Chapter Text
Dread Isle.
The name alone was enough to send shivers down the spines of even the strongest of warriors. Stories of shipwrecks and missing seafarers—sailors, travellers, and traders alike—were copious in amount. Nary would a month go by without another story of a missing ship and its crew. What was once an event that would occur every two or three months soon became a weekly incident.
The "Young Lion" of Pherae, Roy, had returned to his father Eliwood after defeating King Zephiel of Bern and slaying the Demon Dragon, Idunn. Though he had been expected to marry, he had yet to do so—he put the good of the land above his own social obligations and was diligent in his efforts to take up his father's mantle. Eliwood was proud of how much Roy had done to help rebuild Lycia, but over time, he became increasingly concerned for Roy's health. The young redhead tended to overwork himself, and one night, Eliwood happened upon his son sprawled across his desk, passed out from exhaustion. This incident is what prompted the marquess to forcibly send Roy off to "get some godsforsaken rest."
Though Roy protested at first, his aching eyes and sore hands were enough to persuade him into agreement with his father. His idea of rest was different from Eliwood's, however, as it was nothing close to what one would consider a normal luxury.
His bid was simple: to go on a short journey of his own, without the weighty responsibility of an army under his command.
Initially, Eliwood was surprised. It wasn't long, however, before his surprise soon ebbed away into understanding. Roy had always been a curious spirit and he had been all but cooped up in Pherae since the end of the war with Zephiel. So, he indulged in his son's request.
"Where will you go?" Eliwood had asked Roy.
"I would like to go meet my uncle," Roy had answered, choosing his words carefully, for he realised his request would not be an easy one for his father to grant.
The Dragon's Gate was a controversial place; Roy knew this well, considering the pain it had wrought due to the ambitions of the power-hungry. The young man had been curious about the other side of his family, however—he had never met his mother, for she had died soon after his birth, and all he heard about her and was from his father. He did not doubt that his father knew his mother well, but he wanted to hear about her and 'the other half' from someone who grew up with her and lived the life of a dragon. So, that left him with only one option: Nils.
"The Gate was sealed by your uncle, it won't open," his father had explained. Perhaps if Eliwood was able to temper Roy's expectations, he would reconsider the idea.
Roy nodded in understanding, "I know, father. But I would like to talk with him. Perhaps I would be able to do it through the sealed gate."
From what Eliwood had told his son before, Nergal had been able to speak to both Ninian and Nils when they were inside the Dragon's Gate. It appeared as though Roy's idea was to attempt the same form of contact, and his father frowned.
Eliwood was understandably wary of the idea. He knew the only reason it had ended so terribly with Nergal was because of how corrupt he had become and what his motives had been, but sending Roy to Dread Isle was a dangerous prospect in and of itself, Dragon's Gate or no.
However, he could also tell that meeting Nils was important to Roy. His son was eighteen by that point and had never met anyone from his mother's side of the family—he knew nothing of the dragons, other than what he had learned during his studies in Ostia and what he had been told from Eliwood and the others. As well as what he had experienced during his own campaign against the Kingdom of Bern, of course. As he considered his answer, he stared at his son- and in him, saw a reflection of his younger self, eager to see the world and unwilling to give up.
Therefore, with a hesitant nod, he allowed his son to go on this journey.
Violent waves crashed against the shore of Dread Isle as Roy looked over the sea. The water had been dangerous, that much was certain—but thankfully, his ship did not struggle as many others seemed to.
He turned his head and tilted his gaze upward at the island.
"I'm here," he said quietly as he surveyed the area with sharp, curious eyes. The wind rushed past him as a wave crashed against the rocky shore and his cadmium red hair whipped about his face. He squinted, tugged his tattered cape back, and began his trek into the island alone.
The fog had been thick at the shore, but it had become nearly opaque by the time Roy found the old ruins that contained the Dragon's Gate. It seemed like an eternity of wandering through those ruins before Roy finally stumbled upon a tall and wide staircase. He looked up slowly as he felt a tugging in his chest, almost like the mounting energy in the air had been calling out to him. His eyes narrowed and he slowly ascended the stairs, the armour on his legs making the quietest clanks with each careful step he took.
As soon as he reached the top, he stilled in awe.
Directly across from him stood a towering gate, decorated with ornate designs and statues of dragons on either side. He felt his heartbeat quicken at the sight. Even though the gate was sealed shut, he could still feel that overwhelming energy charging the air.
