Chapter Text
Remire is a little village set at the foot of a mountain chain, a quiet little place where Ashe and his siblings have lived for the past twelve years, surrounded by tall trees that turn gold and red as the warm weather transitions into winter. Hidden amidst the trees is a large spring where he likes to play with his younger brother and sister on the warmer days, and a stream is located just outside the village limits to provide its residents with fish and fresh water.
That’s where he can be found as twilight falls over the land, hooking bait and casting his line to catch fish for dinner, humming under his breath as his companion tends to her own catch. Byleth deftly unhooks the fish from her rod and puts it in the basket placed between them.
“Are you excited to go?” She gives him a small smile as she prepares another bait, and he nods eagerly with a bright smile of his own. He’s been looking forward to this trip since Jeralt brought it up moons ago. “Good. You’ve never been to Fhirdiad, right?”
“No, I haven’t.” He shakes his head, turning his attention away from the bobber swaying gently on the cool waters of the stream. His father said he would take him there when younger, too many years ago, but the chance never arose and now it's too late.
“You’ll like it there. Fhirdiad is much bigger than Remire.” She nudges his arm gently with her elbow after casting her line. “There’s this big castle and so many knights, like in the books you like to read. Oh, and there’s the King, too. We’ll get to meet with him briefly. If we’re lucky, he might even invite us to stay for tea.”
Ashe turns away from her to stare unseeingly at his bobber as giddiness wells up in him, barely refraining himself from wiggling in place. A castle, and knights, and an actual king! He’s always wanted to see the things he reads about, the honorable knights, the beautiful castles, the just and kind king. Catching a wink of sleep until their departure will be so hard. He feels like he’s ten years old all over again!
Byleth chuckles and ruffles his hair, her eyes creasing in the corners. “Look at you, so excited that you missed your catch.” Ashe snaps out of his daydream and scrambles to pull back his line, but it’s too late, the bait and the fish long gone. She gives him a gentle, consoling pat on the shoulder and retrieves her line as well. “Come on, we need to rest so tomorrow we can pack up and prepare for the trip.”
He offers to carry the basket of fish, proud of the amount they managed to catch, and together they trek back to Remire. Torches have been lightened up to guide the way in the approaching dark, and they navigate through the trails of beaten earth towards a house placed in the very back of the village, passing by crops of pumpkins and other vegetables that they are cultivating in preparation for the coming winter.
Byleth pushes open the door with her hip and strides into their modest home, setting the fishing supplies in the corner where they belong. Ashe’s younger siblings lift their gazes away from their sewing to greet them, quickly turning their attention back to the needle and thread.
In the small kitchen area, Jeralt looks up from where he’s peeling potatoes and carrots. A large pot is simmering on the wood stove. “Good, you’re back.”
Ashe walks over to him to deposit the basket of fish on the counter, and Jeralt hums. “These will make enough stew to last a few days.”
“Ashe is much better at fishing now than he used to be.” Byleth reaches up to ruffle his hair again. There was a time when he was much shorter than her, when hooking bait was hard and he could barely hold up a sword. “Why don’t you go wash up while we prepare dinner?”
Normally, he would insist on helping with the food while she bathed, but he’s worked for so long today on the forge of the family’s blacksmith shop that he is feeling a little too itchy, so he accepts. In the small bathroom, he finds that Jeralt has already filled the tub with hot water, lukewarm from the bath his siblings took earlier.
They owe a lot to the Eisners, who kindly took them in after their parents passed away from an illness. They were given clothes and food and a roof over their heads, and were taught over the years how to provide for and defend themselves.
Both father and daughter are great fighters, though Ashe has no talent when it comes to wielding a sword. Byleth has taught him how to use a bow regardless, which comes in handy when Ashe needs to hunt pheasants and other animals for their meals or village festivals, and he much prefers the lance lessons Jeralt gives every few days.
Once done with his bath, Ashe dries himself and dresses in his nightclothes, exiting the bathroom to find that the stew is almost done. Alec is setting the table, and Alice is stirring the pot over the fire while Byleth slices a loaf of freshly baked bread given to them by their kind neighbor, an elderly lady that used to sneak them candies when kids. Jeralt emerges from the backroom to carry the pot over to the table, and they all take their places around the table for another meal.
After cleaning up the kitchen and making sure that his siblings are settled in for the night, Byleth approaches him with a cup of chamomile tea and tries to comb his wild, damp hair into a tamed state, an old habit of hers that has carried on over the years. It’s no use; the shorter strands will settle down during the night and look presentable come morning, flattened down and softened.
She clicks her tongue with a shake of her head. “If you sleep now, time will pass by faster.” Stretching, Byleth yawns and walks to the door of the room he shares with his siblings, waving at them lazily. “Good night.”
A quiet chorus is her answer, and the room is engulfed in darkness when she closes the door behind her back. As he’d predicted, sleeping tonight is nearly impossible.
Ashe can hardly stay still as they pack their saddlebags up in preparation for the journey. His hands are shaking with excitement as he slips dried jerky and non perishable foods into leather pouches for quick meals and snacks while on the road.
Across the table, Jeralt is inspecting the sword that is to be given to the Royal Family, flicking his thumb on its edge to test the sharpness. “Relax, kid. Fhirdiad isn’t going anywhere.”
“S-Sorry,” he ducks his head, cheeks burning in embarrassment, and Jeralt laughs heartily, his smile making him seem younger and friendlier.
“No need to be sorry, kid. Byleth was just as excited as you when she had to visit Fhirdiad for the first time on her own.” He frowns at the sword, thinking. “Maybe too excited.”
Ashe looks around the room to confirm they’re alone. His siblings are out gardening, and Byleth is checking on the horses to make sure they are ready for the trip. “She was? But she always looks so put together.”
