Work Text:
Lucina was used to watching the sunset.
There was a sort of irony in the beauty of the future she came from. Despite the ruin it had slowly been falling into, the earth never failed to provide its little moments of reprieve— when one could forget, for a moment, where they were, and simply appreciate the moment. Something in the way the rain, so acidic and deadly in nature, looked so beautiful with light streaming through the falling droplets. The way one could wander deep into the heart of the woods late at night and hear the air come alive with the songs of crickets performing their symphony for all to hear could make you forget the suffering of the land.
…And the way the sky was always scarlet as the sun set, looking for all it was worth like the heavens splashed onto a painted canvas, despite the colors’ bleak origins. The sky had never been so colorful at dawn and dusk before everything.
The sunsets she’d seen since coming to the past had always seemed somewhat underwhelming in comparison to the dramatic yet muted colors she’d seen in her future; And yet, a part of her was relieved for that. Seeing beauty in the mundane was something she’d always taken to naturally, but she found that when she could add an aspect of “at least the world isn’t ending here” to it, she could spin any ordinary sight into an extraordinary one. (People often told her she was an optimist. Truth be told, Lucina wasn’t sure how much she believed that sentiment herself, but she took pride in it nonetheless.)
And it wasn’t that the sunsets in this time weren’t beautiful in their own right. No, they were beautiful in a different way— they lacked the sorrow, the melancholy trapped inside the clouds, instead giving way to something more peaceful. It felt like the world was closing its eyes. Lucina found the pale pinks and oranges to be calming in contrast to the enchanting allure of the harsh splash of crimson of her future past.
She was reminded of an old saying: Red sky at night, sailor’s delight; Red sky in morning, sailors take warning. It didn’t mean much to her, really. She’d never been on a ship herself until coming to the past— And boy, was that an experience. One particular night stood out to her due to its red sky as well. The irony of the exhilaration she felt seeing flames dance across the hazy black-blue of the sea was not lost on her, but how could she not be filled with admiration when it was all thanks to her own mother’s brilliant plan? But regardless, she’d found herself thinking of the saying whenever the sky was particularly vibrant.
Not that it mattered, though. The sky was red both in morning and evening in her future, and would never stop being. She wondered how sailors got around without that to rely on.
A silly thought. Any of the sailors left alive had surely sailed off to better seas long before then.
Nevertheless, she’d made something of a habit of watching the sunset nowadays. In times of peace, she found companionship in it, in a way. Sometimes she was joined by others, but tonight, she was alone. Muscle memory guided her steps as she made her way through the castle corridors, tracing paths she’d used to run through as she and her brother chased each other down the halls as children. The memories flitted like ghosts in her peripheral, gone when she turned her head to face them, melting back into the long shadows cast by the low warm light from outside.
“Heya, Cinnamon Stick.”
There were some shades of red, however, that she’d grown especially bitter towards.
Lucina came to a halt in the middle of the hall, not turning her head or body towards the sudden intrusion to her solitude. “Do you need something?” She said tensely, holding back a sigh.
“Was just wonderin’ where you were going,” Gaius said casually, stepping out of Lucina’s blindspot and casually leaning against a nearby wall.
“Nowhere in particular,” Lucina said, brushing him off. “I’m just stepping outside for a bit.”
“Mind if I join you?”
Yes.
“Do whatever you like,” Lucina mumbled, resuming her walk down the hall. “Just don’t bother me.”
Gaius fell into step beside her. Lucina ignored him.
“Gonna be honest, I’m kinda looking for some peace and quiet myself,” Gaius said.
Lucina couldn’t help but scoff. “You? Peace and quiet?”
“Well, yeah. Everybody needs it now and then.”
“I’ll believe it from you when I see it.”
Gaius snorted, as though she’d told a funny joke. Lucina didn’t think she was joking.
The air was cold out on the terrace. Though it was spring now, the last chill of winter was still clinging to the air.
But that wasn’t what caught Lucina’s attention.