A few moments passed before he closed his eyes and took a moment to centre himself. Afterwards, he calmly walked towards the gate and stopped when he was only a mere step away from it.
"... Nils?" he called. There was no answer.
He pursed his lips; surely, he could do this. If someone as human as Nergal could evidently speak through the gate, Roy could as well. He thought for a moment before he decided to try again, this time offering more information.
"Nils," Roy began, "My name is Roy. I'm here to talk to you, because you knew my mother."
Silence. Roy's eyes closed and his shoulders drooped slightly—not from sadness, but from exhaustion. He had travelled quite a long way to get here, and it would have been a tough pill to swallow if the trip turned out to be unsuccessful.
"My father is Marquess Eliwood of Pherae. And my mother's name is Ninian," he said, and paused before adding, "I've been told that you are her brother. I was hoping I could speak with you."
Silence again. Roy's lips pursed as the bitter pang of dejection plucked at his heartstrings.
"... You are Ninian's son?" a surprisingly young-sounding voice responded.
The response startled Roy and he quickly looked back up towards the stone gate.
"I… yes, that's right," Roy answered. "Are you Nils?"
"I am," Nils confirmed. "Why are you here to talk with me?"
Roy let the faintest of smiles cross his lips as his mood brightened. "I wanted to learn about my mother. My father always tells me stories about her. And... I also wanted to meet you."
One could almost sense the surprise that Nils felt when he heard Roy's words. There was an implication behind the young man's verbiage that made Nils worried- as if his sister was unable to tell Roy herself- but he refrained from expressing it immediately.
"… Alright," Nils finally responded. "It's nice to meet you, Roy. Let's talk."
Hours went by as Roy spoke with Nils, learning about his uncle, the dragons, and most importantly, his mother. Roy had clarified to his uncle about Ninian's passing shortly after he was born, and Nils had been despondent for some time after that. However, Nils had managed to recover from the news just enough to comment that Ninian made that choice on her own.
"She really loved your father," Nils said. "I was surprised at first, but Eliwood is a really great man… so I can see why she ended up falling in love with him."
Roy, who had decided to sit back against one of the pillars of the gate some time before, nodded slightly. "My father... he's told me a lot about her. He loved her, too. A lot."
There was a heavy silence as Roy chewed on the inside of his bottom lip and tapped the tip of his pointer finger on his knee. The far-off wall of the inner sanctum had become far too interesting to him as he tried to distract himself from his insecurity. It wasn't something he had ever made a point to talk about-- the guilt he felt due to his mother dying after childbirth-- so it was a burden he had always shouldered alone. Even Eliwood was unaware of this dark train of thought that loomed like a spectre over his son, as far as Roy knew.
"... You know, it's not your fault, Roy," Nils finally spoke, and Roy's fingers twitched on his knee as his heart skipped a beat.
Roy blinked and looked over his shoulder at the gate, as if to Nils. "What?"
"You told me she ended up passing away after you were born," Nils continued. "But it's not your fault."
Roy stared at the cracked stone behind him, his thoughts trailing. "... I know," he responded slowly.
"Do you?"
There was another bout of silence as Nils' question hung in the air. The lack of response from Roy brought Nils to speak up again, worried that he had offended the young man.
"… Roy—"
"Wait," Roy cut him off.
Quickly, Roy pressed the palm of his hand to the gate behind him and pushed himself to his feet. He looked around as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. There was an uneasy feeling in the air. The magic that filled the room had shifted from the consistent static charge of the Gate to a much darker and heavier sensation of foreboding. Roy had been through more than enough to know that someone had their eyes on him, and he slowly brought his hand to the hilt of his blade as he remained still and simply listened-
"Is something bothering you, little manakete?" a chilling voice called out from the darkness of the chamber. Roy's gaze snapped to the source of the noise—a man in a dark black cloak standing atop one of the pillars to the side of the staircase.
When did they get there-?
"Who are you?" Roy called out, his pose instantly shifting to a defensive one as his fingers clutched at his weapon.
"Does that matter?" the cloaked man responded coolly. "You don't need to know our names."
"Our? " Roy repeated, and his skin prickled as he glanced around him.
There were now five other cloaked figures, each one standing atop pillars, looking down on him. Each wore similar robes, though in slightly different hues. The first man snickered, and Roy's attention returned to him. "Only a manakete would be powerful enough to stay in this place and talk through the Dragon's Gate for so long without going the least bit mad. We have seen it time and time again."
