The soft crackling of the campfire filled the momentary silence as each reflected on the expanding connections between their families and realms. Seraphina watched the embers dance, reminded of the ceremonial fires her people would light during times of significant change. How fitting that seemed now.
"Family," Frederick mused quietly, his voice barely audible above the ambient sounds of the camp. "It's curious how quickly such bonds can form, even amid conflict."
Alek nodded, still holding the now-sleeping Nowi. "The ancient texts speak of this—how shared purpose forges connections stronger than blood. The manaketes understood this principle well." He glanced down at Nowi with scholarly affection. "Their longevity gave them perspective on how quickly meaningful bonds could form, despite seeming fleeting in their extended timeline."
A rustling from nearby drew their attention as Odyn approached, his tall frame silhouetted against the fading light. The characteristic blue glow of his dragon crest markings seemed more pronounced in the gathering darkness.
"Planning another family reunion without me?" he asked with a wry smile, settling beside them. His eyes, bearing the same distinctive amber as Seraphina's, reflected the firelight as he studied his cousins. "Robin's finally finished obsessing over tomorrow's formations. The man works himself harder than Father err.. King Berethon does during the winter preparations."
"He carries a heavy burden," Seraphina observed, watching the tactician across the camp as he finally allowed himself to rest. "The responsibility for all our lives rests on his strategies."
"Speaking of burdens," Odyn continued, lowering his voice, "there's something you both should know. During patrol earlier, Roy and I discovered something... concerning." He glanced around, ensuring they wouldn't be overheard. "There were markings—old dark elven script—carved into the stones along the eastern ridge. Recent carvings."
Alek straightened immediately, careful not to disturb Nowi. "What did they say?"
"'The severed branch returns to the root,'" Odyn recited, his expression grave. "And beneath it, the royal crest of our house—but altered. Corrupted somehow."
Frederick's hand moved imperceptibly closer to his weapon. "Could there be other survivors from your homeland? Perhaps those less allied with our cause?"
Seraphina and Alek exchanged troubled glances.
"It's possible," Seraphina admitted reluctantly. "Not all of our people agreed with Uncle Berethon's decision to seek alliance with the human realms. There were factions who believed we should reclaim our ancestral powers instead, embrace the darker aspects of our heritage."
"The Dragon Sect," Alek breathed, his scholar's mind racing. "They were mostly theoretical, a fringe movement studying ancient rituals that could supposedly amplify the dragon crest powers through... less savory means."
"But we never thought they had enough influence to act," Seraphina finished for him. "They were scholars, theorists, not warriors."
"Times of desperation change people," Frederick observed. "We've seen it often enough in Ylisse's history."
Odyn nodded grimly. "Roy and I decided not to tell Sarai yet. She has enough weighing on her with her connection to Chrom and the coming battle."
"A wise decision," Frederick agreed. "Prince Chrom already carries too many concerns for his sister's safety. Adding another potential threat would only divide his focus when we need him most concentrated."
"We should investigate quietly," Seraphina suggested, her tactical mind already formulating plans. "Alek, could you review what you know of this Dragon Sect? Any rituals or objectives they might pursue?"
"Of course," her brother nodded, his expression troubled. "Though I fear my knowledge is limited. They guarded their research closely. But I do recall they believed the convergence of dark elven and dragon blood could unlock powers not seen since the First Age."
"Like the powers manifesting more strongly in us now," Odyn noted, the glow of his markings pulsing slightly as if in response to his concern.
A soft voice interrupted their hushed conversation. "You shouldn't keep secrets from family." Roy stood just beyond their circle, his normally cheerful expression replaced with unusual solemnity. The quietest of the dark elven lords, he had always possessed an uncanny ability to move silently. "Especially when those secrets concern all of us."
Seraphina sighed, making room for him by the fire. "We were just discussing the markings you found, Roy."
"Not just markings," Roy corrected, joining them. His fingers idly traced the dragon crest patterns on his own wrist, which seemed to shimmer with an inner light. "I found this too." He pulled a small, weathered scroll from inside his tunic, wrapped in protective cloth. "It was tucked into a crevice beneath the carvings."
Alek reached for it eagerly, then hesitated. "May I?"
