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“Great job everyone! Our missions were successful with only some minor injuries,” said the Summoner. The Summoner and several Heroes gathered at the entrance of Valhn Castle, having recently returned from a few missions.
“Those who were injured, please head to the infirmary to ensure all your wounds are taken care of. Everyone else, enjoy the rest of the day! I’ll be in my office if you need me.” And with that, the Summoner disappeared into the castle.
Morgan scanned the courtyard around him. It hadn’t been long since he was summoned, and many things were still unfamiliar to him. In his world, the World of Awakening the Summoner called it, despair surrounded everything. Grima had succeeded in possessing Robin and led Risen to claim the world. Unable to lose his mother, Morgan wrapped himself in darkness and served as a faithful servant to Grima.
In Zenith, light prevailed. The dead did not roam the lands and people lived happily and freely. Although some avoided him, mostly others from the World of Awakening, the Summoner had welcomed Morgan with open arms. But, no matter what contract binds him to the Summoner, Morgan’s allegiance lies with Grima, his Master Grima.
A few days after he was summoned, Lucina from a different World of Awakening had approached him. She at first wanted to “stop” him from some plan she thought he had. Such a thing didn’t exist, at least not yet. Then she came and spouted nonsense about changing their fate. Prevent the inevitable war. Did she understand what she was asking? There was only one way they would not fight, and that choice was impossible. To not fight would be to betray Master Grima, to betray his mother.
His mother had been summoned here too. She was summoned far earlier than he had and become more powerful as well.
But she was different than he remembered. Not just stronger but different. When Morgan met her, she had forgotten him. The Summoner told him Grima had lost most of her memories when she was summoned and very few had returned. They wondered if seeing him again would help but nothing changed. She saw him as nothing more than another worm crawling beneath her. It was only because of the familiar darkness that she permitted him to be by her side.
Watching her since his arrival, Morgan saw his Master Grima and at the same time, didn’t. Grima was far from pleasant and never tried to be. She had no qualms disclosing her thoughts about those around her and by no means were they flattering. On many occasions Grima was seen having a battle of words with those from the World of Awakening, the Children of Naga in particular. Unless they were training, the Summoner forbade any fights between Heroes.
Yet, he had spotted her one night standing on a balcony, quietly gazing at the stars. Or watching her slip out of the kitchen between meals, sneaking back to her room while holding leftover desserts. Morgan had to do a double-take when he saw her gliding away from one of the Manakete who was chasing her. There was a playful smirk on her face and the child was laughing. The Master Grima he knew would never even consider such nonsense but here, she was almost… softer?
Brushing that thought from his mind, Morgan entered the castle. He had no time for useless thoughts. His only goal was to gain more power to further aid his Master, not question her actions.
“Mother!” A familiar voice, his voice, stopped Morgan in his tracks. A painfully familiar figure rushed past him into the courtyard. Morgan couldn’t stop himself from turning and watching another version of himself embracing Robin, his mother.
This other Morgan had been part of the recent mission but on a separate team than him. Morgan overheard something about, “my boi finally getting a refine!” from the Summoner. They never spoke, but to say seeing another version of himself wasn’t shocking would be a lie. Meeting him the first time was jarring. It was him. A younger him who never knew the darkness nor never would. This Morgan came from a world where Grima held no control over his mother; Robin had won.
Robin.
She was also younger than he remembered, but it had been many years since his mother had become Grima. Morgan had tried to avoid her since his arrival. He would duck into a different hallway, go to another training ground, or read in the dustier parts of the library. He couldn’t bear to look at her. He had also seen glimpses of his father walking around but it was much easier to avoid him. But for some reason, Morgan’s feet were stuck as he watched the mother-son duo.
It was the same kind smile, warm voice, and loving embrace that Morgan remembered in his younger years. Far different from the sadistic grin and oppressing aura he grew accustomed to. Any traces of the loving mother Morgan knew had vanished once Grima took control. But Morgan would never leave his mother. He would allow nothing to stop him from being by her side. Nothing.
An old memory appeared in Morgan’s mind, a time before Grima was on their doorstep. It had been buried after Master Grima took control but seeing his younger self had caused it to re-emerge.
~ } ⬪ { ~
Morgan paced nervously, unable to rest despite getting only a few hours of sleep. It was the middle of the night when a large number of Risen appeared, surrounding the camp. The initial panic was soon brought into control when Robin grasped the situation and set a plan into motion. After punching a hole in the ranks of the Risen, Morgan and a part of the army broke through to perform a pincer attack.