"I am no manakete. I've never had that power," Roy repeated firmly, in vain hopes to reason with the man.
One of the others challenged him. "Then if you are not a manakete, why do you harbour such an incredible level of Quintessence?"
Roy pursed his lips and remained silent, unsure of how to counter his point.
There was a smile in the black-cloaked mage's voice as he cocked his head and mused, "Ah, that must mean you're…a half-breed? No, not a half-breed... only a quarter of your blood is the blood of a dragon's, right?"
Roy's body visibly tensed, and his breath stilled for a moment as his eyes narrowed into a level glare. The fact that they were able to deduce his lineage so quickly was alarming. It was almost like they knew who he was, or at least had a disturbingly accurate idea.
"I seem to have struck the nail on the head," the black-cloaked man said, pleased.
"Roy," Nils' voice interrupted, echoing through the gate, "Get out of here right now."
Roy looked back, poised to respond, but was cut off before he could.
"Unfortunately, I believe the time to escape has long since passed," the mage spoke again.
At that, Roy pushed his sword from its sheath with his thumb, just enough to let the base of the blade catch the light with a glint. Normally he was not one to issue threats, but in a precarious case like this, he would make an exception. "Who are you people?" Roy asked again, louder.
"You won't stop asking, will you?" Another mage- a woman- responded. "I suppose I can share a little bit with you. We are mages that, years ago, came to the Dread Isle to study dark arts, and have stayed here to further hone our powers."
The black-robed man's smile faltered slightly as he picked up, "But no matter how much we practiced, we were never able to become as powerful as those before us- like Nergal."
Roy's eyes widened slightly, the mention of that man chilling him to the bone. "Nergal?"
The mage nodded. "Back when he was still alive, we were followers of his. Though we witnessed his power first-hand, we never knew how to become more like him."
"Roy," Nils spoke. "You have to get out of here right now! "
Roy needed no further instruction. He quickly dashed for the staircase, knowing full well that these mages were going to cause nothing but trouble for him. Though Nergal had been killed by Eliwood before Roy was born, his father had told him plenty of harrowing stories about Nergal's abilities- the most disturbing of which being when he had used an Ice Dragon as a tool for his own means. The time where the Durandal had awoken and Eliwood had been forced to slay that dragon, which had turned out to be Ninian herself. Anyone happily willing to sacrifice someone else as a tool for their own crooked plans, especially family, was beyond redemption- a monster through and through.
So, if these individuals claimed to be students of such a terrible man, Roy wanted absolutely nothing to do with them. At least not when he was alone, cornered, on the Dread Isle. He had no idea what they were capable of, or what their intentions were, but nothing about them spelled for anything good.
His mind was racing through his few options of escape as he ran, but when Roy was just a few paces from the first step, a huge bolt of lightning struck the ground of the first step. Reacting quickly, he skid to a stop as the ground was charred and smoked, unhappy with the clear demonstration of violence. He looked upwards, towards the mage who was now holding a tome in her hands.
"It's not polite to leave during someone's story," the female mage spoke slowly. "I suggest you stay where you are and let us finish."
Roy gritted his teeth. He knew if he tried to escape again, he would be struck by a spell. These people were powerful, and he was clearly outnumbered. Though he had worked to become more physically strong over the years, compared to when he was campaigning against Zephiel, trying to fight against multiple spellcasters that were out of his reach was just asking to be killed.
"As I was saying," the black-robed man continued. "We did not know how to become more like him. And then, one day, we realised we had been neglecting to capitalise on the incredible power of Quintessence. Do you know what Quintessence does to a person? How much more powerful a man can become with even just a little bit of it? Or how insanely strong many people can become with a lot of it? Say, six people?"
Roy's blood ran cold at the sudden realisation. "Gods," he whispered. "You can only get that by taking it from someone. Don't tell me, those missing ships were all-?"
The mage barked with laughter. "You really are as sharp as they say," he said. "Yes. It was us. Shipwrecks full of crew members, their bodies ripped to shreds by the tides and stony shore of the island, with their Quintessence sent straight to us. That allows us to power even worse storms, and more people wash up dead here. It's a rather efficient cycle, wouldn't you say?"
The redhead could feel his stomach tighten, sickened by their inhumanity, but his outward demeanour remained consistent as he stared critically at the mage.