“Oh yeah, she was. And she does.” He grumbles unintelligibly, probably about how Byleth has a better poker face than he does - than all of them do. She always wins every card game they try to play in the evenings, or when she goes out for some "recreational gambling" as she calls it. “I didn’t think a young woman like that would get excited at the prospect of a trip to the big city, but... Well, big cities are fantastic for folks like us who live in little villages in the country. Just stick to her side, yeah? Don’t go wandering off on your own.”
Ashe nods. “Yes, of course.”
“And make sure she takes no detours,” Jeralt instructs, sheathing the blade with a frown. “Damn girl always takes too long to come back home.”
That is true. The trip to and from Fhirdiad is a long one, but Byleth arrives in Remire way past the estimated time every year. Ashe supposes it’s because she took much from Jeralt, namely the drinking and gambling habits, for it isn’t uncommon for her to return with the coin pouch empty every time. But she always brings gifts, like books that can’t be found around here about knights and- other things , so he can’t find it in himself to be too bothered by her lateness.
A shout from outside reaches their ears, but they dismiss it as one of the village kids playing around. That is, until it gets louder and more frequent, urgent , and soon a commotion escalates outside in seconds.
Jeralt stands up with a grumble, leaving the sword on the table. “What is this about?” He opens the door, and though Ashe can’t see his face, he hears the curse that Jeralt speaks under his breath. “Damn bandits!”
“W-What?” Ashe is on his feet quickly, but Jeralt has already grabbed the nearest lance and left the house in a blur. Bandits? He rushes to the door to see it for himself, spotting many strangers trying to break into homes and scruffing with villagers to take their belongings.
For a minute, Ashe can only watch in terror as their little village is torn apart by thieves, fear gripping at his throat, the looming panic descending upon him at the very idea of losing yet another home. He stomps it down upon seeing a flash of blue amidst the commotion, Byleth taking on the bandits barehanded like the fighter that she is, and then grabs his hunting bow before joining the fray.
He’s not going to sit idly and watch as his home is torn apart. He couldn't do anything as a ten year old to help his parents fight a sickness, but as an adult he can do something for the village he calls home. He will defend Remire and its people, his family.
Ashe finds a secure place that’s high enough to overlook the village and takes aim, turning his arrow to a group of bandits that are stealing from a local shop. It cuts through the air and embeds itself in one’s shoulder, forcing the man to drop his weapon with a shout. Ashe fumbles to nock the next arrow, nearly dropping it twice; he’d never turned his weapon to a human before, and he didn’t think he’d ever do so while still in Remire Village, if ever. Biting his cheek, he sends it flying, piercing a woman in the thigh. He isn’t killing them, so it should be fine, right? He’s just protecting his home!
A piercing scream reaches his ears, his heart rate increasing at the familiar voice. In the distance, he sees a man as tall as he’s large, wild brown hair tied in a messy ponytail, carrying his two siblings away, one slung over each shoulder carelessly. “Alice! Alec!”
His shouts reach Byleth’s ears, who turns in the direction he’d been looking at and cuts her way through the commotion of violent bandits and panicked villagers. Ashe nearly falls in his haste to climb down from his perch, grabbing a discarded lance along the way to bat off anyone who tries to stop him from pursuing that man.
He’s not- he’s not going to lose what’s left of his family! He’s already lost his parents, he’s not going to lose his siblings, too! Ashe whacks a bandit in the face with the lance, disorienting them just enough to slip past and continue towards the path that leads into the forest. Jeralt calls his name, or at least Ashe thinks he does, already too far from the ruckus to hear anything past the buzzing in his ears and his own uncontrolled breathing.
Lungs burning, Ashe sprints through the woods, following the fresh footprints left on the soft, leaf covered ground. The sounds of the spring seem distant to him as he rushes right past it, eyes set on the distant form of Byleth still in hot pursuit of the man.
They're headed for a maze of hidden paths that cuts through the Oghma Mountains, he realizes. If they make it past the entrance before he catches up, Ashe will lose them for good. He forces his feet to push him forward faster, throat hurting from pushing his body past its limits, refusing to let his legs give out under his own weight until he finds all of his siblings.
The trees stop abruptly as he reaches the foot of the mountain, forest ground suddenly meeting with baren rocks. Ashe skids to a stop when he catches sight of the dropped items at the entrance of the path: a hairband that belongs to Alice and a large gold medallion Byleth carries around her neck. He is too late; going in alone will most likely lead to himself getting lost and greatly increase the distance between him and his siblings, but he does it anyway.
Ashe staggers into the path, fighting to catch his breath and using his lance for support, dragging his feet with every step and slowing down his pace when he finds the trail obstructed by a large black wall. Approaching it warily, his eyes sweep over the sigils in glowing purple for any signs of… anything. This wasn’t here before. They'd been to the mountains just last week to hunt for wild game; he'd remember if they came across any kind of magical barrier. Is this the work of the bandits? Do they have mages in their group?
Can he make it past it?
Ashe moves a little closer, slowly lifting a hand to touch the wall and gauge if it’s solid. It explodes upon contact and dissolves into a black shroud, shrill laughter filling his ears as he inhales the black smoke and falls to his knees, choking and fighting to get fresh air in his lungs. Something squeezes the back of his neck, hard, abruptly letting go when he's feeling faint and his sight is darkened around the edges. Ashe tries to lift himself up, but can't get his limbs to cooperate, his whole body screaming in pain as he writhes on the ground and claws at the earth for some kind of relief.
As soon as the pain started, it fades into warmth, leaving him loose limbed and exhausted on the dusty road of Oghma Mountains. Ashe blinks bleary eyes at the dark shadows approaching him, and then everything fades into darkness.
Ashe wakes up with a jolt an indefinite amount of time later, feeling like he was given a good shaking or jostled around like a ragdoll from how badly his body aches and his head swims, disoriented.
Slowly, he picks himself up from the cold, hard stone floor, looking at his surroundings in hopes of figuring out where he is. A dungeon, by the looks of it. Not that Ashe knows what one looks like, but he’s read about them plenty to have a general idea: metal bars, stone walls, chains, and damp, dimly lit corridors.
