Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Map Credits to User Ilium, lifted from the Ivalice page of the Final Fantasy Fandom site

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MIRIO

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Year 701 Old Valendian

Sovereign Union of Nabradia

“Tell me again why we are making a treaty with the Shie Hassaikai?”

His father chuckles astride his chocobo. “You are young yet, Mirio,” his father says fondly, “You will learn that certain sacrifices must be made when ruling.”

Prince Mirio Togata of the Kingdom of Dalmasca gives a scandalized gasp, “This isn’t a marriage proposal, is it?”

The king smirks, bemused, and turns to the side where his tutor is sending him a glare. “Ser Kayama, I take it my son has not been very diligent with his studies?”

Nemuri Kayama, a knight in the Heroic Order of the Dalmasca who also acts as his governess, is trying to knock him out with just an angry look. “I could have sworn, Your Majesty,” she grits out, “That the Young Lord had been educated before we left for Nabudis.”

“It appears you have been misled, Kayama,” Ser Shirakumo laughs beside the King to which he just shakes his head. Ser Shirakumo’s blue eyes are glinting with mischief.

“The Princess of Shie Hassaikai is a child of three,” a new bored voice speaks up beside Mirio. Ser Aizawa, who had so far been silent throughout the journey, nudges his chocobo nearer to the prince. “I’m not sure if that’s your notion of an ideal wife.”

“Of course not! How could you even—!" Mirio splutters, "Ugh. I didn’t know, alright?”

“You would if you were just paying attention!” Kayama yells at him, indignant.

His father laughs heartily. “Well now,” he speaks, “At least we cleared that up before we reached Nabudis. I’m not sure Lord Chisaki would find it as amusing.”

“Sorry, father.”

King Ichizen Togata smiles at him indulgently. He nudges his chocobo faster, “Come Mirio, we must talk. Ser Shirakumo, take point for us, if you please.”

Mirio perks up and keeps abreast of his father, Ser Shirakumo maintaining a respectful distance in front of them. “What is it, father?”

“We are a small kingdom, Mirio, trapped between two powers that try to shape Ivalice to their wants,” his father begins, “To the west, Rozarria is teeming with a bursting populace that overflows into our territory as they deal with an apathetic High King and his ruthless Grand Commander.”

His father extends an arm to the east where the sun has barely risen. “And there, lies Archadia. Emperor Todoroki has been very aggressive with his advance, what with civil war consuming the priorities of Rozarria. The Republic of Landis has already fallen to his greataxe for this reason long before you were born.”

Mirio winces. “Then… Nabradia…”

“Nabradia and Dalmasca sit in the holy land where the Dynast-King of Millenia established the Galtean Alliance. You, my son, and the Princess Chisaki hold the Blood of Kings.”

He blinks. He is familiar with the Blood of Kings and its power. Knows it justifies his father’s rule and gives him strength, as well as granting Mirio himself his own slowly budding strength. Knows it allows their knights to fight for their homeland. Still.

“Father, the Princess is a child. You cannot be serious.”

To that his father laughs again and shakes his head. “Tis not the way you think, my son. This arrangement is not for you and her. It is between myself and her grandfather, a show of unity.”

Grandfather?

His father continues, “The treaty is nothing more than a temporary deterrent, I’m afraid. Each moment we idle, Emperor Todoroki and his Court of Judges grow stronger. You must be especially wary of his Supreme Justice.”

Mirio is startled when his father reaches a hand to curl around his arm. “You must protect the bloodline of the Dynast-King, Mirio. So few of us remain who stand guard for it and the evil it keeps at bay. Its power, in the hands of the wrong people, is destructive and divisive. The things the Dynast-King’s Blood is capable of…”

His father shakes his head as he trails off and the mood between them turns somber. Mirio has long known the legends that tell of the Dynast-King's might, and the power left behind in the King's Blood. In his lifetime, and he doubt in his father's, the Blood has never been called to do anything more than protect.

What did his father mean when he said it keeps evil at bay?

He shakes his head. If his father mentioned it yet did not elaborate, it can only mean this is not the time and place to discuss. Mirio is excitable, can admit it to himself, but one of the last things his mother taught him as a child was that great things require patience. The legacy of the Blood of Kings is something that simply falls under that.

“I have faith, father,” Mirio says finally after a prolonged silence.

“I’m sorry?”

Mirio looks at him with determined eyes. “I have faith, in our knights, in you. If you entrust me with the safety of the Princess of Nabradia then I will ask that you have faith in me, as well.”

The king is startled for a spell before he smiles with the brightness of the sun. “Of course, my son. I am sure you will prove to be the best of us, after all.”

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Mirio was fifteen when he first met the Princess of Nabradia. She was a small, fragile thing–with beautiful white hair done up in braids and wide, curious, scarlet eyes. Eri, her name was. Her grandfather, a reasonable but stern man who ruled over the sovereign states of Nabradia, did not seem very forthcoming with the alliance his father had offered.

But like the King of Dalmasca, Lord Hametsu Chisaki was resigned to the tides of fate ruled by the powers of Rozarria and Archadia.

Which was more than what Mirio could’ve said about his right-hand man–Eri’s father. The man had been nothing but aggressive and sanctimonious to the point that the very Lord he served had to send him away. Lord Chisaki had been apologetic after, saying that Lord Kai Chisaki had not been the same ever since his daughter, Eri’s mother, died.

Despite the younger Chisaki’s vitriol, the treaty pushed through and it seemed to have stayed Emperor Todoroki’s hand as the two kingdoms made a flimsy but valiant attempt at appearing to be united, thanks to his father's ardour for peace and Lord Hametsu Chisaki's stalwart cooperation.

Mirio kept to his word and befriended the Princess of Nabradia. Eri Chisaki is nothing like her father. Sweet and soft-spoken, she took to Mirio’s sunny personality easily and the prince truly loved her like a sister. He would lay down his life for hers.

That was three years ago. Even as both sovereigns work tirelessly for peace, the shadows of war loom closer, closer than they could ever have predicted.

Alas, brittle peace could never last so long.

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Year 704 Old Valendian

Kingdom of Dalmasca - Royal City of Rabanastre

Royal Palace of Rabanastre

“Lord Hametsu Chisaki is dead,” Ser Akaguro reports as soon as he enters the war room, taking off his helmet. On any other day, Mirio would always be queasy looking at the man’s face that had a hole for a nose, a previous injury that never healed so well, but the news is a shocker.

King Ichizen Togata hisses in his next breath. Mirio is up in an instant.

“Eri?”

Ser Aizawa steps beside Ser Akaguro, also just returned from Nabradia. He looks straight at Mirio as he says, “The princess is with her father, I would presume.”

“She is not safe there. We should—”

“Mirio,” his father cuts off. Mirio whirls around to face his father, “You know I’m not wrong!”