Her heart dropped to her stomach as she came almost to a stumbling stop, her gaze fixed on the horizon.
The sky was red.
Gaius seemed to notice where her gaze was directed. “Damn. All those forest fires must be really taking their toll, huh?”
Right. There had been a lot of forest fires sparking all over Ylisse lately thanks to the frequent lightning storms they’d been having. Very few lives had been lost yet, though, or so she heard. The people were doing a good job of staying safe and evacuating when needed. Efforts to provide aid to those displaced by the fires were going strong.
It was nothing more than that.
A full-body shudder ran through Lucina as she stared up at the smoke-shrouded sun as it edged down toward the distant horizon.
Gaius eyed her. “You alright there?”
“…I’m fine,” Lucina bit out, her jaw clenched, unable to tear her eyes from the sky. “I… changed my mind. I think I’m going to retire early for the night, actually.”
Gaius raised a brow. “Really? It’s pretty early, even for you.”
“I’m not asking for your judgment, Gaius,” Lucina snapped, voice dripping with disdain as she emphasized his name.
Gaius raised his hands in surrender, studying her closely. “Hey, I’m not stopping you.”
He stood facing her, silhouetted against the scarlet of the sky. She couldn’t focus on his face.
She shook her head, turning around and starting back down the hall toward her room.
“‘Night!” Gaius called after her.
She couldn’t answer even if she wanted to. Her tongue was coated in lead, a pit of unease in her stomach.
Retiring early had just been a bluff, an excuse to get her away without explaining herself, but perhaps it was the right idea. Maybe some extra sleep would do her good.
She retraced the steps of her youth without thinking, and suddenly she found herself in front of her—no, little Lucina’s— room.
She stared blankly at the door. She swallowed, turned, and walked away.
By the time she made her way back to her own room (the new one she’d been allowed to stay in after the war, and the one she’d been officially given when she came home after her two years of absence), her mind felt strangely fuzzy. She felt distant from her body, every sensation muted and dull. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyelids and breathing in shakily.
“When all hope is lost, the future yet remains,” she whispered. Though Falchion was not at her side (instead leaning against the wall at the back of the room, currently), she found the words engraved around its center repeating like a mantra in her head at all times. She’d repeated it to herself so many times by now that she often did so unintentionally— it was little more than a self-soothing mechanism at this point.
She took a deep breath. This was stupid. This was a stupid thing to be freaking out over. It was just the sky. It wasn’t that big of a deal.
She dropped her hands from her face, pushing away from the door.
Maybe her worries would be gone in the morning.
The sky was red. Smoke billowed upwards in thick clouds, coating the air and rising up to nearly conceal the sky. Piercing through the haze was the fuzzy outline of the sun, dark crimson in color and unsettlingly not blinding in the slightest, so muted by thick layers of smoke that it was.
Flames licked at the edges of Lucina’s cape behind her. Her gasps for air resulted in little more than smoke filling her lungs as she ran. She flinched as a piece of a nearby house came crumbling down. Screams echoed out from all around, their sources hidden behind walls of flames and soot.
Lucina stumbled to a halt as a figure emerged from the blaze in front of her. They were covered head to toe in horrible burns, a sight that made Lucina sick to her stomach. The look of their face told her all she needed to know. A Risen— already dead, then. Unable to be saved. Too late, too late, too late.
The monster—human, they were human—reached a crooked arm out toward her. Despite herself, perhaps in a last desperate attempt to help someone, for once, she reached out and grasped the Risen’s hand.
Searing pain erupted through her arm. She let out a sharp cry, unable to flinch away.
The human that once was was now nothing more than a beast of raging fire. Little more than a pillar of flame and two searing golden eyes remained, and they burned into her with such intensity that Lucina felt she was being judged for something.
Lucina tried to wrench her hand away, but the beast’s grasp on her only tightened. Her clothes, skin, blood, bones, they were all on fire, her nerves alight like tiny sparks and her insides made of molten lava. The smoke was thick around her now. She could hardly move, hardly breathe, even as she was being burned alive.