Something is heavy is closed around his wrist. Ashe looks down and sees- a paw?
Yelping, he tries to get away, fearing that the animal in the cell will try to attack him. He tumbles more than he jumps away, though, his weight oddly distributed and making it difficult to maintain his balance. It’s only after more tries, when something tugs on his wrist and keeps him from going too far from the center of the cell, that he notices that this paw is, somehow, his own.
As he’s staring at it in immense confusion, a low chuckle draws his attention to one of the darkened corners of the cell. A short figure stands there, smaller than a child, with pointed ears and long, thin arms. Its body is colored in shades of grey and marked with the same sigils he’d seen on that strange wall when Ashe still was in familiar territory. Cat-like eyes gleam lavender in the dim light provided by torches down the hall, and purple hair of the same shade is tied in a messy, choppy ponytail. Ashe instinctively recoils away from it.
“Look at you,” it muses in an impish voice, “all scared already. Does the dark frighten you?” Ashe makes to reply, but all that leaves him is a noise much too similar to a growl. Just what is going on with him? When and how did this happen? “Oh, are you sure you should be growling at me? I’m the only one who can get you out of here, you know.”
Ashe lowers his head, hyper aware of the snout in his face. Is this some curse? Had he been transformed by the mages?
“That’s much better.” The creature hums, landing in front of him where Ashe can see it better. He’s never seen anything like it before. Is it some sort of animal from another nation? Dagda or Almyra perhaps? “I’d rather it’d be your friend here, but you’ll have to do.” Friend? Does it mean Byleth? Does it know where she and his siblings are? “Hold still.”
The little creature recites words under its breath and gathers energy in its fingertips, zapping a magic spell towards the chain keeping Ashe bound to the middle of the cell. The metal splits clean in half, and he jumps away in surprise, what’s left of the shackle around his paw rattling loudly in the room.
With a laugh, the creature jumps backwards, passing through the metal bars like it’s nothing more than a shadow. “I bet you’re wondering, where exactly are we? Where are my friends? Well, let’s make a deal, little guy. If you can get out of there, maybe I’ll tell you what I know.”
Ashe struggles to stand, unused to this new form his body has taken, and looks around for an alternate exit. A couple of crates in the corner hide a patch of uncovered dirt, and he uses his newly given paws to dig his way to the other side of the cell. Shaking his body to get rid of the dirt clinging to him, he finds the imp nowhere in sight. Did it leave?
It drops on his back with a laugh and no previous warning, scaring him so badly that Ashe jumps around as instinct kicks in to shake it off. The creature holds tight to his fur, still cackling. “You’re not completely stupid and helpless, after all. Maybe you can be useful.”
Ashe wants to argue. He’s not stupid and helpless; he provided for his siblings the best way he could until they were found, he’s helped around the village and the Eisners’ blacksmith shop for years, he can tackle goats when they escape from their pens if needed. Maybe he’s not strong the same way Jeralt and Byleth are, but he’s fast and smart and resourceful - but he can’t say any of that in return, and he doesn't know what he can do to help like this.
“Listen, I like you.” The creature goes on, lounging lazily on his back. “So I’ll get you out of here.” Then, it tugs sharply on Ashe’s ear, making his lips pull back in pain. “But you’ll have to do exactly as I say.”
Ashe agrees, if only because he doesn’t have much choice. He was taught not to trust strangers, but he will have to place his trust on this weird creature that claims to know where they are. Maybe Ashe can stay until they’re out of wherever this is, and then he can make a run for it. But then what? How does he get his body back? Does it know how?
So he ventures through the dungeon, paddling his way through the sewers and jumping onto precarious broken staircases until he finds an exit to the roof. The winds are harsh and the sky is overcast, but he manages to navigate his way to the tower pointed out by the imp, slipping inside through a window and landing on the staircase. As instructed, Ashe goes up, nudging his snout between the ajar doors to open them further and allow him passage until they reach their destination.
It’s a simple bedroom, but still larger than anything he’s seen in Remire. Flames burn in the hearth and cast a glow in the otherwise dark room, illuminating a canopy bed, a small sitting area, and a hooded figure standing by the windows. Ashe takes an instinctive step back, but the stranger has already noticed their presence.
“...Yuri?” The figure asks, deep voice reverberating in the room, the dark cloak doing nothing to hide their broad shoulders.
“Aw, you remember my name? What an honor for me.” The creature - Yuri - replies, tone dripping with sarcasm.
The new stranger ignores the tone, used looking down at Ashe instead. “So this is the one you were searching for.”
“He’s really not,” Yuri drawls, reaching a small hand over to pat Ashe on the head like an obedient pet. “I had my eyes on his friend, but she was whisked away, and he conveniently withstood the curse, so... I guess he’ll be enough.”
The stranger lowers down to a crouch to be at eye level with Ashe, but their gaze isn’t on his face. “You were imprisoned?” A pause, one that's heavy with guilt, somehow. “I am sorry. This would never have happened if...”
“The poor thing has no idea where he is or what’s going on,” Yuri continues, either unaware of the stranger’s mood or not caring for it. It’s probably the latter. “Why don’t you tell him just what you managed to do, Abyssian Prince?”
Abyssian Prince? Ashe watches the stranger lower their head, strands of gold hair catching briefly in the light provided by the flames. “This was once the land of Faerghus, but that holy kingdom has been transformed by the queen that rules the darkness. It has been turned into a world of shadows, ruled by creatures who shun the light...”
The stranger, none other than King Dimitri Alexandre Blayddid himself, the very man Ashe was supposed to meet with Byleth, relays the events of the invasion, of being in the throne room of the royal castle when a black shroud filled the room like a sudden gust of wind, bringing with it creatures never seen before. He and his men fought against them as much as they could, but most were felled by the fowl beasts.