“My son,” King Ichizen says again, the command clear in his voice, “Please take a seat.”

Mirio swallows the protest and sits back down.

“I would not disagree with the Young Lord, we must act at once. Word has already reached Archades,” Ser Akaguro almost growls, “There is a force being formed as we speak.”

There are hisses of curses across the table. “With that said,” Ser Aizawa cuts through the murmuring with a disapproving look at Ser Akaguro, “Lord Kai Chisaki has demanded to meet with King Ichizen Togata to discuss the alliance between Dalmasca and Nabradia.”

Mirio rolls his eyes, “Such disrespect.”

“Mirio,” his father admonishes tiredly.

Someone clears their throat. “I wouldn’t say that I quite agree with the Prince,” Ser Yamada says, “But wouldn’t it be in our best interests to ensure that the Princess of Nabradia is safe?”

King Togata sighs. “Very well. Let us make for Nabudis with all haste.”

“I will go as your sword, my king,” Ser Yagi declares, standing up, his height towering over all of them. It is no secret that the knight is the strongest of the Heroic Order.

Ser Shirakumo smirks, “Well, I can’t be upstaged as Knight-Commander now, can I?” He turns to the King, his tone somber, “Your highness, I will go with Ser Yagi by your side.”

“Then I will go as well.”

The Knights turn as one to the young prince. Mirio looks straight at his father.

“No,” his father says with finality.

Mirio’s wide blue eyes harden at the refusal. “You told me before, to keep her safe,” Mirio hisses, “And I will honor the oath I have sworn, not only for fealty to you, but because I love the girl like she is of my own blood.”

The King’s eyes soften at the reminder of the promise his son made, seemingly lifetimes ago. “I understand how you feel, Mirio,” he stands, walks towards his son, lays a hand on his shoulder, “But this is a matter that I must resolve myself. I will need my heir to make sure Dalmasca is safe if I should go.”

Father and son stare each other down, before Mirio turns away with a click of his tongue. He draws in a shaky breath, and grits out, “As you wish, Your Highness.”

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King and Prince stand together as they send off the forces that will fly to Nabudis. Mirio listens to his father as he speaks to his people, assuring the masses that no harm shall come to Dalmasca. He watches as his father opens the two embellished chests he knows they keep in the Royal Treasury.

The legendary Swords of Kings, weapons from the time of the Millennium Dynast-King.

Mirio watches as his father takes a dagger from an aide and cuts a line across his palm, before handing it to Ser Shirakumo who does the same, offering the injured hand to his father.

“With this blood, you swear your fealty to the Blood of Kings so shall you share in the power it is granted,” his father says, hand hovering just above Ser Shirakumo’s.

“With my blood, I swear to protect the line of the Blood of Kings. Let my oath be unbreakable on pain of death, until my King bids my duty done,” Ser Shirakumo responds with the ease of one who has recited the pledge before. Yet, it still leaves the Knight-Commander breathless.

Mirio understands. To be sworn to the King’s Blood is a great power and a heavy burden. Ser Shirakumo may have sworn this oath and sealed it with his blood many times but the reason why he is able to do so is because he is capable. Not many can boast of wielding a Sword of Kings, and here is a man who has done so more than once.

The King lowers his bleeding hand to Ser Shirakumo’s. A light shines in their clasped palms, wind blowing the cape on the knight’s back and the king’s robes before it quickly dies away. The king smiles at the Knight-Commander before he turns to one of the chests, picking up the sword that lies within it. It is nondescript, almost boring in its regalia but it is simply a disguise.

An aide takes the dagger from Ser Shirakumo who bows his head and lifts up both hands. The dagger is handed to Ser Yagi while his father lays the sword on Ser Shirakumo’s waiting hands, his blood staining the blade's grip.

He turns to the other knight. There is an intense look in Ser Yagi’s eyes and Mirio could’ve sworn that he sees his father shake his head. The tall knight gives a small sigh before he too, cuts a line across his palm. The king and the knight recite the same pledge, their injured hands connecting.

Mirio realizes with a startle that, for the longest time he has seen this ceremony done, he has never actually seen Ser Yagi take the oath.

The reaction is worlds away from what happened with Ser Shirakumo. The light between their connected palms was almost blinding in its brilliance, the wind blowing through the entire square.

What just happened?

The second sword is taken from the chest and placed on Ser Yagi’s hands. The King steps back and looks almost like a proud father to both his knights. “We pray to Galtea, the Brave Warrior. May she stand watch over your life,” he intones.

“That we be considered worthy,” both knights respond. The king nods at them, lifts up his arms, “Rise, Heroes of Dalmasca.”

Ser Shirakumo and Ser Yagi face the crowd and as one, pull their swords from their sheaths. As they do, light and electricity crackle along the blades that light up with magick. They hold their swords above their heads, transformed.

In Ser Shirakumo’s hands is the Blade of the Mystic, an elegant longsword that is almost steaming with the energy it contains. He smiles, the blade has been his to use since he became Knight-Commander. Beside him, Ser Yagi holds the Sword of the Tall, the broadsword almost as massive as he is, the blade as long as the distance between his shins and his shoulders, its serrated edges glinting dangerously.

The crowd cheers for its champions as they lower their weapons. King Ichizen Togata looks back at Mirio as his attendants wrap his bleeding hand.

“My son,” he entreats, holding out his free hand.

Mirio remembers his earlier behavior and is almost ashamed. He ducks his head as he takes his father’s hand. He is pulled forward and presented to the people.

“Your Prince!” King Ichizen announces, “He shall be your protector and shield in my stead!”

The crowd cheers as Mirio’s eyes water with tears. Before his father can let go, the prince pulls him back into a tight embrace. It’s always been him and his father, the early loss of his mother is a history he shares with Eri. There is a gnawing feeling inside of him as his Blood pumps wildly in his veins.

The King quickly returns the hug before pulling away, his hands heavy with promise in his son’s shoulders. “I will bring Princess Eri home, Mirio,” he swears. Mirio’s hands grasps his father’s forearms tightly. “Both of you,” he says, “Both of you shall come home.”

King Ichizen lets go with a smile, “As you wish, Your Highness.” Mirio could not stop the coloring of his cheeks at the reminder of his earlier transgression. The King considers him for a moment before he speaks again, "We shall talk about the Blood of Kings when I return, Mirio."

"Then, I shall hold on to that promise, father. Godspeed."

Mirio watches as his father boards the airship awaiting them, flanked by Ser Shirakumo and Ser Yagi, Ser Aizawa and Ser Akaguro following behind them. There is a very minimal fighting force with them. Should Archadia attack Nabudis, they will only secure Princess Eri and evacuate as much as they can.

The gnawing feeling does not leave Mirio’s chest. Somehow, he knew, everything has changed.