"But, unfortunately, we need more. What we have now isn't enough, and imagine our surprise when we check on the Dragon's Gate, only to find a manakete here?" The mage waved his hand towards Roy, fingers outstretching as he stared hungrily at the young man over his palm. "It's like we were sent a gift straight from the heavens, really—even with only a quarter dragon's blood, you're still a font of power."
Without warning, there was a sudden surge of pain that wracked Roy's mind, pulsating and pressing against the back of his eyes. It was like his skull was being crushed in a vise-grip, and he let out a strained cry. His leg muscles tingled as he lost the strength in them, and he fell to one knee as his hands desperately grabbed at his hair.
Roy had been through a lot in his eighteen years of life and had experienced his fair share of injuries during the war against Bern three years ago. He had been stabbed by all varieties of weapons, singed by spells and dragons' breaths, and countless other one-off events. Beyond even that, he had experienced no small amount of mental, emotional, and spiritual hardship. The pain of losing friends, allies, family, innocents- the feeling of being completely incapable of helping them, of saving lives. He had seen and experienced it all, in every horrible, intrusive detail.
But never had he experienced a pain like this. A pain so overwhelming, so pervasive, so demanding that it took his breath away and forced every thought to the back of his mind as he tried to comprehend the static in his head. It was so sudden and so much, and he couldn't stop himself from choking on a gasp as he curled downward, pushing his chest closer to his knee as he tried to stabilise himself.
"Roy!" Nils called out from the gate.
"Ah, watch as the manakete squirms," the mage almost cooed. "You know, this dark magic is very useful. Even though you've only got that little bit of dragon's blood in your veins, it's still enough that spells like this will cause you more pain than a normal human would have to endure."
Roy let out another laboured cry as he tried to endure the spell. He dug his fingertips into his scalp, and he crumpled further as waves of pain washed over his body.
"We could kill you now, you know, and steal your Quintessence. You do have a lot of it to share, after all," the female mage taunted and strummed her fingers on her chin. "But that's not really fun, now, is it?"
The room was fading back and forth, doubling and tripling in Roy's vision as he shook. His neck was stiff, and he dug his fingers into his scalp, finding it harder and harder to keep even one of his eyes open. His teeth started to chatter, and he strained to look upward. The mage with black robes now had his hand outstretched to him, and dark tendrils swirled about on his fingertips. In his other hand was a tome as dark as coal, even down to its pages.
The first mage's mouth twisted into a sick grin as he continued, "You know, I have never had a puppet. I've always wanted one after I saw how Nergal did it. You're not a complete dragon… so I wonder how hard it would be for us to pull your strings, like Nergal did with your mother."
With those words, something seemed to snap in Roy's mind. His head twitched upward, straining against his tightened muscles, as if he was struggling against the force of the magic on his brain. His eyes flickered with a momentary spark of rage and clarity, even as his mind was being wrenched apart by their magic. The darkness that danced on the mage's fingers flared as he grinned widely, showing his teeth.
"That's the look I was hoping for," he said. "You're calm on the outside, but on the inside, you're still a dragon—press enough buttons and that beast is sure to burst forth."
Another force gripped his mind, which enticed another strangled cry from Roy, and his head dropped once more as he fisted at locks of his hair. His eyes screwed shut and his breathing quickened from the intrusive pain. A coil of darkness was forcing itself through him from the inner depths of his mind, and a clawing feeling ripped at him from the outside, like two powers were fighting for dominance over him—the intruding magic, and something furious from within him.
However, that all came to a stop when the other five mages raised their hands one at a time, their palms raised towards the ceiling. Within each of them glowed a writhing darkness, swaying about like a flame that grew further in intensity as one joined after the other. Roy gagged as he took a half-step backwards, his back bumping into stone door of the Dragon's Gate as he struggled to keep his balance. His lungs felt empty, even though he was practically on the verge of hyperventilating. His voice was ragged, and he couldn't even hear himself speak through the screeching that was ringing in his ears.
"N-Nils-" Roy choked out, "I... can't-"
"ROY!" Nils' voice echoed out from the gate, clearly panicked. Nils couldn't reach him, he couldn't help him, not with the Dragon's Gate closed like this-
One of the mages, adorned in dark purple robes, tilted their head downward, studying Roy with a quiet, critical gaze. The way the redhead was trying to fight back made them scowl faintly, especially once Roy let out a strangled cry as the first mage clenched his outstretched hand into a fist. The darkness pulsated, beating like a drum and rattling Roy's skull as his consciousness slipped from him for a split moment.