It was only when he’d found himself surrounded that a woman strode into the room, long strawberry blonde hair falling over her shoulders and a circlet on her head. She smiled derisively and made a proposal with an air of nonchalance that had made his stomach turn cold while rage burned in his chest: surrender or die, a question for all the land and people of Faerghus.
Between life and death for all his people, he’d chosen to surrender, allowing the darkness to descend upon the land. The woman took control of the kingdom and locked him in the tower, and now he’s biding his time and plotting his revenge.
Standing to his full height, the king lowers the hood of his cloak, revealing a handsome face, blue eyes and shoulder length blonde hair. Just like Ashe had read in books, the king stands tall and with perfect posture, though the expression on his face isn't kind and benevolent. It's grim and serious , angry around the edges.
“Don’t look so sad,” Yuri says, and Ashe barely registers his voice, too stunned as he is looking at the king . “You’ll get used to it. Living in the shadows isn’t all that bad, you know.”
“This is no time for levity, Yuri.” Dimitri reprimands, and Yuri lifts off from Ashe’s back to float above them, unperturbed by the king’s barely concealed ire. “These... These demonic beasts are searching high and low for you! Why is that?”
“You tell me,” he replies with a dismissive shrug, and Dimitri shuts his eyes at the imp’s indifference, turning around to face the windows again.
There’s no time left to say anything anymore, for soon they hear the sounds of the guards approaching the king’s chambers and they are forced to leave before they can be found.
Outside on the castle roof, Yuri floats ahead, reclined in the air and looking at Ashe with eyes that gleam with humor as though he's seeing something funny. “I take it you know where we are, yes?” His smile holds no sincerity in it; it doesn't reach his eyes. “A promise is a promise, so I guess I could take you back to where you first stumbled into this darkness... But are you sure you want to go? Aren’t you forgetting... Anyone special?”
How could he? Ashe can’t stop thinking about how terrified his siblings must be. And what of Byleth? Is she still with them? Is she safe?
“If you want, I could help you, but we’ll have to keep our little deal.” Yuri proposes, his smile turning a tad sharper. “What do you say? Want to think about it?”
Ashe doesn’t know how Yuri did it, but next thing he knows, he’s standing by the spring in the woods near Remire Village. The water is cool on his paws, and he lowers his head down to try and have a drink, recoiling when he catches a glimpse of himself. The same green eyes he’s seen in mirrors all these years stare back at him, only this time they’re in the body of a wolf. Grey, small, lithe. Ashe tries not to look at his reflection as he drinks.
He figured it would be hard to go back to his normal body, and yet he had hoped that as soon as he was back to his little village, he’d be human again, his family would be here and it all would have been just a bad dream.
Wishful thinking, really.
As the sun begins to set again, he starts trekking back to the village to see how it’s fairing in the aftermath of the raiding. Fences are broken and crops are stomped over, which means less food to stock for the coming winter. Some of the houses had their windows shattered by stones, and even the grass doesn’t look as bright and fresh anymore, trampled over from the commotions n.
He creeps along the shadows to take a closer look, halting when he spots Jeralt emerging from his home. His torso and head are bandaged, and he walks with a noticeable limp, but that doesn’t stop him from slowly, but steadily making his way to the path Ashe had followed to pursue his siblings and the bandit. He backtracks as Jeralt comes closer, darting into the woods as fast as his new legs can take him, only stopping when he reaches the spring.
Dejected, Ashe sits half hidden in the bushes, laying his head on his front legs. Yuri has been quiet since they left the castle, and Ashe’s starting to feel a little lonely, a little hopeless, and too lost. His siblings are missing, the village is in poor condition, and Jeralt has been injured. The dismayed noise he makes sounds like a whine to his ears and not the sob as it was intended, so he curls into himself for comfort.
“Do not cry.” Ashe whips his head up to search for the delicate voice. The waters in the spring shimmer, and he rises to his paws to cautiously approach it.
The vague shape of a body begins to form, rising from the water like a magic spell, solidifying into the shape of a young girl with pointed ears and hair tightly curled over her shoulders. Ashe can only watch in amazement as she opens green eyes and gives him a benevolent smile. In all the years he’s been here, he’s never seen her or anything like this before.
“I am one of the Four Saints that protect the land at the behest of the Goddess,” she introduces, offering him a bow of her head. “I am Cethleann.”
The Four Saints. Ashe’s heard stories about them before, but he’d thought they were just that: stories, legends told by the church, beings one would never get to meet. To think there is one who resides just a short distance away from Remire, living right under their noses all these years...
“The entire kingdom has been subdued by the darkness,” Saint Cethleann continues, her expression crestfallen. “If it is not stopped, it is only a matter of time until the whole world will succumb to the power of those who live in the shadows. Young man, I feel a strong power inside you. You have resisted the shadows, you are the one who can save this land.”
She extends her hand, the long sleeve of her dress swaying as she gestures at the woods surrounding her spring. “My current powers are not enough to revert you to your original form, for I am still healing myself, but the Saint residing in Lake Teutates can aid you.
"I believe in you." Giving him another smile, she adds, “may Goddess Sothis smile upon you,” and bursts into droplets of water, raining down on the spring like a light summer shower.
Ashe stumbles back, sitting down with a heavy thump on the mossy bank of the spring. Him? Save the land? True he’s always wanted to be a knight, a hero, but he’s no extraordinary fighter, he-
Yuri makes himself known right then, appearing from the ground as if he’s just split himself from Ashe’s own shadow, floating in front of his snout. “That was weird,” he comments lightly, looking at the now regular water of the spring, the same as it's always been. “Who would’ve thought one of the Saints would be here?”
With a shrug, he turns back to Ashe. “So, are you doing what she said? Are you going to try to save this land? You might find your friends along the way, you know”
Ashe closes his eyes and shakes his head to clear his thoughts. He knows that, and he also knows Yuri is bringing up his family to get Ashe to tag along and do his bidding. Ashe doesn't think he's suited for this, but what other choice does he have? Byleth is gone, the king himself is a captive in his own castle, Jeralt is injured, and one of the Saints just said he’s the one who can fix this- whatever this is. If not Ashe, then who else will dispel this darkness and rescue his family? Rescue the kingdom?