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TOSHINORI

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Year 704 Old Valendian

Sovereign Union of Nabradia - Capital City of Nabudis

Palace of Shie Hassakai

The winds are changed, he can feel it.

“Stay sharp,” he murmurs, hand resting heavily on his sword. They had not been allowed inside the throne room as they bear Swords of Kings, much to Shirakumo’s anger and dismay. Aizawa accompanied the King in their stead.

The Knight-Commander is looking out the closed off meditation garden beside Toshinori. He nods in agreement, a small frown on his face. Toshinori hopes Akaguro is having better luck. The other knight had taken off in a separate airship before they reached Nabudis. Underhanded as it was, it was Akaguro’s job to infiltrate the sprawling complex and locate and secure Princess Chisaki so they could leave at the first sign of trouble.

And the first sign of trouble has come.

Shirakumo narrows his eyes at the sliding double door flanked by two of Shie Hassaikai’s men. “What’s taking them so long?” he hisses. Toshinori shakes his head. Shirakumo was young, impatient, but his instinct and battle prowess was almost equal to Toshinori himself, lending him the position of Knight-Commander, a position Toshinori had been passed over multiple times in a mutual understanding of necessity between a King and his Knight. Besides, following rules was not his strong suit after all.

“Royal proceedings are meticulous and they've only just closed the door,” Toshinori explains, like clockwork, a speech he has many a time given to squires. Shirakumo’s eyes harden. “We are not safe here, Toshinori,” he grits out, “I’m sure you could feel it—”

He never heard what Shirakumo wanted to say because the door is blasted wide open and Aizawa flies through the door, hitting Shirakumo, flying above the garden, both of them knocking down shoji walls across the complex with the force.

“Shirakumo!”

The Knight-Commander is too far, buried under the debris, but alive. “Get to the King!” he yells.

His sword was already out before Shirakumo could finish his sentence. Toshinori turns around to find complete destruction inside the throne room. In the middle of it all, stands a figure well-known to the Heroic Order but never have they seen before now.

The Supreme Justice of Archadia stands over the King of Dalmasca, his greatsword–decorated with filigrees of blue like the in the legends of the Shadow Knight King–is dripping with blood. His black helm is distinctive, the maw of it like fangs drawn in a perpetual calculating frown. In an instant, Toshinori feels it. This is no ordinary man. The Blood running in Toshinori’s veins flare up in alarm, bounding pulse noisy in his ears.

“Ah,” the man intones, voice echoing, “What a waste.”

Toshinori growls and rushes to attack only to be immediately blocked almost effortlessly. The Judge tilts his head curiously at him. “Interesting,” he drawls, “I sense the Blood of Kings in you, and yet...”

His wrist flexes as he pushes Toshinori who jumps away. “You swear yourself to another King,” the man continues, “How shameful. The power is wasted in your ilk.”

“You know nothing. I swore myself to Dalmasca and I shall fight until she is lost,” Toshinori growls at him.

“Truly?” the man laughs. The Judge turns to face him, his sword dripping at his side. “Your king is dead, Swordbearer, and yet the Sword of the Tall remains in your hands. The blood of that infernal Dynast-King flows in you.”

“You lie!” Toshinori screams as he launches himself in another attack. The man gives with a small surprised frown.

“Is it not the truth then? Yet your Blood calls out to me as it does yours, I know,” he says absently, “Or perhaps, your King has not drawn his last breath after all.”

“You are a raving madman who has spilled the blood of my King,” Toshinori seethes, “Prepare to die.”

The Judge slides backward from Toshinori’s force. The knight follows in an instant, forcing him backwards as he defends shakily, their greatswords meeting with incredible force. The Judge changes his grip to his left as he is backed into a wall and Toshinori's Blood practically sings with warning. A glyph forms behind him and Toshinori jumps back in retreat as fireballs head his way in the next instant.

“Impressive, the Blood heeds you despite your weakness,” the Judge says, recovering as Toshinori skids to a stop away from him. Toshinori narrows his eyes. He swings his sword, the arc tracing lightning in its wake, wind picking up out of nowhere.

The heathen Judge tilts his head at him. “Are you quite certain of that, Swordbearer?”

He raises his sword and hangs it by his side, the sharp end of it pointing directly at the body in the middle of the room. “Magick of that caliber will only hasten your king’s funeral, yes?”

Toshinori grits his teeth as he stops his Quickening and considers his actions. Think.

“Wonderful,” the Judge croons before rushing into Toshinori who blocks him even with the surprise. The knight smirks, a clock glyph already formed at his feet, its gears and hands moving quickly.

“You’re not the only one who can use magic,” Toshinori points out as he glows with the effect of Haste. Another glyph forms at his feet in less than a heartbeat and the magic releases to pierce the Judge through his armour with hardened spikes of ice. In the small moment that he is suspended, Toshinori swings his sword to catch the Judge right in his middle, sending him flying off to the wall.

Toshinori is upon him in a second, his Blood pumping as it roars with rage and time magic, moving too fast for the Supreme Justice to respond. He deals blow after blow with the Sword of the Tall before smacking the Judge’s head against the wall with a hand on his helm. His hand bursts with energy as he activates a Quickening, this time contained and focused.

“Be rid of this world, demon,” Toshinori grits out, the shadows casting his blue eyes in unnatural light with his magic.

Rabanastre Smash!

The Quickening sends a powerful punch laced with fire and powered by wind right into the Supreme Justice’s head and the wall breaks from the force, sending him crashing through several of Shie Hassaikai’s sprawling hallways. Toshinori sways forward as his energy is also spent, the effect of Haste wearing out as his Mist reserves also drain.

Someone grabs his armor and pulls him back into the throne room. He is immediately pulled forward by the collar of his armor.

“What happened here?” Akaguro hisses at him, “Why is the King bleeding on the floor, Yagi?”

At the reminder, Toshinori winces, noticing that Akaguro had moved the King to the dais of the throne room and had attempted to stem the bleeding. His chest rises and falls minutely. “He breathes,” Toshinori gasps, on his feet in an instant to come closer to King Ichizen.

Akaguro growls and punches him before he can come closer, throwing his helmet off with the force. “You bastard!” Akaguro screams at him, “You were supposed to be the best of us!”

“I’m sorry, Akaguro,” Toshinori wheezes through his grief, “It’s my fault—”

“Damn right, it’s your fault!” Akaguro shouts, “I should have been here! I should’ve watched over him instead of trying to find some non-existent princess and her liar of a father!”

“What?”

Any explanation Akaguro could say was cut off as Aizawa runs in with a heavily injured Shirakumo, followed by several Nabradian soldiers, “We have to leave! Archadian forces are bearing down on us and—No.”

"Shit," Shirakumo swears as his knees finally give out, his eyes focused on their King in the middle of the dais.