Roy nodded, carefully handing over the ancient parchment. "I thought my scholarly cousin should see it first. It mentions something called 'The Convergence' and 'vessels of dual heritage.'"
As Alek carefully unrolled the scroll, Nowi stirred again, her eyes fluttering open. Unlike her usual childlike demeanor, her expression held ancient wisdom as she gazed at the parchment.
"That's old magic," she whispered, her voice suddenly carrying the weight of her true age. "Very old. From before the Schism, when dragons and elves walked together."
Frederick watched the group with growing concern. "Should we inform Chrom and Robin about this development?"
"Not yet," Seraphina counseled. "Let us understand what we're facing first. Tomorrow's battle for the Exalt is paramount—we can't afford distractions."
As they bent their heads together over the mysterious scroll, elsewhere in camp, Sarai jolted awake from a troubled sleep, the dragon crest on her shoulder burning with unusual intensity. Beside her, Chrom slept fitfully, his own Brand of the Exalt glowing with a faint, answering light where their skin touched.
The convergence had already begun.
Dawn broke over the Plegian landscape, casting long shadows across the barren terrain. The Shepherds had broken camp with practiced efficiency, their movements somber as they prepared for the difficult march toward the capital. Today would determine the fate of Exalt Emmeryn—and perhaps the future itself.
Lucina stood apart from the others, adjusting her mask while gazing toward the distant silhouette of the Plegian castle. Her fingers trembled slightly as they traced the butterfly-shaped disguise that concealed her identity. This day had haunted her nightmares for years—the day when everything began to unravel.
"You're doing it again," came a familiar voice beside her. "That brooding stance that means you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Some things never change, even across timelines."
She didn't need to turn to recognize Odyn's presence. The subtle glow of his dragon crest markings reflected on her mask's edge, and the familiar scent of windswept pine and ozone that always seemed to accompany him reached her senses.
"I'm fine," she replied automatically, the practiced response feeling hollow even to her own ears.
Odyn moved to stand beside her, his amber eyes surveying the same distant horizon. "You were never a convincing liar, Lucina—not in your future, and certainly not now."
The sound of her true name on his lips sent an involuntary shiver through her. Here, in this time, she was still "Marth" to most of the Shepherds. Only Odyn had recognized her immediately, despite her disguise. He had said nothing, respecting her need for secrecy, but the knowing looks they exchanged carried the weight of a shared burden.
"History has a momentum to it," Lucina said quietly, ensuring they wouldn't be overheard. "I can feel it pushing back against my efforts, trying to course-correct toward the ruined world I left behind. Today especially..." Her voice faltered.
"The day Emmeryn falls," Odyn finished for her, his voice equally low. "Your turning point."
Lucina nodded, her hand instinctively moving to Falchion's hilt, seeking reassurance from the divine blade. "In my time, you told me how you witnessed it from afar. How her sacrifice changed something fundamental in both Chrom and the Plegian people."
"And now you seek to prevent it entirely," Odyn observed, his expression thoughtful. "Changing not just an event, but the pivotal moment that shaped the characters of those involved."
"I have to try," Lucina insisted. "Without Emmeryn's influence, Chrom—my father—became consumed by grief and rage. It made him vulnerable to... what came after."
Odyn remained silent for a moment, his dragon crest pulsing slightly as if responding to his thoughts. "The future version of me—your teacher—what counsel did he offer about changing such significant events?"
Lucina's expression softened behind her mask, memories washing over her. "You were always cautious about major interventions. You spoke of ripples becoming waves, of unintended consequences." A small, sad smile played at her lips. "But then you would look at the ruined world around us and say, 'Sometimes, Lucina, the world is so broken that even unforeseen consequences couldn't possibly make it worse.'"
The corner of Odyn's mouth quirked upward. "That does sound like something I would say."
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the years and timelines between them seemed to collapse. In her future, Odyn had been older, battle-scarred, one of the last of his kind—her mentor, her guardian, the one constant in a world of chaos. This younger version before her carried the same core of strength and wisdom, but lacked the weathered edges grief had carved into him.
And that was precisely the problem.
Lucina turned away first, breaking the connection. "We should rejoin the others. Robin will want to review the approach strategy."