Yuri seems almost smug when Ashe picks himself up and trots over to the pathways that lead deeper into the woods, taking him far from Remire.
Lake Teutates is a good distance away from Remire, and it takes Ashe days to get there, his new legs propelling him forward faster than a human's. Along the way, he learns how to hunt in this new form to keep himself fed, and tries not to gag at the idea of eating uncooked meat. He would never do it in his human form.
Yuri travels on his back during the night and hides in his shadow during daylight hours, claiming that he feels more comfortable in the shade. Ashe can't say he understands that personally, nor does he know how Yuri can do things like that and merge himself with Ashe's shadow. What even is Yuri? Is he another magical being like the Saints?
After days of running, they finally make it to Lake Teutates one morning. It’s early enough that the air is chilly and foggy, so Yuri makes himself comfortable on Ashe’s back as the latter navigates through the area, creeping along the mist to avoid any possible danger. Ashe may not be able to see well in the fog, but he can hear sounds coming from within the dense mist, the distant chatter of a group of people, faint footsteps, and any other suspicious noises to steer away from.
At the end of a cobblestone path, they find a raised altar built in the middle of the lake, where a figure standing in its center, a long feather peaking from their helm.
“You have arrived,” they say, turning around to reveal an angular face and pinched brows. The frown eases some and the person offers them a slight upward curve of their lips. “I received word from Saint Cethleann that you would be coming. I am Saint Indech, the protector of this lake.”
With no means to reply, Ashe lowers his head in submission, waiting for the Saint to continue. He keeps his eyes downcast, but he’s aware that Indech is appraising him.
“She did not inform me of your- ah, companion, however,” Indech notes, folding his hands behind his back. “No matter. I can return you to your original form, but sadly I do not have the means to truly break the curse. I suppose defeating the Queen of Darkness will free you from it. Now then, you will have to prove me your worth if you wish to continue on your journey and be the savior this kingdom needs.”
Ashe swallows, nodding, and lifts his head again. His only sparring partners had been Byleth and occasionally Jeralt when they were teaching him how to wield weapons for self protection, and he’d never bested them. When facing off against his siblings, Ashe never went too hard on them as they were still learning. Unprepared is an understatement.
With a wave of Indech’s hand, the fog lifts on the raised altar, fire bursting to life on top of the four pillars at each corner of the area, the orange light illuminating the quiver of arrows and bow strapped to Indech’s back and gleaming off his helm.
Yuri moves away from Ashe when a black shroud forms around them, dissipating in a wisp of smoke to reveal Ashe back in his own body, dressed properly for combat in a long blue coat with leather armor over it, a bow in hand and quiver of arrows on his back. Indech nods and takes a few steps back, smiling at the panic that must be evident in Ashe’s eyes.
“Be at ease,” he hums. “I will not have you fight a Saint to prove your worth. There are more interesting means of testing your skills and resolve.” Ashe nods, feeling immensely relieved. “Lake Teutates has been overrun by bandits who are in search of my treasure. Take them out without being detected, and I shall give you my treasure and directions to follow to save the land.”
“Yes, sir.” Ashe offers him another bow and watches as Indech shimmers out of existence, the flames flickering out with him.
Yuri scoffs, floating just by Ashe’s shoulders. “Getting rid of those thieves should be easy for a Saint. He’s just making us do his dirty job.”
“Yuri!” Ashe reprimands, fearing that Indech might find offense in it. When nothing happens for the following minute, which drags by in a tense silence, he turns to approach one end of the altar, crouching down behind a pillar.
Two vague shapes of the thieves Indech mentioned are on top of a ledge, picking at something placed there. A chest, Ashe takes a guess, given that they are here for Saint Indech’s treasure.
“Do you think I have to incapacitate them? Or kill them?” He asks Yuri, pulling an arrow from the quiver and nocking it, closing an eye for better aim.
Yuri shrugs unhelpfully. “What’s the point of sparing them? They might just go create trouble somewhere else. Besides, if you want to save this land and your little friends, you will have to take a life at some point.”
He’s right, as much as Ashe hates to admit. He whispers a quiet apology and steadies his arm, holds his breath, and lets the arrow fly.
Ashe has never been as good as Byleth in the art of combat, her movements fluid and smooth like she was born to do it, but his aim has always been great. Better than hers and everyone’s in their little village, always striking true.
Now is no different; the arrow pierces the bandit in the neck, same as many others have pierced deers and rabbits in the woods near Remire. Too far away to actually hear it, Ashe can only imagine a gurgled sound as they crumple to the floor, clutching at their throat. He swallows, resisting the urge to lift a hand and touch his own neck.
Beside him, Yuri makes a surprised sound in lieu of a whistle. “So you do know one thing or two about combat. Impressive, little guy.”
Ashe’s always been proud of his skills with the bow and arrow, but now he’s not so sure how to feel about it.it. He’d never meant to take anyone’s life with it, even in his dreams to become a knight. Is it a skill worth having if it can be harmful?
As his hands become clammy, Ashe curls them tight around his weapon and moves along to the next target, trying to shove down the knot forming in his throat. He repeats Yuri’s words to himself, a bitter pill to swallow, and tries to convince himself he’s doing all of this for a good cause, for Faerghus, for King Dimitri, for his family. He's doing all of this to save them.
Move on the tip of his toes, breathe deep and slow; it's a lesson he learned through much trial and error, how to move quietly, how to take things without others noticing. The following thieves never see him coming until it's too late, realizing in the last second that they were caught off guard and it cost them their lives. Ashe can just barely see them through the fog, but it also means he doesn't see the signs of lives taken by his hands.