Aizawa's eyes are wide with horror as he too gazes at their King, bathed in crimson. “No,” he murmurs again in shock, freezing in the middle of the room.

“Traitors!” Akaguro yells at the soldiers who stand behind Aizawa, rushing forward to attack. One of them blocks him before he can advance on the others.

“Stand down! You have been misled, as was this country,” a woman’s voice sounds from behind the helm.

“Our king is dead, you wench!”

“And the Princess of Shie Hassaikai has been missing since a fortnight ago! Kai Chisaki has betrayed Nabradia!”

Akaguro growls, putting his weight on his sword, sending the lady knight crashing against the wall. “Then Kai Chisaki will die,” Akaguro says.

“Get in line, you fucking bitch,” she responds, all traces of diplomacy gone from her tone, her swordhand twitching.

“Commander Bakugou!” a soldier yells, “We have to leave, the palace will soon be lost!”

“No! We will stand our ground!” the lady knight growls at her soldier, pointing through the courtyard garden at the magickal barrier shimmering in the sky. “The paling still stands!”

A frail voice speaks out, “Toshinori.”

Toshinori is beside the King in a heartbeat, one of the king’s hands cradled in both his own. “My Lord, please, save your breath.”

The other three settle around him, faces in varying expressions of anger, shock, and disbelief. King Ichizen shakes his head, his last words soft, “If Eri is lost… The Blood of Kings... remains only in Mirio now... The bloodline… cannot... be lost...” The hand in Toshinori’s grasp turns limp as he closes his eyes.

“Your highness, please,” Shirakumo begs, tears in his eyes.

“Stop,” Akaguro growls at no one in particular, “Stop it.”

“He’s breathing, but just barely,” Aizawa cuts in, forever their voice of reason.

Toshinori nods, grave. “We have to get him out of here. Now.”

A voice yells from behind them, one of Commander Bakugou’s men. “Commander! The gates have been breached!”

Shirakumo’s eyes harden into steel and the Knight-Commander stands up. “Give me your sword, Akaguro.”

“What?”

Shirakumo sheathes the Blade of the Mystic and presents it to him, handle first. “Oboro,” Aizawa hisses in warning. Toshinori’s eyes harden at what Shirakumo wants to do but doesn’t speak up. The Knight-Commander doesn’t waver under Aizawa’s warning.

“The Swords of Kings serve to protect the King’s Blood. You have not sworn the oath but it is still a sword of legendary make. It can cut through the paling. Take it and bring His Majesty back to Dalmasca.”

“Are you a fool?”

“You’re the least injured of the four of us,” Toshinori agrees reluctantly, standing up and lifting the Sword of the Tall, “And the fastest. With you, he might stand a chance.”

“Akaguro, protect the Blood of Kings,” Shirakumo commands, the authority in his tone undeniable, “Take the damn sword.”

The other knight growls, “Fine! And what of you three, then?”

“We will stay and fight off the army so you might have a chance,” Toshinori says as he walks to the other side of the room. With a single swing of his greatsword, the wall breaks. He points into the night, “Your airship should be directly south of here, if the enemy has not found it.”

“Of course you three will remain to be martyrs,” Akaguro complains bitterly as he takes the sword from Shirakumo and exchanges it for his own.

Shirakumo smiles, “Galtea watch over you, Akaguro.”

The knight snorts unprettily as he carries the limp body of their king in his arms. He is almost at the threshold of the ruined wall when he speaks again, “Aizawa.”

The man in question narrows his eyes at him.

“You delivered the message from the Chisaki bastard to the King, his blood is in your hands,” Akaguro hisses.

“This is not the time, Akaguro!” Toshinori roars.

Aizawa ducks his head and shrugs. “And I will pay for it with my life,” he swears as he takes out his own sword, “Leave, Akaguro.”

With a final scowl at Aizawa, the knight leaves through the ruined wall.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Aizawa hisses at Shirakumo when Akaguro is gone, “Giving him the Sword of Kings like that.”

“It’s all incentive really,” Shirakumo says lightly, “If I don’t make it out of here, you have to take the sword away from him.”

“Don’t be stupid. The sword is your responsibility, you get it.”

There is a commotion at the door where Commander Bakugou’s soldiers are gathered. “For Nabradia!” Commander Bakugou yells and the sounds of another skirmish begins. Toshinori belatedly realizes that the woman was kind enough to give them time and privacy in the midst of conflict.

He steadies the Sword of the Tall in front of him, “Well then, gentlemen, it has been my great honor to fight by your side.”

Aizawa grimaces as Oboro gives a little breathless chuckle. "Why so serious, Toshinori-san? We shall live to fight another day."

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“Something’s wrong,” Shirakumo says, wiping the blood from his mouth.

“The soldiers are thinning out,” Commander Bakugou growls.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Aizawa asks, a little breathless.

They’re fighting near the entrance courtyard of the sprawling palace of Shie Hassaikai now, having fought their way out of the throne room. Toshinori agrees with the Nabradian commander’s assessment, as he sweeps his sword through another contingent of soldiers.

There is something off with the directions from where the soldiers are coming from. Despite the advance they have so far made, it is hardly in a direction that Toshinori would call advantageous.

They’ve exposed us, Toshinori realizes with a start, looking up to the sky, seeing a shadow loom beyond the paling.

“We need to leave!” Toshinori yells over the commotion, “This is a trap!”

Just as he shouts the order, the paling that protects the palaces shimmers out into the nothing. Shit. A large airship enters the Nabudis airspace.

He sees Shirakumo’s eyes widen and hears the command before the Knight-Commander can shout.

“Run!”

Toshinori grabs the soldier nearest him and runs for the palace walls, striking down enemy soldiers who have also started running at the sight. He breaks through the palace walls of Shie Hassaikai in one strike.

“Unhand me at once!”

Gods damn it all. Of all people he could have taken, it’s the Nabradian commander. He sees Shirakumo running in the same direction at the corner of his eye. Then he feels it.

There is a bright light in the sky above, blinding in its brilliance even as Toshinori has his back to it. The strength of the magick released is too much, almost burning. The pull of the Mist that falls into the palace of Nabudis is too strong.

Toshinori resists it all, the blood in his veins pumping strength into his limbs, recognizing the threat as the breadth of its range grows larger. Screams sound from all around as the light descends and expands.

There is an alarmed shout to his left and he turns his head just in time as Aizawa falls. His body moves on instinct and drops the Nabradian commander in his haste who gives a sound of protest and fear. Shirakumo is yelling as he rushes back and Toshinori watches in horror as he covers Aizawa with his body just as the light consumes them.

He stands paralyzed for the first time in his life, his eyes rooted to the spot where his comrades disappeared. A frantic pulling at his arm catches his attention and he sees a blonde woman with fierce scarlet eyes.