Odyn didn't move. "You're avoiding something. Or someone." It wasn't a question.
"I'm focused on my mission," she countered, her voice firmer than she felt. "Personal... complications... are a distraction I cannot afford."
"Ah," Odyn said, understanding dawning in his expression. "I see."
"No, you don't," Lucina snapped, frustration breaking through her careful control. "You can't possibly understand how... difficult this is. In my time, you were—" She stopped herself abruptly.
"I was what?" Odyn asked gently.
Lucina closed her eyes beneath her mask. "Different. You were different. Twenty years of war and loss had shaped you. You were my teacher, my protector." She swallowed hard. "The age gap alone made any other relationship impossible, even if we had allowed ourselves such luxuries in that dying world."
"And now?" Odyn prompted, his voice carefully neutral.
"And now you stand before me, barely older than I am," Lucina said, the words spilling out despite her better judgment. "The same soul, the same essence that I've trusted with my life countless times, but without the barriers that once defined our connection. And I find myself..." She couldn't finish.
"Distracted," Odyn supplied.
"Yes." The admission felt like both a relief and a betrayal. "Which I cannot be. Today of all days."
Across the camp, Frederick called for the final preparations to march. Their moment of privacy was ending.
Odyn studied her face, or what little he could see of it behind the mask. "The Odyn of your time—would he have wanted you to deny yourself human connections in this new world you're fighting to create?"
The question struck Lucina like a physical blow. "That's not fair."
"Perhaps not," Odyn acknowledged. "But you've been living for a future that might never come, shaped by a past that might never be. At some point, Lucina, you must live in the present."
"After today," she said firmly. "After Emmeryn is safe. Then, perhaps, we can discuss... possibilities."
Odyn nodded, respecting her decision. "Then let us ensure today ends differently than it did in your memories." He stepped back, his formal bearing returning as they prepared to rejoin the others. "For what it's worth, Lucina, knowing I was someone worthy of your trust in that ruined future gives me something to aspire to in this one."
As they walked back toward the gathering Shepherds, Lucina felt the familiar weight of her mission, but beside it now sat something unfamiliar—a fragile spark of hope for something beyond mere survival. It was dangerous, this feeling, but perhaps also necessary.
Ahead, she caught sight of Seraphina conferring with Frederick and Robin, while Alek walked alongside Nowi, a protective hand hovering near the manakete's shoulder. Nearby, Sarai stood close to Chrom, their heads bent together in quiet conversation.
Connections forming, bonds strengthening—perhaps these were not distractions from their purpose but the very reason they fought at all.
And as Lucina fell into step beside Odyn, matching his pace as naturally as breathing, she allowed herself to imagine, just for a moment, a future where her duty and her heart might not be forever at odds.
But first, they had an Exalt to save.
The Plegian sun rose higher as the Shepherds continued their march toward the capital, heat shimmering across the barren landscape. Lucina deliberately positioned herself near the front of the formation, alongside Frederick and Robin, while ensuring Odyn remained with his cousins toward the rear guard. The physical distance offered little relief from her turbulent thoughts.
"He can't know. Not yet. Perhaps not ever."
The weight of her secrets pressed down upon her shoulders, heavier than Falchion itself. Odyn had recognized her, yes—had known her true identity despite her mask and altered name—but he remained unaware of their full history. Of what they had been to each other in that shattered future. Of what her younger self had felt for him.
Her first love.
The memory surfaced unbidden: herself at twelve years old, wide-eyed and awestruck as Odyn demonstrated complex sword techniques in the training yard of Ylisstol's ruined castle. He had been twenty-eight then, scarred from a decade of war, his dragon crest markings etched deep along his skin from frequent use of his powers. Serious, dedicated, patient as he taught her to wield Falchion.
"Your stance is improving, Princess," he had said, so formal despite their years of acquaintance. "Your father would be proud."
She had blushed furiously, grateful that he had attributed her reddened cheeks to exertion rather than the childish infatuation that had filled her heart. For three years, she had harbored that secret affection, confiding only in her cousin Owain, who had teased her mercilessly but kept her confidence.
Then came her fifteenth birthday, when reality had shattered her youthful fantasies. They had been ambushed during a supply run. Risen had descended upon their small party without warning. Odyn had been gravely wounded protecting her—a blow that would have killed anyone without his dark elven resilience.
