears twice," Heather said.

"Bears bear repeating!"

"I joined up in the militia to protect my country, and I reckon this is the best way I'll be able to help out the princess," Brom said.

"Have you heard from the others? Did they make it to Gallia safely?" Ike said.

"A small group of humans came last night," the man said.

"Then there's still hope," Ike said.

"A freebie? Maybe you know something about loyalty after all," Heather said.

This time, it was the Fireman who ignored her comment.

*

The rest of the group had already fallen asleep. She found him at a distance from them, sitting upon a rock. Overlooking the roots, she could see the stains of blood at his sleeves. The whetstone made a sound that rattled deep in her head as it scraped against metal.

Never let your blade grow rusted or dull was ever his mantra. She pulled her hair back, and pulled out the second stone left for her.

"You knew who that man was," Heather said.

The Fireman nodded, but said no more. His secrets came at a great price. And even she, his apprentice, couldn't get them for any less.

"I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to sinking my blade into Ashnard's neck," Heather said. She pulled out a sharpening stone of her own, and ran her knife over the edge. "They'll call me Heather the Kingslayer."

"Don't get so lost in daydreams that you forget the army in front of you," he said.

She shook her head and laughed. "You're as much ray of sunshine as ever, Fireman."

*

There was little food, and no way of telling if the local villages had been subjugated, or even had Daein soldiers lying in wait.

Soren had considered taking the Daein armor. If they stayed at a distance, or the towns were taken over, they might be able to bluff through the armies. However, in their weakened state, it would unnecessarily weigh them down. If the towns hadn't been conquered, they might be killed on sight.

Besides, not even the intricate plans could drive him back into those cold, nightmarish depths.

Through the thickets and forests, they had come to rest beneath the roots. Distant roars and howls filled the night.

Soren kept close to Ike in the dark. He paid no mind of the idle chatter between the new general, the women, or Kieran's constant talking in his sleep. His back to Ike's chest, the cold was pushed farther away. His arm was covered in bloodied bandages ripped from Ike's tunic. Ike wrapped his cloak about them both. He'd kept closer since their brush with death.

"You never seem to get lost," Ike said.

"I have a good sense of direction," Soren murmured.

"Good. We need all the talent we can get to save us now," Ike said. he sighed. The silence hung long between them, full of elusive promises.

"We're going to make it back," Ike said. Even his hope sounded fatigued and wan. Like a mantra repeated, but not entirely believed.

Soren didn't respond for a long time. Tumultuous storms still swirled inside him. He never wanted Ike to see even a glimpse of the pain he'd felt. He'd wanted to give Ike the happiness he had never known, and even more. If it took betraying the country, it mattered not. Ike was his country, his home far more than Crimea.

If he could cut up pieces of his being and offer them up, his lifetime halved to give it to Ike, he would, he would. Ike's heart still beat, more broken, more cynical in the dark woods and thorns Soren had known all his life.

A battle they'd barely survived.

"Don't you try sacrifice yourself again. Don't you dare," Soren said. His voice cracked with emotion. "Ike, I know you didn't have a plan. I know you."

One day, Ike's luck would run out. They didn't even know if the thief girl was trustworthy, but it was a risk they'd had to take.

"That's because you're always the one with the plan, Soren," Ike said.

"Don't make it so I can't keep you alive," Soren said.

"I can't promise I won't be careless again, but I'll try not to be that reckless, at least. It was a hard day...I made harder choices."

"You need to live," Soren said. His voice edged on desperation.

You are more important than kings or gods, only you, Ike. I---If you---No. I couldn't.

At the other end of camp, the group was writing out letters. Who knew how long it would take to get to their families, tell them that the war had taken them away. They were a handful against thousands, ill-equipped,

But for Ike, he would fight impossible battles.

"They won't give up, not with Titania at their helm. Her idealism, her honor...it wouldn't allow her to simply leave. If anything, I suspect they got the princess to safety, and doubled back, perhaps with reinforcements."

"With Gallia...." Ike began.

"Yes, with them, we just might have a fighting chance," Soren finished for him.

Their stares, their disgust. He remembered that thorny forest well. He was starving, withered away to almost nothing, and they abandoned him. Just more proof of the cruelties of life. He'd rather pay fealty to Daein's blood-stained king than bow before the beasts who had left him to death.

But for Ike, he would tolerate it. Ike entwined his hands in Soren's own. He took as much comfort in that warmth. Soren couldn't believe in a future, for them or otherwise, but for that moment they were alive.

Dawn was a faint gray, a distant hope on the horizon. Another day of cheating death, and hoping the scythe wouldn't fall to their necks once more.