Throughout it all, Yuri keeps quiet, which Ashe is grateful for. He needs to concentrate to keep his steps quiet, to keep his breathing even, to keep his wits about himself. Each bandit that falls adds to the lump in his throat, one he can't swallow down. He tries to not pay attention to that, and to the cold feeling spreading in his chest and down his stomach, making it churn unpleasantly.
After another arrow cuts through the mist and hits its target, he sucks a breath through his teeth, willing himself to keep whatever contents of his stomach inside himself.
He is successful in defeating all the bandits in the area after an hour or so of lurking through the fog, as there were more than he had expected. Once the last one falls, their bodies flicker out of existence like the small flame of a candle, and the fog lifts completely from the lake, revealing Indech standing at the top of the altar again.
He would like to believe the bandits were mere illusions, but the blood now visible on the stone says otherwise. Indech has merely disposed of the corpses with a magic spell, and later on will likely make the red stains disappear too.
The Saint gives his congratulations and gratitude, handing Ashe a glimmering silver bow, its shine so pure it appears holy. “You will need to improve your bowmanship before you can make use of this, I am afraid,” he warns, but Ashe takes it with a small thank you anyway, accepting anything that will help him rescue his family. “It is powerful against the demonic beings you have been encountering.”
Indech points him in the direction of the Sreng Desert where he will go through a similar trial laid by Saint Macuil, and afterwards will receive another item to help him in the quest to save the land if he is successful. He advises Ashe to keep practicing and growing, for the Queen of Darkness will be no easy feat to bring down, sacred weapons at his disposal or not.
“I wish you good fortune on your journey,” Saint Indech says, dipping his head in a cordial nod. “May Goddess Sothis smile upon you.”
With the Saint gone, Ashe and Yuri take their leave, climbing down the steps and returning to the grassy banks of the shore. The fog may have lifted, but the sky is still heavily overcast and grey, a dull kind of day that goes hand in hand with the numbness Ashe feels inside.
“Well, that wasn’t so hard,” Yuri says, observing as Ashe kneels down by the water and tugs off his new gloves, dropping them on the ground. “He even let you keep the other bow you used.”
Ashe doesn’t say anything, only reaches into the water to scrub his hands clean, even if they’re already spotless. His throat feels tight and his eyes are burning, but he keeps himself in check just enough not to cry. Yuri, too, stays silent.
The Sreng Desert is far up north and travelling on foot would take them far too long, even if he were in his new wolf form... Hence why Yuri brings up an idea.
“Absolutely not.” Ashe immediately shoots it down, glaring at the imp who only offers him an innocent shrug that’s anything but.
“You can either steal the horse or take a whole month to get there,” he reasons, crossing one leg over the other. “It’s your call, country boy. I’m just saying, I don’t think your friends can wait that long and the owner seems rich. They won’t miss it, I’m sure.”
Ashe clenches his hands, nails biting into his palms. He hates how Yuri always seems to be right, even when his ideas are less than honorable. And he brings them up with such indifference, like stealing isn’t anything wrong.
He’d sworn he wouldn’t do that again when they were taken in by the Eisners. Ashe swore he’d leave his past as a thief behind and work to earn his money honestly.
But Yuri has a point; his family can’t wait. Faerghus can’t wait. King Dimitri can’t wait.
Ashe hides behind an overgrown bush, observing a horse nibbling at the tall grass inside a fenced ranch. The owner doesn’t seem to be in sight. He gives Yuri a long suffering glance, to which he gets a grin in response, and sighs before darting towards the horse.
Sreng is exactly as Ashe had expected a desert to be: sand as far as the eye can see, scorching hot sun, and hot winds that seem to burn his face.
From his shadow, Yuri has been complaining for the past hour about the heat. At least he’s hidden somewhere, Ashe thinks bitterly, while he has to trek with his feet sinking into the soft sand and making the whole trip twice as long and exhausting. His only means to cool down is the hair tie he forgot around his wrist from the last time he worked at the forge, which he uses to tie his sweaty hair up as best as he can.
Ashe didn’t dare bring the horse here, leaving it behind on a grassy hill where the weather was mild and a body of water was close by. He’s nearly running out of water himself, and he can only hope that he will come across a small lake or puddle soon.
“Look.” Yuri emerges from his shadow to point ahead. A bundle of dark fabric ruffles and whips about in the dry wind, part of the shape buried under the granules of sand.
Ashe approaches with caution, bow now in hand in case this turns out to be an ambush. The mere notion that someone would try to ambush a traveller in the desert is ridiculous, for very few people, if any, would wander here on the daily for no reason, but ever since the Queen rose to power, the number of bandit attacks has increased greatly. One can never be too cautious or prepared.
Coming to a stop a few feet away from the indiscernible shape, Ashe lowers his weapon, staring silently at it. A body, a corpse .
“This doesn’t bode well,” Yuri comments, lifting a brow.
Ashe looks around, but finds no trace of anyone nearby. This isn’t an ambush. Perhaps this person died of thirst or because of the heat? Ashe voices as such.
“Whatever it was, we should stay vigilant,” Yuri reasons, nodding at the weapon strapped to the person's back. “Take that sword.”
“I’m not really great with swords,” Ashe admits, and Yuri sneers.
“We don’t have time to be picky. Take the damn sword. It’s best if you have a close range combat weapon in case something does go south.”
Ashe does as told, offering the body a quiet prayer before unlatching the leather strap and taking the sword for himself. It’s heavier than the training swords Byleth taught him with, but he’ll adapt to it soon enough, he hopes.
They continue moving for ten more minutes until they encounter another altar like the one in Lake Teutates, a pillar in each corner with flames burning bright even in broad daylight. A figure dressed in long dark robes stands there, their back turned to them. The tips of pointed ears are just barely visible, long green hair falling along the line of their spine in a tight braid.
“How can they stand to be dressed like that in this place?” Yuri groans from where he’s partially hidden in Ashe’s shadow, and Ashe agrees with the sentiment; he'd love to be taking a dip in a lake right now. “Do you think that’s Saint Macuil?”