As she had knelt beside him in the healers' tent, terrified he might not survive, he had looked at her through pain-clouded eyes and whispered, "I promised your father I would protect you with my life. I won't break that vow, Lucina. Not while breath remains in my body."
The words had crystallized everything: he saw himself as her guardian, bound by duty and honor to her father's memory. Nothing more.
She had set aside her childish feelings that day, locking them away as she embraced her responsibility as Ylisse's rightful Exalt. By the time she had stepped through the portal to the past, that chapter had long been closed—or so she had thought.
Yet now, seeing him here—young, unburdened by the worst of the tragedies that had shaped him in her time—those long-dormant feelings had reawakened with startling intensity. This Odyn was only twenty-four to her twenty, their ages now so close that the barriers of her childhood infatuation no longer existed.
And that terrified her.
"You seem troubled," Robin observed, interrupting Lucina's thoughts. The tactician's perceptive gaze was fixed on the horizon, but his words were clearly directed at 'Marth.'
"Merely focused on what lies ahead," Lucina replied, adjusting her mask. The butterfly-shaped disguise felt stifling in the desert heat.
Robin nodded thoughtfully. "The rescue of the Exalt requires all our concentration. Still..." Her gaze flickered briefly toward where Odyn walked with his cousins. "Sometimes our minds work better on difficult problems when we aren't actively avoiding other matters."
Lucina stiffened. "I'm not avoiding anything."
"Of course not," Robin agreed, too easily. "Just as I'm not avoiding the strange gaps in my own memory, or Chrom isn't avoiding his feelings about confronting Gangrel, or Seraphina isn't avoiding discussing her family's history with Frederick." A small, knowing smile touched his lips. "We're all very dedicated to our mission."
"Some matters must wait," Lucina insisted, her voice lowering. "Today's stakes are too high for distractions."
"True enough," Robin conceded. "Though I've observed that what we call 'distractions' are often the very things that give us strength when we need it most." he adjusted his tactical maps, changing the subject. "We'll reach the cliffs by midday. From there, we'll have our first view of the execution grounds."
Execution grounds. The words sent ice through Lucina's veins. In her timeline, those grounds had been where everything changed—where Emmeryn's fall had set in motion the cascade of tragedies that eventually led to the ruined world she had fled.
"It won't happen again," she whispered, her hand instinctively moving to Falchion's hilt.
Robin gave her a curious look but didn't question the cryptic statement.
As the formation paused briefly to rest and take water, Lucina found herself inadvertently meeting Odyn's gaze across the column of Shepherds. For a moment, neither looked away. She saw questions in his eyes, concern in the slight furrow of his brow. The dragon crest markings visible at his collar seemed to pulse faintly, responding to his emotions in a way she had learned to read long ago.
He was worried about her.
With deliberate effort, Lucina turned away, focusing instead on Chrom and Sarai as they studied a map together. It was safer to observe her father and the dark elven woman who had captured his heart in this timeline—a relationship that had never had the chance to develop in her own future.
"Your father and my sister," came a voice beside her, making her start. Roy, the youngest of the dark elven cousins, had approached silently—a skill his people had perfected over centuries. "They're good for each other, don't you think?"
"I—" Lucina faltered, uncertain how to respond. Did Roy know who she was? Had Odyn shared his suspicions?
"No need to look so alarmed," Roy continued, smiling easily. "Odyn mentioned you have an interest in the royal line. A scholar of sorts? Something about Marth's bloodline, I believe." His eyes, a lighter amber than Odyn's deeper gold, sparkled with mischief. "Though I notice you watch Prince Chrom with a particularly personal interest."
Relief washed through her. Her secret remained largely intact. "I merely wish to see Ylisse's royal family protected," she managed.
"As do we all," Roy agreed. His expression grew more serious. "Especially Odyn. Did you know he once swore an oath to serve Ylisse's line? Something about repaying a debt from long ago. He takes such vows very seriously—perhaps too seriously sometimes."
Lucina felt her heart constrict. Even in this timeline, some things remained unchanged—Odyn's sense of duty, his dedication to protecting the Exalted bloodline. The very qualities that had both drawn her to him and created the unbreachable distance between them.