“Come on, you big idiot!” Commander Bakugou yells, her rough voice easily recognizable, “Or we will all die.” Toshinori grits his teeth through his tears and runs again. Runs as his blood pumps into his legs.

But the light is too fast. Can feel it right behind him, the magick that killed his comrades. The Nabradian soldier trips and he swipes her off her feet in a second. He cannot let another person die under his watch. He sees her widen her eyes, the light of the magick reflected in the crimson of them.

It’s close, too close.

Toshinori braces his right side against a tree, his left covering Commander Bakugou just as the light consumes them. His last thought as his mind fades out is that he hopes Akaguro, the bastard, managed to get out alive.

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Year 704 Old Valendian

Sovereign Union of Nabradia - Fort Takoba

Wake, Toshinori, a threat draws near.

He opens his eyes, sitting up with a strangled gasp. Pain. Agony lances across his body, concentrated on his left side. He raises his hands even as they tremble to his chest, feels the way he breathes in and out, his ribs digging into his palms.

A set of softer hands cover his own and wild eyes look at its owner. The woman spares him a soft smile, “Hush, good Ser, you are safe here.”

“Wha—”

“You are in Fort Takoba, under the protection of Commander Mitsuki Bakugou.”

“The Commander? Is she…?”

Green eyes shimmer with uncertainty before the smile reinforces itself. “She is alive,” the woman says, “Thanks to you.”

Even if she doesn’t say it, Toshinori can hear what’s coming next. But not for long.

The woman stands up and pours a glass of water. Toshinori notices with discomfort how frail she seems, her movements slow, almost mechanical. “Slowly,” she instructs, as she raises the glass to his lips. The irony almost makes him choke.

With his throat less parched, he ventures to ask, “What happened?”

The woman shakes her head, her long green hair swaying with the movement. “We don’t exactly know. Mitsu–Commander Bakugou stationed some troops outside of Nabudis, they were the ones who found the two of you."

She hesitates, "They said a bright magickal light descended upon the Palace of Shie Hassaikai last night. It consumed all that came into its path.”

Last night? How… Toshinori startles. “Consumed? Then… My comrades...”

“It was too dangerous to walk through the Mist, Ser. The Commander and yourself were very fortunate–you had just been at the very edge of it, close enough that our men could see your form against the tree. But…”

Toshinori looked at her as she trailed off only to find emerald eyes already looking at him. Her hands went back to his, guiding it closer to his face. When he realizes what she wanted to show him, he flinches.

His hands no longer bear any resemblance to the wrought callous laden ones he has had since he became a knight. He holds his arms higher, sees the emaciated state they are in even under the bandages. Remembers the feeling of his ribs underneath his fingers when he woke up.

In a hurry, he takes off his shirt, ignoring the sharp pain that shoots up his spine, the struggle he had to do before it lifts with the woman’s help. The bandages come off roughly under his frantic skeletal hands, slowly revealing the skin of his chest, ruined, crusted with a scar like black scales, reaching down to his stomach, up his shoulder—

Gentle hands stop his further prying. “Ser, please, you have to breathe,” the woman coaxes softly.

Toshinori draws in a sharp inhale at the words before he feels the lump in his throat and starts coughing. Blood sprays from his mouth to his hand. Blood. Why is there blood? He needs to breathe. Just. Breathe.

A soft cloth is prying his hands from his mouth, wiping away the blood without a word. Toshinori focuses on the gentle motions as he tries to even out his breathing. Why is there blood—

“You should not move around so much, Ser Knight,” the woman chides, much like a mother with a child. She places his hand over his chest. Through the ruined flesh and hardened skin, he still feels it. His heart is beating. Alive, Toshinori, his Blood reminds him, A threat is coming.

Toshinori breathes deep, through the roughness of his throat. His burnt skin isn’t bleeding, he realizes. But his body is weakened, so far away from the one he had built over years to become one of Dalmasca’s Heroic Order. Whatever Archadia did to Nabudis, it had left his body in this husk of a man.

Alive, Toshinori, a threat is coming.

The pulse of his Blood is a constant hum in his subconscious. It has always been in his mind, this intuition. He later learned what it was, the truth of it led to his knighthood and servitude to the Royal House of Dalmasca. To Ichizen Togata.

Gods, he needs to go home.

“Someone is coming,” Toshinori finally says when he has his breathing under control, “We have to move.”

The woman frowns. “I assure you, Ser Knight, this is the best place we could be—”

“Inko,” another quiet voice interrupts. They both look to the door where a man stands, trepidation clear on his face. “Ser Yagi is right. The Mist spreads. Archadia is coming.”

The woman–Inko–stays silent for a heartbeat before she nods and starts replacing the bandages Toshinori had torn off in his panic. “I understand, I will get Izuku ready,” she says without facing the man, “Mitsuki?”

“Awake,” the man replies. He looks at Toshinori then, “My wife would like to speak with you.”

“Your wife?”

“Ah, forgive my manners, it’s been a difficult day,” the man says, fidgeting slightly, “I am Masaru Bakugou, husband to Commander Mitsuki Bakugou. You have returned my wife to me at a grave personal cost to you, Ser Yagi. My gratitude is endless.”

“I—” Toshinori gulps, he’d thought the Commander at death’s door, “I was simply there. I’m glad to have helped.”

Masaru smiles, brittle and pained. Toshinori almost asks what bothers him but the man only inclines his head as he takes his leave.

Inko finishes soon after, helping Toshinori pull his shirt on again, wobbling with the effort. Toshinori catches her elbow to help her balance. “Thank you,” Inko says, “I will be fine now. I have to get to my son. Your belongings are at the table, Ser Yagi. Please meet us outside once you are dressed. We must make preparations.”

Toshinori nods. “Thank you,” he says, feeling the gratitude seep deeply in his bones. Inko gives him one last smile before she leaves the room at a shuffling pace. Not for the first time, Toshinori wonders what ails the young woman.

He centers his breathing again. The instinct to run from danger is constantly buzzing in his mind. Slowly, he pushes his awareness to every part of his body, tries not to flinch at the amount of pain and loss he feels. With measured movements, he drags his feet to the floor and gingerly stands up.

There is a fresh shirt and a pair of breeches at the table, with a robe and a cloak. Beside it, the quietened form of the Sword of the Tall lies in its sheath and Toshinori heaves a sigh of relief. He thinks of his armor for a brief moment and casts the thought away entirely.

His instinct has been telling him to run, not to fight. With his body in this state, it seems the more logical course. The armor he has worn for years now will only hang from his new bony shoulders like a yoke.