The kill zone was not well-prepared, and the army was able to break free of the ambush. But, the number of Risen didn’t decrease. While Risen possessed little tactical sense, this attack was not done on a whim. A river covered the right flank but the Risen relentlessly chased and a soldier saw more Risen approaching from the left. The soldiers and Shepherds were exhausted after the last few days and most got only a few hours of rest that night. The sustained battle would only create a less favourable situation for them. They had to get away fast. With the whole camp now awake and in motion, Robin sent Morgan and a part of the army with the supplies to the rendezvous point. Robin would remain behind with the rest of the troops to cover retreat.
That happened hours ago.
Morgan was able to reach the rendezvous point without encountering any other Risen. He and the Shepherds that came with him organized shifts for the rest of the night. Those who were awake were taking inventory of supplies while keeping an eye out for the rest of the army or any more Risen. The others tried to catch whatever rest they could as they waited for more news.
He was told to rest but Morgan’s mind would not. ‘They should have arrived by now, did something happen? What if more Risen appeared? What if they couldn’t get away in time? Did they encounter another ambush on their way over?’ Morgan couldn’t help but worry.
He sat down on his bedroll as he tried to calm himself, cradling his head in his hands. ‘No. Mother is a brilliant tactician. She wouldn’t allow herself to get caught off-guard again and would have made plans in advance. She must’ve taken a longer route to avoid the Risen. But how much of a detour did she take? The soldiers and horses would be exhausted by now and leave them vulnerable. Did they set up camp to rest? But we’ve received no word. Did they get attacked again? Are they in danger? What about Father, is he OK? He was really tired last night. Is he with Mother? Did something happen to them? Did I leave my parents to-?’
“THEY’RE HERE!”
Morgan shot up and sprinted towards the edge of the camp where people were gathering. He frantically searched the approaching soldiers, trying to pick his parents out from the crowd. Finally, Morgan spotted a familiar tactician’s coat, the wearer tired but alive.
“Mother!” Morgan cried. He broke through the crowd and leaped into his mother’s arms, the sound of her heart calming his pounding one.
“Morgan! Are you alright? Did you get hurt? Did you encounter anymore Risen?” Robin asked, pulling back to check Morgan over for any injuries.
“I’m fine, nothing more than a few scratches. But what about you, Mother? Are you OK? I didn’t see Father; did something happen to him? You guys took so long to get here. Were there more Risen? Was there another ambush?” Morgan's mind started to race again when he noticed new cuts on Robin’s coat. Some were as long as his hand. “Are you injured? Should I get a healer? Or should I take you to the med tent? Do-”
“Calm down, Morgan. Maribelle already healed anything serious, and the rest will heal in time. Your Father got hit by Risen mage and is already in the med tent,” Robin said, halting Morgan’s questions. Seeing his horrified look, Robin continued, “Your Father will be OK. Lissa already assured me that the wound should heal without any lasting damage. But he needs to remain in the med tent for a few days. Only a nasty scar should be left when he leaves.”
Shoulders sagged as the tension finally left Morgan’s body. His mother was alive and well and his father would be fine too. Exhaustion flooded him and he leaned on his mother, ignoring the dirt and dried blood. Robin chuckled as she wrapped her arms around him.
“You didn’t get any rest, did you?” She smiled. Morgan just buried his face into the folds of her coat, but Robin didn’t need a response to know. “Let’s get you to bed. We’ll be staying here for some time to rest and regroup so you should sleep.”
Morgan nodded and led Robin towards his tent where he slipped into his bedroll. The canvas of the tent did little to keep the morning light out, but Morgan could feel his eyes grow heavy. Robin tucked him in and turned to leave.
“Mother,” Morgan whispered, grabbing onto the edge of her coat.
“Yes, Morgan?” Robin kneeled beside him.
“I-I thought something bad happened. We didn’t hear anything from you and there were so many Risen. I was scared you left me, that you were gone.”
“My dear child,” Robin tousled his already messy hair, a fond smile on her face, “I’ll always be here for you. No matter how far I go.” She placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Now sleep, I’ll be here when you wake.”
The last thing Morgan saw as sleep overtook him was his mother’s smiling face, the light peeking through the tent making her eyes sparkle.
~ } ⬪ { ~
That was the last time Morgan allowed himself to leave her side. He would always ensure he stayed with his mother’s group should they split again. Morgan had thought those times would last forever. Learning tactics and playing strategy games with his mother was all he wanted to do. Yet when everything changed, when his world turned upside down, Morgan would give it all up again if it meant he could stay by his mother.