"He seems an honorable man," she said carefully.
"Honorable to a fault," Roy confirmed with a sigh. "Always putting duty before personal happiness. It's practically our family tradition." He glanced meaningfully toward where Sarai stood with Chrom. "Though some of us are learning to balance the two."
Before Lucina could respond, Frederick called for the Shepherds to resume their march. Roy gave her a respectful nod before returning to his position, leaving her with thoughts even more turbulent than before.
As they crested a rise in the terrain, the distant spires of Plegia's capital became visible, dark against the cloudless sky. Somewhere within those walls, Emmeryn awaited her fate—a fate Lucina had traveled across time to change.
*Focus on the mission,* she reminded herself sternly. "Everything else—Odyn, Father, my own heart—all of it must wait ".
Yet even as she reinforced her resolve, a treacherous voice whispered from the depths of her mind: After today, if they succeeded, what excuse would remain for keeping him at a distance?
The question had no easy answer, and the capital grew closer with each step, bringing with it the moment that would test not just her skill and courage, but her very purpose in this time.
The Shepherds had paused their march during the hottest part of the day, seeking what little shade the scattered rock formations provided. Robin had just finished outlining the final approach to Plegia's capital when Saibyrh approached him, speaking in low tones that nonetheless carried to Lucina's keen ears.
"You should rest while you can," the dark elven woman suggested to Robin, her melodic accent giving the words a gentle authority. "Perhaps spend a moment with your wife. Cordelia has been watching you from across the camp."
Robin's expression softened at the mention of the pegasus knight, though he hesitated. "There's still much to prepare—"
"Which will be there after a brief respite," Saibyrh countered, her unusual eyes—gold irises ringed with silver—shifting briefly toward where Lucina stood. "I'll ensure 'Marth' understands the northern approach you've planned."
Understanding dawned in Robin's expression, and he nodded, gathering his maps. "Very well. Twenty minutes, no more."
As Robin departed, Saibyrh turned fully toward Lucina, her long black and golden hair with its distinctive silver highlights catching the sunlight. Unlike her cousins, Saibyrh wore her dragon crest markings openly, the luminescent patterns trailing like delicate vines along her temples and disappearing beneath her collar.
"Walk with me," she said simply, gesturing toward a more secluded area at the camp's edge.
Lucina hesitated momentarily, then followed. Saibyrh had joined their group only recently, yet already commanded a quiet respect among the Shepherds. In the future timeline, Lucina recalled stories of the dark elven healer whose unique magic had saved countless lives during the early years of the war against Grima. She had never met her personally—Saibyrh had been killed in a Risen attack years before Lucina was born.
They reached a small outcropping that offered shade and privacy, the sounds of the camp muted by distance.
"You're avoiding him," Saibyrh stated without preamble, her direct manner reminiscent of her cousin Seraphina.
Lucina stiffened. "I don't know what you're—"
"Odyn," Saibyrh clarified, though it hadn't been necessary. "You watch him when you think no one notices, then deliberately position yourself as far from him as possible." She settled gracefully onto a sun-warmed stone. "It's creating a tension that both of you are carrying into battle. As a healer, I find such distractions... concerning."
Behind her mask, Lucina felt heat rise to her cheeks. "Our focus should be on rescuing the Exalt."
"Indeed," Saibyrh agreed. "Which is precisely why this matter should be addressed now, rather than allowing it to fester during critical moments." Her expression softened slightly. "You needn't explain yourself to me, but sometimes speaking aloud what troubles us lessens its power over our thoughts."
Perhaps it was Saibyrh's calm demeanor, or the knowledge that this woman had no connection to her conflicted history with Odyn, but Lucina found herself speaking before she could reconsider.
"He died," she said softly, the words escaping like birds freed from a long captivity. "In my future, the one I came from. Odyn died protecting me when I was fifteen."
Saibyrh's expression remained composed, though a flicker of understanding passed through her eyes. "I suspected you were not of this time. The way you speak of events yet to come, your knowledge of people you should never have met."
"Robin killed him," Lucina continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not by choice. Grima possessed him, used his body to..." She couldn't finish, the memory too painful even after years. "I watched it happen. Couldn't stop it."