Frantically, she turned her gaze to the sky. To her horror, what she had thought was the sun, painted red by the fire, was in fact a giant eye, staring down at her, watching her, studying her, analyzing her.
“Mother!” She gasped out, staring Grima dead in the eye as all else fell away around them. “Help! Please!”
Grima stared.
“Please,” Lucina begged. “Please, I—” She broke out coughing. “Please…”
Grima stared.
“Why won’t you do anything?!”
Grima stared.
Lucina doubled over, falling to her knees. She forced Falchion into the ground to keep her upright as she desperately heaved in air. Everything tasted of smoke and ash and guilt.
“I’m sorry,” Lucina wheezed. “I… tried. I tried to save them. I— did everything I could—”
Grima stared.
“I tried to save you,” Lucina sobbed.
Grima stared.
The great dragon was surrounded in a halo of brilliant red light, backlit by the scarlet sky. Flames danced at the corners of Lucina’s vision.
Her breath rattled in her chest. She wasn’t on fire anymore. The world was. Everything was. There was nothing more to be done. She had failed. She had failed. She had failed.
The ground cracked beneath her.
She fell into the flames.
Lucina’s eyes shot open and she jolted upright. She gasped for air, clinging to the fabric of her bed so hard her knuckles turned white.
Her gaze frantically flitted around the room. The sheets were red. The curtains were white. Falchion leaned against the wall in the corner. Everything was spinning.
She threw the blankets off herself and stood up in a daze. Her skin was on fire, her nerves screaming. She tried to take a deep breath, uncomfortably aware of how rapid her breathing was. She pressed a hand to the wall. She could barely feel it.
Outside. Outside. She had to get outside.
She made a beeline for Falchion’s scabbard and slung it around her shoulder. The tension in her chest eased only slightly.
She was out the door in an instant.
She raced down the halls, breath coming in short, quick gasps. Her throat burned, and she could taste the ghost of ash on her tongue.
She stumbled out the door and onto the terrace.
The sky was red. Vivid red, harsher and more vibrant than before. Like someone had spattered the heavens with blood.
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe. She stumbled backward, shaking her head mutely, eyes wide and panicked. No, no no no no no, this couldn’t be happening, she’d saved this world, they’d defeated Grima, this wasn’t supposed to happen, she—
“Lucina!”
She snapped her head toward the source of the voice. Gaius took a cautious step toward her, eyes wide with alarm.
“What’s going on? What happened?”
Lucina shook her head. “I—” she choked out, “You— the—” Her words died in her throat, her heart doing somersaults in her chest. No, no, couldn’t he see? There, there, it was right there. Had he not noticed that something had gone terribly wrong? That the world was falling to ruin again? They had to get out, had to escape, had to find the others—
Two hands fell on her shoulders. Gaius was saying something, but she could no longer make out the words over the blood roaring in her ears. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t get a word out between her desperate gasps for air. Was it the smoke? Had the fire already reached them?
She saw more than felt herself being guided inside and then downward to sit on the floor, leaning her back against the wall as the door to the terrace shut behind them.
She could taste the smoke and the ash in the air. It was coming. It was too dangerous to stay here, what were they doing—
She tried to stand up, but a sturdy hand gently pushed her back down.
Gaius was on his knees in front of her, gazing at her with an intensity in his expression.
“What—” Lucina managed to force out, the word hoarse and raspy in her throat.
“You need to breathe,” Gaius said.
“I can’t,” Lucina gasped.
“Yes, you can. You’re hyperventilating. You need to slow down. Just— take deep breaths, alright? Try to focus on what’s around you.”
Lucina stared at him for a moment before her gaze flicked around the room. They were in one of the castle’s halls, dimly lit now that the sun had gone down, only the peaceful orange light and growing shadows remaining. The castle was remarkably intact compared to the state she’d last seen it in back in her future.