But it was almost displeasing watching the happy duo. They knew nothing of despair. Nothing of what could have become of their world. A crease appeared on Morgan’s brow.
“Morgan. Did I not tell you to come to me once you finished your mission? I do not take being ignored kindly.” A cold voice rings through the air and Morgan tenses. He spins around to see Grima behind him, displeasure clear on her face.
“My sincerest apologies, Master Grima. I did not mean to make you wait. I accept any punishment you see fit.” Morgan drops to a one-knee bow, keeping his head low to express his subservience.
With a scoff, Grima took her gaze off Morgan’s kneeling form to see what had caused him to be distracted. A strange tightness appeared in Grima’s chest as she saw Robin and Morgan smiling together. They were talking excitedly with each other and making gestures in the air as if they were drawing on some invisible board. She couldn’t tell what they were saying but she could only assume they were discussing the Summoner’s tactics from the recent mission.
Having seen the Summoner’s tactics on many occasions herself, Grima could call them intriguing if not a little unorthodox. Of course, none of the lowly worms that filled the castle could provide any interesting discussion. The other Grima was foolishly convinced he was the stronger of the two of them and she couldn’t be bothered to waste her time on him anymore. The Summoner had enforced that they couldn’t fight after a few of their battles nearly destroyed Valhn Castle. Only the Robins could possibly provide meaningful conversation. However, those irritating Children of Naga would prevent her from interacting with any of them.
Meeting Robin when she arrived was interesting. The Grima from her world was weak and had failed to become one with Robin and instead was destroyed by her. She went off and lived happily with her family, not knowing the power she gave up.
The boy beside her, Morgan, had caused an ache in her head whenever she saw him. She was told Morgan was her son, but he wasn’t her son. Compared to the Morgan before her, this Morgan was younger, friendly and a little silly. Despite Robin being summoned, Morgan would still try to talk to Grima whenever their paths crossed. It was as if he was trying to reach out to the vessel that Grima had possessed. Grima would laugh to herself whenever this would occur. Robin no longer existed nor did sentiments such as love. Feelings of love are worthless and weak. Grima did not need them.
When the older Morgan was summoned, that silly Summoner put him in front of her, watching expectantly. Grima would never tell anyone but the moment they left; a splitting headache tore through her mind. Memories of a young Morgan flooded her mind. Watching him devour one strategy text after another or his gleaming eyes as they poured over battle formations. He stuck to her side like glue and was eager to learn anything he could. He was so warm and happy and bright.
Grima tore her gaze from the scene in front of her and back to Morgan. His head was still bowed and his form still, not a single tremble or sign of fear. The signs of youth were fading from him as Morgan became less of a child and more of an adult. The naiveté and warmth were washed away by the same darkness that Morgan embraced. What remained of the bright child was covered by the dark.
Still, Grima couldn’t help but see the younger Morgan before her.
The same ebony hair with a little cowlick that would never flatten.
The same small freckle on the tip of the ear.
The same old tactician’s coat that was still meticulously taken care of and rarely removed.
The same drive to remain by her side.
Morgan freezes when he feels a warm hand on his head, tousling his hair slightly. However, the feeling was gone as quickly as it came. Morgan can’t help himself from looking up only to see Grima turned, a familiar black coat swaying gently in front of him.
“I shall forgive you this once, Morgan. Do not disobey me again.” Internally, Grima curses as she tries to ignore the tightness in her throat. Her time in Askr had made her soft. Such feelings would make her weak.
“Thank you, Master Grima. I will not allow this to happen a second time.” Morgan bows his head again, Grima’s words snapping him out of his stupor. The warmth in his chest was almost foreign. Was he… happy?
“Good. Now come, Morgan, there is still much to discuss. I wish to hear what the Summoner has been doing on the battlefield. As ridiculous as they can be, their tactics could prove useful when we return to our world.” Grima finally turns back towards Morgan, the one person who always remained with her.
“Yes, Master Grima.” Morgan rises and joins Grima’s side.
Together, they make their way to Grima’s room where a small stash of strategy books and maps lay waiting. Mother and son, side by side.
|⋄⇼⋄|
“Are you certain it’s a good idea to leave those two alone?” Alfonse asked, watching the pair walk away in the distance.
“Yup. Something just tells me that everything will be fine,” the Summoner smiled. “Besides, Grima has no plans to do anything to Morgan nor Askr, contract be damned. And,” the Summoner turned to the worried prince, “I think Grima needed someone by her side. Someone who wants nothing more but to be with them.”
“As you say, Summoner.”