However, the Binding Blade at his hip burned hotly against its sheath, and the red gemstone encrusted within it hummed with an arcane fire that pushed back against the darkness within Roy's head like a roaring wave. Roy's blood seared, boiling angrily with the sword's magic, and his back shot straight as he ground his teeth. His thighs were shaking and every fibre of his being screamed in pain, though his vision was suddenly clearer as he gave the first mage a wild look of fury.
That mage's brow raised as he watched Roy regain that small sliver of his strength. "You're holding on a lot longer than I expected, especially for someone that's only a quarter dragon. I'm impressed."
"It isn't his strength that defies us," the purple-robed mage interjected flatly. "The sword at his hip is what fights us back. It rejects the draconic force that we seek to awaken."
With a thoughtful hum, another of the mages replied, "So the rumour is true, then. The blade is still in his hands. Can we not simply overpower it?"
Roy could only watch as the mages took a moment to look towards one another, and then to the one in purple robes. He seemed to shake his head, uncaring, before he waved his outstretched hand nonchalantly. Needles pried into Roy's head as he pressed further back into the stone and screwed his eyes shut, though he refused to cry out. After another moment of quiet contemplation, that mage curled his fingers just enough to force Roy's head to pull forward and droop. Roy coughed, sweat beading on his brow and trailing down his face.
Roy was cursing inwardly as he was being yanked back and forth, pulled about by the mages' strings and the angry roiling of a familiar fire that waged war against it. Desperately he wished he could join in with the Binding Blade's might, but for some reason, it was like a wall had been erected between them. Not to mention the fact that his blood was searing in his veins like lava, and his muscles were bound so tightly that no matter how hard he tried to will himself to move, he couldn't .
"It should be simple enough," the purple-robed mage said as he observed Roy struggling to even push his head back up, and a faint smirk played on his lips. "That sword can only do so much with him in a state like this."
With a pleased chuckle, the first mage chirped, "Then let's not waste any more time and capitalise on this good fortune."
Trembling, Roy glanced up through his eyelashes as he tried to see what these figures were readying to do. His heart was hammering in his chest, rattling his ribs as the reality of his situation settled in. He was, terrifyingly, completely at the mercy of these figures.
And from what he could tell- he was going to end up an unwilling puppet, just like his mother had.
"I-" he rasped, " Refuse- "
"Refusal is, unfortunately for you," the mage woman purred, "Not an option, Roy."
With that, a shrill ring pierced through Roy's ears like an arrow, and his eyes twitched wide; the inferno that had been blazing within his body was swiftly snuffed out as easily as the delicate flame of a candle.
The silence scared Nils half to death, and the small manakete shouted for his nephew. A few of the mages shared in laughter, and the mage-woman one tapped her fingertips to her cheek.
"I don't think he can hear you," she cooed. "You should see how dull his eyes look right now—like a real puppet, if I do say so myself. How impressive."
The purple-robed mage, ignoring the others' delights, glanced from the Dragon's Gate to Roy. "Stand."
Roy's body twitched slightly, as if it was trying to process the order given to it. Slowly, Roy pushed himself off of the Dragon's Gate and stood straight; his eyes were dead, and not a single, desperate coherent thought could rise above the deafening static suffocating his mind.
"Good dragon," the black-robed mage praised, far too pleased. "Now, how about you open that Dragon's Gate for us?"
The tension in the air was so thick, and Nils exclaimed, "Is that what you were after this whole time?"
"In part," the purple-robed mage replied, and as he did, Roy turned to face the Gate entrance. His armor clanked dully with the heavy weight of his thoughtless, automated steps.
"It won't work," Nils stated hastily. "You can't open the gate from the outside."
"Oh, we know. But who said we were going to open it from the outside?" the black-robed mage responded with a light laugh. "Roy- point your sword to your chest."
The order hit Nils like a tonne of bricks, and the manakete reeled, shocked. "You wouldn't," he said.
The man grinned more. "We would."
Slowly and mechanically, Roy had reached across himself and grasped at the hilt of the Binding Blade before slowly pulling it free from its scabbard with a metallic trill. That hollow sound echoed in the room, a wordless threat that sent Nils' anxiety skyrocketing.
Grasping the legendary weapon tightly in his right hand, Roy traced it along his chest before settling the point directly against his sternum, his unblinking gaze not once leaving the carved stone gate before him. The purple-robed mage then spoke, cold and uncaring as they issued their final order, though this time directly to Nils:
"Open the gate, or he dies."