He takes the sheathed Sword of the Tall, pulls it out halfway. The sword remains as the shell of itself, much like the man that wields it. Toshinori refuses to even consider what it meant. If he truly wanted it, he could use his own Blood to awaken it but the thought is blasphemous to his mind, almost sacrilegious. He stares at his reflection on the sword’s pristine steel and almost steps back in shock.

Shadows fall over his eyes, even as the shining blue of them shines with life like a beacon. His cheeks... gaunt does not even begin to describe his face right now. He thinks of the ribs he can feel when he rubs his hands through his chest, of his arms so vastly different from the ones that held the Sword of the Tall. Toshinori tries very hard not to panic.

It seems that beyond the Mist burning away the majority of his left side, it may have also sucked away at his very being.

Alive, Toshinori, a threat is coming.

Toshinori finishes dressing and secures his sword with the belt provided. He takes stock as he finishes another glass of water. His body is next to useless, there is excruciating pain shooting up his spine with every sudden movement of his torso and his left arm, not to mention the ache of the fighting he’d done in Nabudis, multiplied tenfold with the absence of flesh in his bones.

Alive, Toshinori, a threat is coming.

He sighs. Right. His body is a walking skeleton but his mind is still just as sharp. He remembers the last orders King Ichizen had left them and resolves to return to Dalmasca as soon as possible. He prays for his King, prays against all hope that he lives, prays Akaguro made it out in time, prays for Young Mirio’s safety, prays for Aizawa and Shirakumo, may the Great Mother grant them rest.

The glass shatters in his newly-bandaged hand. He will make this right.

-

-

There is a young man at the commander's bedside when he enters. The youth startles, crimson eyes vibrant with life before swiftly narrowing with disdain and boyish contempt.

He turns to the side, "The knight is here." There is no response from the woman lying in the bed but the boy turns away all the same and an awkward silence falls before the boy seemingly makes up his mind. He leans over Commander Bakugou, a hand gripping her shoulder, whispering something as he places an almost gentle kiss over her forehead through the cloth. He straightens and turns to leave, giving Toshinori one final glare before exiting.

The knight brushes off the display in favor of seeing the damage done to the fiery commander he’d met at the Palace of Shie Hassaikai. That is, what little he could see of her. Sheets cover Mitsuki Bakugou up to her shoulders, another cloth covering the upper half of her face.

Her cheeks are gaunt where they are visible, lips chapped and cracking. She wasn’t burnt, the way Toshinori was, but the magick at Shie Hassaikai seemed to have sucked her body dry all the same.

"Ser Yagi," her voice comes, soft and whispered, like a gasp. So far away from the commanding authority it held just last night.

“I am here,” he says, moving closer.

“You saved… my life...” she rasps.

Toshinori shakes his head, biting his lip as his hands clenched into fists at his side. “I am sorry I could only do so much,” he spits out bitterly.

The Commander gives a halting chuckle. “You Dalmascans…” she says, “Always… so serious.” Her head tilts, shifting the cloth covering her face. He can see now the same crimson eyes that had reflected the light at Shie Hassaikai–the same ones he’d seen in that young man from earlier. He can see that while her body has wasted from the effect of magick, she holds that same fire in her eyes. He gulps.

“Ser Yagi…” she continues, “I am... already in your debt… But if... there’s... one more…”

Commander Bakugou is interrupted by a violent hacking cough. Masaru enters the room in a flurry, by his wife’s side immediately, whispering soothing words of comfort while Toshinori stands there paralyzed.

“Masaru… Masaru…” she wheezes out.

“Shh, shhh, I know, I know, rest now, love,” he assures her. She draws in a deep, rattling breath and stills on the bed. Toshinori looks on in horror until he realizes the blanket over her chest is barely rising and falling.

“She…” he begins uncertainly, “She wanted…”

“Our son,” Masaru explains, “He is not safe here. So is his cousin, Inko’s boy. Ser Yagi, we owe you a life debt for bringing Mitsuki home. I’m afraid we will be asking for much more.”

Toshinori stiffens at what they ask of him. “I refuse,” Toshinori says, “Good sir, your sons are yours to raise. Please, if you must run, allow me to protect your backs instead.”

Masaru smiles at him sadly before shaking his head. “Inko is ill, I’m sure you’ve noticed. She is not long for this world. I shall not leave Mitsuki’s side, I have to stand for Fort Takoba in her stead, even as Archadia and their life-taking Mist come closer.

“Ser Yagi,” he continues, eyes shining with tears, “Our sons did not ask to be born into this war, to this family. They should not pay the price we have to pay today. Of us, even with your injuries, you are most fit to take them away from this place, to find shelter in Dalmasca. They do not know who you are, they will not be traitors to you and save themselves. They are good young men, Ser Yagi. So, please, I beg of you.”

Toshinori almost screams, remembers sending Akaguro away with the Sword of Kings even with both his and Aizawa’s reservations concerning the man, all because he is their king’s best chance. Just last night. Merciful Faram, how has it only been hours? It feels like it has been a lifetime since he fought Archadia’s Supreme Justice—

Alive, Toshinori, a threat is coming. The blood in his veins grows louder. He has no time to idle. If there is a life he can save, then he is sworn to protect it, and right now he is being entrusted with two. Toshinori makes his decision.

“I understand,” Toshinori says a little breathlessly, “I will keep them safe. For as long as I live, no harm shall come to them.”

Masaru smiles, full of gratitude and melancholy. He turns away, and covers Mitsuki’s body with the sheet. “Thank you,” the man whispers, fists clenched on the white sheet, shaking, “Thank you.”

Toshinori nods, tries to stop the lump in his throat from coming out his mouth. He stands, grips the weeping man’s shoulder tightly and leaves to give him privacy.

-

-

Year 704 Old Valendian

Sovereign Union of Nabradia - Mosphoran Highwaste

Fort Takoba lies near the border between the Salikawood and the Mosphoran Highwaste, much to Toshinori’s relief. At the very least, they will not stand out–an injured man traveling with two teenagers–not in the constant stream of refugees they keep meeting trying to make it out of Nabradia.

He had spoken to some of them. The news they bring doing nothing but bury more dread into his weary body. The Palace of Shie Hassaikai is a deadland, they said, Only ghosts walk its halls now.

The army of Archadia looms ever closer, another warns, Where they go, their deathbringer Mist follows.

And more.

The Princess Eri is dead. The traitor Kai has left this country for naught.

Kai Chisaki has sold this country to the Empire. Wherever he is, may the Reaper take him, Faram.

And more and more news of the Fall of Nabudis, of the betrayal of Kai Chisaki, of the loss of Eri Chisaki, of loss and wandering, of uncertainty with no home to go to. None of his comrades in arms, none of Dalmasca. He should not be surprised, these are refugees from Nabradia.

Some travel further east, through the Salikawood, hoping to create new settlements in the untamed wildlands that sprawl across southern Archadia. Others venture further into the Port of Balfonheim, seeking passage to Mt. Bur-Omisace where the Light of Kiltia might take them.