"I see," Saibyrh said quietly. "And now you find yourself alongside both his killer and the man himself, both untouched by that particular tragedy."
Lucina nodded, grateful for the older woman's perceptiveness. "He was my mentor, my protector. He had sworn an oath to my father to keep me safe, and he honored that vow with his life." She swallowed hard. "I was just a child then, but I thought I loved him—the way young girls often imagine themselves in love with older figures they admire."
"And now?" Saibyrh prompted gently.
"Now I'm twenty, and he's twenty-four," Lucina said, voicing the complication that had been tormenting her. "The age difference that once seemed so vast has narrowed to almost nothing. He's no longer the battle-hardened warrior who saw me as a child to protect, but a young man who looks at me as..." She trailed off, uncertain how to describe the way Odyn's gaze had changed when it fell upon her.
"As an equal," Saibyrh supplied. "As a woman."
"Yes," Lucina admitted, the word barely audible. "And I find my childhood feelings returning, transformed into something more... adult. More real." She looked up at Saibyrh, grateful for the mask that hid much of her expression. "It's complicating everything. I came back to prevent a future, not to... not to pursue personal happiness."
Saibyrh was silent for a moment, her fingers absently tracing the dragon crest marks at her temple. When she spoke, her voice carried the weight of wisdom beyond her apparent years.
"In my culture, we believe time is not linear but cyclical. Lives intersect again and again across different turns of the wheel." Her eyes fixed on Lucina with unnerving perception. "Perhaps your connection to Odyn is not coincidental but essential—a thread that binds across timelines."
"Even if that were true," Lucina argued, "my purpose here must take precedence. Saving Emmeryn, preventing Grima's return—these things outweigh any personal considerations."
"Do they?" Saibyrh questioned. "Or is that merely what you tell yourself because acknowledging your feelings seems too complex, too frightening to navigate alongside your mission?"
The words struck too close to the truth, and Lucina found herself without an immediate response.
"You believe your focus is compromised by these feelings," Saibyrh continued. "Yet I wonder if the energy you expend avoiding him, denying yourself, creates a greater distraction than simply acknowledging what exists between you."
"It's not that simple," Lucina protested.
"Few matters of the heart are," Saibyrh agreed. "But consider this: in the future you fled, what was lacking was not skill or strength, but hope. Connection. Reasons to fight beyond mere survival." Her gaze drifted toward the camp, where Chrom stood with Sarai, their hands briefly touching. "Perhaps these bonds you see forming are not distractions from preventing that future, but the very foundations of a different path."
Lucina followed her gaze, watching as Robin returned to Cordelia's side, the tactician's hand resting briefly on his wife's shoulder before they parted to their respective duties. Nearby, Frederick listened attentively to something Seraphina was explaining, while Alek and Nowi sat together studying an ancient text.
Connections that hadn't existed in her timeline. Lives intertwined differently.
"I haven't told him," Lucina said suddenly. "About his death. About what he meant to me in that future."
"And perhaps you needn't share everything at once," Saibyrh suggested. "But avoiding him entirely serves neither your heart nor your mission." She rose gracefully. "The hardest battles are often fought within ourselves, between what we believe we should do and what our hearts know we must."
In the distance, a signal horn sounded—the scouts had returned with news from the capital.
"It seems our time for reflection has ended," Saibyrh observed. "But remember this, Lucina—yes, I know your true name, though I will honor your wish for secrecy—changing the future means making different choices, not just in matters of war and politics, but in matters of the heart as well."
As they walked back toward the gathering Shepherds, Lucina caught sight of Odyn standing with Roy, both listening intently to the scouts' report. As if sensing her gaze, Odyn looked up, their eyes meeting across the distance.
This time, Lucina didn't look away immediately. Instead, she gave him a small nod—not quite an invitation, but no longer a rejection. The surprise and cautious warmth in his returning smile sent an unexpected flutter through her chest.
Perhaps Saibyrh was right. Perhaps preventing the ruined future meant not just fighting differently, but living differently as well. The thought was both terrifying and strangely liberating.
But for now, the Exalt awaited, and duty called them all to action.
To be continued in Chapter 10: Emmeryn part II