She relinquished her white-knuckled grip on Falchion’s pommel that she hadn’t noticed she’d even had. She inhaled shakily, moving her left hand up to press the heel of her palm into her eye. She brought one knee to her chest and bent herself over it, squeezing her other eye shut.
“Good. That’s good,” came Gaius’s voice.
Lucina wasn’t sure how many minutes passed like that. Gradually, she felt breathing begin to come to her easier. The flames crawling across her skin were doused, the smoke in her lungs clearing.
She drew in a shuddering breath. She felt vaguely distant, like she was underwater, or perhaps floating in an endless void. Half-there, half-not.
She swallowed and inhaled again, forcing the breath back out after a few seconds with trembling force.
“How you doing?”
Lucina lifted her head from her knee, her hand traveling with her to stay pressed into her eye.
Gaius was still sitting on the floor in front of her, leaning his head on his hand casually.
Lucina stared at him.
“I’ll take that to mean you’re still gone,” Gaius said after a moment, and Lucina belatedly realized he had been expecting her to answer his question. “That’s fine. Take your time.”
Lucina watched him for a moment longer before turning her head to look around.
She was in the castle. The war was long over. Grima was dead, permanently. She remembered now. Her mother was alive. Lucina had been living with her family at the castle for the past couple of months since she returned from her time spent wandering the continent alone.
Grima was dead. She was supposed to watch the sunset tonight. The forest fires in the area had burned the sky red. The people were safe, though. Grima was dead. This season would pass.
Grima was dead. The terrible future Lucina had grown up in had been successfully avoided in its entirety.
Grima was dead.
The sky was red, but everyone was safe.
Lucina let out a half-moan half-whimper, burying her face back into her knee. Her face burned with shame. Had she really gotten so thoroughly panicked about the color of the sky?
“You okay there?”
Lucina peeked back up at Gaius, her misery increasing. Great. Just the best person to witness something so embarrassing and vulnerable from her.
She swallowed. There was no smoke anymore—had never been, in the first place—but her throat still felt dry.
“…Yes,” Lucina croaked.
Gaius’s face fell with relief. “Welcome back to Earth.”
Lucina winced. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, you’ve got nothing to apologize for.”
She turned her head to the side, avoiding eye contact with him. “I shouldn’t have overreacted as I did.”
“It’s hardly in your control, Cinnamon Stick. If my guess is right, then something set you off.”
She clenched her jaw. “Still…”
Silence fell over them. Lucina inhaled deeply, breathing in the air that was so much cleaner than that of the future she came from.
She turned her gaze to the auburn light coming in from the window. Was it really still sunset? She must have only slept for about an hour before that nightmare hit.
“So, what happened?” Gaius asked after a moment.
Lucina hesitated. “Nothing,” she murmured.
“Yeah, I’m not buying that, kid.”
Lucina breathed out a rueful laugh. She let her hand fall from her eye, her leg dropping to the floor as she unsheathed Falchion with her opposite hand and gently placed it across her lap. She ran her fingers over the engravings around the center, the motions familiar and soothing.
When all hope is lost, the future yet remains.
She’d regained hope and reached the future she so longed to see. So why was everything still so hard?
(“There is always a future ahead of you,” Tiki’s voice from another time whispered in her mind. “Even if you cannot see it.”)
“The sky was red in my future,” Lucina said slowly, her voice hardly above a murmur. She glanced up briefly to see Gaius’s attention on her before she turned her eyes back down to the blade in her hands. “All the time. But especially at dusk and dawn. Fires were constantly raging across Ylisse, and the smoke turned everything muted and dark eventually. I hadn’t… seen the sky clear and blue since I was young.
“Those fires…. So many lost their homes, their families, their lives… Nowhere was safe. Even Ylisstol was reduced to ash in the end.”
Gaius hissed through his teeth.
Lucina winced. “Apologies. I… am used to speaking of it bluntly.”
“No, it’s alright. I asked.”
Lucina ran her fingers over Falchion’s engravings once again.