Very few, like them, travel south, to Dalmasca.

If Nabradia has fallen then, without fail, so shall Dalmasca.

No. Toshinori will not allow it. He will not allow hope to flicker out. A hand settles on his chest, feels the hard ridges of his scar, the thumping of his heart grounding him. There is a click of a mouth and he looks up just in time to see Commander Bakugou’s son look away with a scowl.

“Why the old hag thought we’d be safer here with this fucking skeleton, I’d never understand,” he grumbles loudly, “We might as well have stayed and fought at Takoba.”

“I’m sorry, Young Bakugou—"

“Do not use my name here, you walking deathtrap.”

“Kacchan!”

Toshinori blinks and turns to the other boy he’d taken along with him. Inko’s son followed her coloring, with green eyes and wild misbehaving green hair. He doesn’t have his mother’s quiet grace though. He wonders if the nervous tic is something from the father.

“You’re no better, Shitty Deku!” the boy rages. Katsuki, Toshinori's mind corrects, “You’d think a crybaby like you would rather die than to leave your mother’s side!”

Something shifts in the green-eyed boy then, and Toshinori’s Blood tugs at it, more in confusion than actual recognition. Inko’s son purses his lips and looks Bakugou’s boy straight in the eye.

“I don’t know, Kacchan. Why are you here then?”

A number of emotions run through the boy’s face, too fast for Toshinori to read them all, his mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish.

“You’re a little shit, you know that, Deku?” he settles on finally, pouring the rest of his gruel into their fire before tossing the bowl carelessly at the other boy. Without a word, he stomps off.

“Wait!” Toshinori calls out belatedly. He almost isn’t surprised when the boy raises his middle finger in some rude salute without even looking back.

“He’ll be back,” a quiet voice whispers behind him.

Toshinori allows himself to settle back on the ground, scrutinizing Inko’s son. He hadn’t seen the boy say goodbye to his own mother and he thinks with some relief that he is lucky he didn’t, if his constant sniffling is any indication. There is a quiet melancholy in how he holds himself, too taut yet too soft. Toshinori noticed he’d hardly touched his own food.

He clears his throat. “Young… Izuku, was it?”

“Yes,” the boy says, stirring his porridge mindlessly. They’re at the camp in the Babbling Vale, lucky enough to reach the hunter stronghold before nightfall. They’d left Fort Takoba in the cover of darkness yesterday and Toshinori had pushed them and his own self through the wildlands to avoid any mishaps. The boys had been quiet all the way. Toshinori notes with some sadness that he’s hardly given them time to grieve, or even know them at all.

He supposes, if there was a time, it was now. Even if Young Bakugou has stormed off.

“Young Izuku,” he says, clearing his throat. The boy looks up at him in confusion, clearly not expecting any conversation. “Apologies,” Toshinori backtracks quickly, “I seem to have overlooked that I was not with my comrades while travelling and had not slowed our pace.”

The boy shrugs. “It’s alright, Se–err, it’s alright,” he corrects quickly, “We understand the urgency, and your concern for your… home…”

Izuku trails off, eyes a little lost as he watches the dying fire. Toshinori’s heart is gripped with sudden anxiety and severe sorrow. He sits closer to the boy who looks up in surprise. The knight catches him in a one-handed hug, his arm curling around the boy's head. It's far too uncomfortable with how his bones are sticking out everywhere now but he hopes the sentiment is received.

It was. Too well, apparently, because Izuku upends his bowl with how he hurriedly wraps his own arms around Toshinori and weeps into his shoulder. No one spares them a second glance. In that camp filled with people, all of them have lost something in this war. Toshinori holds back his own tears as he remembers all that he has lost in the past three days alone. King Ichizen, Shirakumo, Aizawa, himself. He will not lose his home.

Izuku falls asleep like that, too tired out from his crying to bother moving. When Young Bakugou–Katsuki, Toshinori reminds himself–finds them like that after a few hours, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy, he doesn’t comment on Izuku’s tear-tracked face or Toshinori’s haunted look. Doesn’t say anything at all, merely hands them some freshly baked bread and milk he’d traded on the way back to their fire and stays silent.

When they continue their trek south in the misty dawn, Toshinori finds it in himself to speak again.

“You can call me Uncle Maito, while you are under my care,” he says, voice steady for the first time since leaving Rabanastre ages ago. He ponders on his next words, turns to the two boys who stop to look at him, one with a wide-eyed curiosity and innocence, the other with an ever-present scowl and scrutiny.

“I promised your family I will keep you safe,” Toshinori continues, he raises a fist into his chest where his blood thrums through his heart, “I am here. And I promise you two that nothing will harm you, not while I live, and, even if I should fall, in Dalmasca you will be safe.”

The two are stunned for a moment before Katsuki scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, Old Man Maito. If you die in a ditch before we reach Rabanastre, I’ll be taking that fancy sword from you,” the teen drawls as he walks past him.

“Kacchan!” Izuku exclaims, scandalized. Katsuki keeps walking, giving him no response, to which Izuku just shakes his head. The green-haired boy looks at him then with a small smile, and Toshinori can certainly see where he got that from.

“Thank you,” he says, sincere and sweet.

Toshinori smiles back, nods in acknowledgement, before they walk again together after Katsuki. He’s never put much stock into having children, or family. He had dedicated himself to the Heroic Order of Dalmasca once he knew the truth of his Blood and his strength. But, as he looks at the two teenage children bicker in front of him, he thinks he might change his mind.

He just has to get them to Rabanastre first where hopefully, good news will await them.

-

-

Year 704 Old Valendian

Kingdom of Dalmasca - Royal City of Rabanastre

Toshinori has had a bad feeling ever since passing the town of Nalbina, his fears hardly assuaged by the somber tone among the nomads of the Dalmasca Estersand. He pushes his dread down his throat, to his empty stomach, before it ends up with him coughing out his life’s blood as it does so often these days.

They were close now, so close to the Eastern Gate and he could clearly see the city beyond the high cliffs of the desert. Darkened as it was underneath the overcast sky, he can still see the shimmering of the city paling.

It’s nothing, he scolds the churning of his blood. I’m just tired and annoyed at Katsuki’s complaints about sand and how it gets everywhere. And Izuku’s almost clockwork crying.

That doesn’t stop his feet from almost running through the crowd that slowly builds as they move closer to the gate. He hardly feels the pain as he pushes through people. He ignores the warning bells ringing through his head through the crying and yelling outside the gate.

A hand grabs his arm. “Uncle Maito!” Izuku scolds, “Please slow down!”

Toshinori is hyperventilating, he realizes all of a sudden, as the image of Izuku blurs and doubles in front of him.