Only one way to find out, Ashe reasons, gathering some more energy to cross the last stretch of sand as quickly as he can. “Excuse me?”
In the middle of the altar, the figure stiffens and slowly turns to face them. Unlike Indech, his serious expression doesn’t break into a slight smile, instead maintaining the deep frown that mars his forehead. The sun, high in the sky as it is, casts long shadows on his angular face. “That fool Indech should know better by now than to send humans my way. You are not even the Hero Chosen by the Goddess.”
Ashe doesn’t know what he could say in his defense, so he simply lowers himself to one knee and bows his head. Like a knight , he thinks; it should be enough to show respect in the presence of a Saint. “Sir, if you would-”
“I know what you want,” he cuts in, voice grave and deep. “Indech warned me. Personally, I could not care less about the fate of that little kingdom of humans, but I-”
Macuil stops, inhaling deeply when the wind changes directions, carrying Ashe’s scent towards him. His eyes narrow further, mere green slits shrouded in darkness, and his lips pull back to show abnormally sharp teeth as he roars, “you dare bring an Agarthan here!”
Ashe scrambles to his feet, wide eyed, and Yuri lets out a small, “oh no” from where he's still hidden.
“After all you have done,” Macuil continues, gripping his head with hands that hadn’t been clawed a moment ago. “You dare show your face to me!”
“What are you talking about?” Ashe yells, but Macuil isn’t listening anymore, contorting and writhing as feathers start growing along his arms, peeking from under the long sleeves of his robes.
Yuri shoots out of his hiding place behind Ashe, shouting, “get ready for combat! Defeat him before he completes the transformation!”
He has to fight a Saint? Ashe hesitates, paralysed under the loathing glare Macuil is giving him. He can’t just fight a Saint! They’re the Children of the Goddess, protectors of the land, and much stronger than any human! Fighting a Saint in his current state would mean certain death. Ashe doubts that even Jeralt or Byleth would be successful, and he hasn’t improved enough to fight against sacred power over the span of the last weeks.
“If you’re going to die anyway,” Yuri is already gathering purple magic in his hands, “you might as well go down with all you’ve got!”
Swallowing, Ashe pulls the stolen sword from the scabbard, its weight foreign in his hands. He dashes forward before he can think and stop himself from going along with this madness, running towards Macuil's hunched form. Yuri follows along closely, small hands shining with his magic spell.
"It will take a while for his transformation to complete." Yuri sounds like a natural born leader: confident, strong, smart, level headed even when faced with great danger. Nothing like the little imp full of sass and scorn; how so much sarcasm can fit in that tiny body is beyond him. When he sounds like this, Ashe could almost follow any order blindly. "Focus on close range attacks for now. We have to weaken him as much as we can! I'll back you up!"
Clenching his fingers around the hilt of the sword, Ashe recalls Byleth's lessons on swordsmanship. Imagine the sword is an extension of your body, a limb; swing with your whole arm, not the wrist. Don't bend your elbows too much, keep your abdominal muscles tight, move and tilt your hips with each swing. He can almost hear her voice, can almost see her standing in the patch of grass behind their house after a long day of forging weapons for another training session.
Macuil doesn't attack back, for now. He mostly blocks with his hands, his nails now grown like claws, if not talons. Feathers grow along his cheekbones and temples, and spread down his neck. He looks up at them with hatred in his slitted eyes, and it takes so much to not drop down his sword and apologize.
Yuri always seems to know when Ashe is having second thoughts; he hits Macuil with one of his spells, which snaps Ashe back to their goal with the sizzling sound of his magic.
They haven't done enough damage to weaken him, but it's enough to slow him down some. Macuil's skin is tough to break, and it takes more than one slash of the sword to break it and get blood oozing out. He doesn't hiss or make any pained sound throughout their combined effort, only continues to sneer at Yuri and follow him around with his gaze.
When the back of his robes are torn apart by a pair of wings that sprout out, spanned so wide it makes fear pool in Ashe’s stomach, they pull back and regroup to decide on the next step.
"Take your bow out," Yuri says in between gasps for breath. Ashe isn't faring much better, already tired out after what felt like too long but must have been actually too little time. "It should be more effective against him. At the very least, it will keep him from flying."
Ashe swaps his weapons, taking out the simple wooden bow he was given. The glimmer of Indech's silver bow is tantalizing, but as good as Ashe is with the bow and arrow, he's still not good enough for this one just yet.
No matter, he can work with what he has available. It takes only a few seconds to nock the arrow, and even less to send it flying, piercing the still naked skin of a wing. For the first time, Macuil grunts in pain, slowly straightening up where he stands in the altar.
"Hit the other wing next." Yuri is close enough when he says that that it is only audible to the two of them. "He's tracking my movements. I'll distract him and you keep doing your thing. With your aim, this shouldn't take long."
Normally, it really wouldn't; Ashe isn't sure he's good enough for this, but if Yuri believes he can do it, then he will do his best to reach those expectations. Ashe sends two more arrows flying, both hitting their marks, and moves in the opposite direction when Macuil strides forward.
"Stalks" is a more appropriate word for his movements. He moves slowly but with intent, casting magic with broad strokes of his clawed hands. Now, he barely spares Ashe a look, only rarely trying to swat him away, but thankfully Ashe is fast enough to run away from his reach and duck for cover.
And so is Yuri, though given the amount of strikes and spells sent his way, he's bound to grow exhausted soon.
They really don't have time to waste, as every second is precious when they're ill equipped to fight a divine being. There's no solid plan, no foolproof strategy; just the hope that Ashe has enough arrows to send flying and that they will be enough to bring Macuil to a stop.
Macuil is larger now, transformed into something between a human and a beast, his long robes swallowed by brown feathers and his face slowly becoming more animalistic. His voice is distorted, far more savage and angrier than it'd been when they'd just met, when his contempt for the human race was more noticeable than his hatred for those he calls Agarthans.
Even through the leather of his gloves, Ashe's fingers hurt from pulling at the string of the bow. Sweat drips down his brow, plasters his clothes to his back and chest, sticks his hair to his face. His throat is parched, his feet are overheating and hurting, his back and arm ache greatly. The arrows are running out. Yuri is growing slower, his magic weaker, the pinch between his brows a tad more desperate. He's said to give their all even if they could die, but they've come too far to lose now.
Finally, the last arrow pierces a near fully-transformed Macuil. Ashe falls to his knees, gasping for breath, bow and sword forgotten on the rough stone ground. Beside him, Yuri flops down as well, utterly spent and drained of magic, chest heaving and struggling to fill with air.
They did it. Ashe doesn't know how, but they did it. They won.
Byleth and Jeralt, he thinks, would be proud.
When Ashe lifts his head again, Macuil, back in his human form, is picking himself up from the ground, his robes intact and hair perfectly braided. He brushes a hand over the front of his outfit to smooth out the wrinkles, strangely calm after trying to kill them on the spot.
“I can recognize when I have been bested,” he says at last, hiding his hands in the large sleeves of his robes. “I was defeated by someone who was not tasked with carrying out the will of the Goddess, and one who carries the blood of the Agarthans.” Macuil glares at Yuri as he says that, and the imp remains quiet. Good. Ashe doesn’t think he could face Macuil in battle again so soon, if ever again. “Perhaps I should not have underestimated you, boy.”
Still winded, Ashe can only nod his head at the recognition he was given. “T-Thank you.”
Macuil scoffs and waves a hand at the space between them with a quiet chant. Two new items slowly materialize in front of Ashe and Yuri. One is a sword that gleams silver just like the bow Indech had given him, and the other vaguely resembles a pair of gauntlets, though much bigger, sharper and deadlier. Ashe winces as he takes in the three spikes protruding at the front, imagining what it must be like to be punched in the gut with these. Certain death, without a shadow of a doubt.
He doesn’t miss how Yuri’s eyes widen for just a fraction of a second at the sight of them.
“You will need these.” Macuil sounds bored, or maybe he’s just tired of having them in his home. “That witch will not be brought down so easily.”
“Thank you, sir.” Ashe pulls the weapons closer to his body, and Yuri immediately flits near to inspect them.
Macuil turns around and faces the vast expanse of the desert. “Saint Cichol is waiting for you in Rhodos Coast. And because you bested me, I will transport you out of this desert, boy. But never return here with that imp ever again.”
Warm magic surrounds them, and Ashe voices his thanks once more before the spell sends them away.
They're transported back to the grassy hill where Ashe had left their horse, which thankfully didn't run away, still nibbling at the tall grass in the area.
Ashe can’t really feel his arms. Or his legs. Everything blurs into exhaustion, both body and mind asking for rest. Yuri looks worse, so weary he can barely stay in the air, hovering just scant inches off the ground. They need rest, but they also need food and water to recover from the battle.
“Here.” He takes off his coat and bundles it up, setting it on the ground. “You can rest. I’ll get us something to eat.”
Yuri nods, head hanging heavy, and flops down on the coat with a groan. “I’m afraid I can’t help with the fire tonight. My magic is depleted.”
Ashe isn’t surprised by that, given how many spells he cast at Macuil. “How much can you do?”
“Like this? Not much.” Yuri sighs and pulls one of the sleeves to use it to cover himself with. “My magic reserve isn’t what it used to be; a single warping spell consumes most of it. Weaker spells can be done multiple times, but they aren’t as effective. Heh, you had to see me, little guy, the things I could do before I turned into this. ”
Ashe ponders on that while he tries to catch a couple of fish from the pond and builds a fire with some flint and twigs from around the area, letting Yuri doze off until their food is done. After cleaning the fish with a small dagger, Ashe spears them with some sticks he found lying around and places them near the fire to cook. He lacks some proper spices, but some herbs that he found growing under a tree will give the fish a touch of flavor.
“Yuri?” He asks later, after they’ve eaten and the pull of sleep is strong. Ashe can barely keep his eyes open, mind fuzzy with the need to sleep like a log until the next morning “What did he mean by that?”
“By what?” Yuri asks in return, and Ashe can’t help but frown at the imp, still lying on Ashe’s coat. He hates it how Yuri plays dumb, always when he is concerned.
“When he called you an Agarthan,” Ashe clarifies anyway and lies in silence waiting for an answer. His eyesight goes blurry, the stars above a smudge in the dark of the sky. He closes his eyes with a sigh, ready to succumb to sleep.
Quietly, Yuri hums, disinterested. “Beats me.”
They’re returning from Sreng when they pass by Fhirdiad, and Ashe stops and stares at the castle for two full minutes. It’s bigger than he’d imagined, blue banners with the crest of the Royal Family stitched with silver thread, a knight riding atop griffin, swaying in the breeze.
In the time since the Queen of Darkness rose to power, smaller cities and villages have already been run over by poverty with thieves easily spotted everywhere and children looking for scraps in back alleys. Faerghus had never been a rich country, but this shift in power has hit the population as hard as difficult winters punctuated by poor harvests. It brings back memories of tougher times, and all Ashe wants to do is give what little money he has on him to the children he runs into.
Fhirdiad doesn't seem to have been hit as strongly, perhaps because it is close to the castle the Queen is occupying, though there are still people in the streets begging for money or food. Ashe wonders how long it will take until the whole kingdom collapses.
“It’s best we go,” Yuri suggests. He hasn’t shown himself, still one with Ashe’s shadow. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can help these people get out of this mess. Not that I care about the stuffy nobles, but the commoners are always the first to take the hit.”
He’s right. Ashe takes steps back, turning to leave, but stops when he catches a flash of blue hair in the crowd. “Byleth...?”
Craning his neck, he tries to find her again to no avail.