It is wrong, Toshinori, it is wrong.

He grabs his head at the oncoming migraine. I know, he seethes, I know, let me, Faram, let me breathe—!

Someone grabs a passerby. It’s Katsuki.

“Oi, what’s going here?” he asks.

The bangaa looks at him unimpressed. “Don’t be rude, boy,” he reprimands gruffly, “The Prince just died.”

“What?”

Toshinori doesn’t have the chance to say anything else as a coughing fit overtakes him, blood spraying from his mouth. The people outside the gate give him a wide berth in shock, some exclaiming in disgust.

Katsuki is yelling at the people who point at them and All-Father, please, someone tell the boy to calm down! Izuku is frantically trying to clean his face and his hands as he continues coughing. His Blood is raging now, despair and wrath foremost on his mind. His pulse jumps as he is alerted of the sound of clanking metal.

Shit. He has to move, the boys are in danger here and he’s only attracting attention to themselves, the guards have already noticed.

“Ah, you poor thing, I told you not to run!” an elderly voice chides beside him, before pulling on his arm. Katsuki has stopped his yelling at the interruption and Izuku stops his frantic fussing.

He turns to look at the stranger and his breath hitches.

“To–Torin–ow!”

A cane whacks him in the head, sending him into another coughing fit and Izuku into another panic attack.

“Hey! Old geezer! What’s the big ide–oof!”

Katsuki is interrupted by a sharp thwack of the same cane into the back of his knees, sending him kneeling to the ground.

The old man–Torino, Toshinori gapes in disbelief–glares at the three of them, a clear warning to cooperate. In the next second, soldiers have surrounded them.

“Elder one,” one of them demands, “We are in the middle of the mourning rites. Any disturbance shall not be pardoned.”

Torino moves smoothly in front of them. “Apologies, apologies, good sirs,” Torino laments, bowing to each of the guards in turn, “I’m afraid this frail man is a patient of mine. The news has him in a bit of shock, you see, and he got up from his bed in a fit of panic. These two boys were supposed to watch him.”

“Patient?” the head guard clarifies, eyeing the packs the boys are carrying, before he takes a step back, “Where did you say this man is from?”

Toshinori can hear the smugness underneath the innocent tone from Torino’s answer. “Why, Lowtown of course.”

The head guard curses and scandalized gasps come from the eavesdroppers. The head guard covers his mouth with his vambraces.

“Take him away from here old man, I will not have disease of consumption running amok in this bleak hour,” the guard demands. He nods to one of his juniors who hurries to the circular door that leads to the slums beneath Rabanastre—Lowtown. The crowd gives them a wide berth as they exit, Katsuki and Izuku cautiously assisting Toshinori.

They continue to walk in silence, amidst the mourning prayers being sung all over Lowtown. Toshinori’s Blood is curdling in his veins, the wailing songs clawing at his intuition. There are so many thoughts running through his head right now–Mirio dead, Torino alive, Katsuki and Izuku are safe, how did Torino know—

Torino stops and taps a rhythm into a door. It opens allowing them inside. There are children arranged all over the room, from toddlers to teenagers as old as Katsuki and Izuku. A crate was offered for his seat, where the boys deposited him before warily going to sit beside him. Water and fruit were offered but he doesn’t have the stomach for it. When he looks up, Torino is already looking at him.

“I suppose you have questions, Maito,” the previous Knight-Commander of the Heroic Order of Dalmasca says.

Ah. That’s how Torino recognized him even in this emaciated body. Of course his old mentor would recognize the name he gave to the gift passed on to him. He feels the weight of the past days bearing down on his frail form but he powers on.

He only has one question to ask.

“What they said at the gate…” Toshinori ventures, “Prince Mirio…”

He trails off, refusing to speak into existence what is obviously a falsehood. But Torino’s silence is telling.

“Yes,” Torino says finally, eyes downcast, “Prince Mirio has taken his own life two days ago, after the Fall of Nabudis.”

Toshinori swears he stopped breathing. He might as well have, at that moment.

It collapses then, the weight he has been keeping at bay ever since he saw his King bleeding on the floor in the palace of Shie Hassaikai, since he saw Shirakumo and Aizawa be consumed by that cursed light, since he saw Commander Mitsuki Bakugou draw her last breath, since he took two boys away from the only place they’ve known to be home.

Toshinori sobs and allows himself to cry.

There is no escaping the truth now that it’s spoken directly to his face. Dalmasca and the Blood of Kings are lost.

All hope is lost.

-

-

-

-

-

The loss of Dalmasca’s staunch ally in Lord Hametsu Chisaki, the betrayal of his successor, the traitor Kai Chisaki, and the unknown whereabouts of Princess Eri Chisaki were but the beginning of the many tragedies to befall the Kingdom of Dalmasca.

King Ichizen Togata, brave and faithful, did not foresee the actions of the man who succeeded his good friend. Indeed, the events at the Palace of Shie Hassaikai were inevitable and its consequences, absolute.

Ser Chizome Akaguro, the sole survivor of the four Heroic Order Knights to fly to Nabradia, returned with our King already departed to the Great Mother’s side. He brings reports of the deception of Kai Chisaki, of the alliance that was cut with steel and stained with royal blood.

The loss of Ser Oboro Shirakumo, Knight-Commander of the Heroic Order of Dalmasca, Ser Toshinori Yagi, always mighty and honorable, and Ser Shouta Aizawa with his unfailing loyalty, proved too great indeed.

With Nabradia consumed by the hell-fires of war, it seemed clear that Archadia would soon mete out a like fate to Dalmasca. The Archadian forces continued their advance toward Rabanastre. Dalmasca’s doom had been decided.

To make resistance would serve no end. With this foremost in my thoughts, I, to the people of Dalmasca: “Sons and Daughters of Dalmasca, I bid you lay down your arms. Raise songs of prayer in their stead.

“Prayer for His Royal Majesty King Ichizen Togata, ever kind and merciful, a man devoted wholly to peace.

“Prayer, too, for the Noble Prince Mirio, who, wrought with grief at the loss of his Father, the disappearance of the Princess he considered of his blood, and his beloved Kingdom’s defeat, has taken his own life.

“Know also that as decreed in the demands of Emperor Enji Todoroki and his Court of Judges, the Heroic Order of Dalmasca is hereby disbanded and its members shall come forward in voluntary surrender lest they suffer the same fate as their comrades.

“They who at this late hour choose still the sword and who house these imperial fugitives in hopes of wresting freedom through force from the might of Archadia are cut of the same cloth as traitors–traitors who would lead Dalmasca to her ruin.”

Alas, amidst great grief and songs of mourning, Dalmasca’s surrender without terms was soon to follow.

—Memoirs of Mqs. Mirai Sasaki IV, Night’s Eye of Bhujerba