“Everybody’s gonna be fine,” Gaius said. “The evacuations are going well. Most of the fires aren’t too close to towns or villages anyway.”
“I know,” Lucina murmured.
“And I’m sure it’ll rain properly again before long. That’ll put out the last of ‘em if they don’t all burn themselves out by then.”
“I know.”
“You’re safe here. Everybody’s safe.”
Lucina’s throat tightened. Her voice cracked. “I know.”
She shut her eyes, bowing her head as she willed back the traitorous tears that threatened to fall from her eyes.
“But it’s not really about that, is it?”
Lucina’s grip tightened around Falchion’s handle.
She heard Gaius shift closer. For once, she didn’t move away, even as Gaius placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Every day I fear that somehow all of this will have just been a dream,” Lucina whispered, voice trembling. “Or just— the calm before the storm. That some new danger will appear and everything will… fall to ruin again. That this peace we worked for was all for nothing. That it isn’t possible to alter fate after all. It’s in the nature of fate to always try to veer its way back to its original course. What if that still happens?”
“It’s been two years, Lucina. Grima is gone.”
“I know,” Lucina sobbed, raising her head to stare pleadingly at him as her voice rose. “So why am I still so afraid?”
“Because you were a damn kid who went through hell and back to get here,” Gaius said evenly. “Just because the war is over doesn’t mean you made it out unscathed.”
He gave her a rueful smile. “Some scars just aren’t visible from the outside.”
Lucina’s hands trembled. “I… I should be stronger than this,” she choked. “I shouldn’t be reduced to— to this”—she gestured to herself—“every time something reminds me of the past.”
“Nobody’s that strong, Cinnamon Stick.” Gaius’s voice was soft. “You think all of us haven’t had our share of moments of panic? Sometimes shit just… hits a little too close to home. There’s no shame in that.”
Lucina brought one knee back up to her chest, accidentally causing Gaius’s hand to fall from her shoulder as she balanced Falchion carefully still on her other leg. She brought her left hand up to her face once again, rubbing the tears from her face conspicuously.
“…Why are you here, Gaius?” she whispered hoarsely.
Gaius let out a small scoff. “What, you tryin’ to kick me out again?” There was a teasing grin on his face that didn’t quite meet his eyes.
“No, I mean—” Lucina gestured to their general surroundings. “Why are you…. here. Helping me. Showing me so much… kindness.”
Gaius frowned at her. She avoided his gaze.
“…Look.” Gaius sighed. “I know you’re not the biggest fan of me. That’s fine. But I care about you.”
“Even when I’ve been so cruel to you these past months?”
“‘Course.”
Lucina stared at him. She couldn’t imagine the (likely tear-stained) expression on her own face, but something about it must have touched Gaius, because he continued: “It’s the least I can do. Besides, you’re my partners’ kid. Bubbles’d probably kill me if she knew I just left you here while you were in that state. Not,” he added quickly, “that I was considering it. I wouldn’t have left anybody like that. But especially not you.”
“Why…?” Lucina whispered helplessly.
“Because you needed someone here for you,” Gaius answered easily. “And I don’t mind being that person.”
Lucina bit her lip, sniffling pathetically. She dug the heel of her palm into her left eye again, staring at the ground.
“…Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely.
Gaius smiled. “Don’t mention it.”
She inhaled shakily, sniffling again as she furiously wiped more tears from her eyes.
“My apologies for being such a mess,” Lucina said with a watery laugh.
Gaius chuckled. “No need for apologies. We’ve all gotta be a little messy sometimes. That’s life.”
Lucina smiled weakly. She ran her hand over her eyes one more time before lifting Falchion and sliding it back into its sheath.
Gaius stood up beside her. Lucina pushed herself to her feet as well, stubbornly ignoring the hand he offered her. She thought she almost caught a fond look in his eye as he let his hand drop to his side.
“Please don’t tell anyone about this,” Lucina begged, feeling like a child just asking the question. “I… I know I shouldn’t feel ashamed, but it’s still…” Vulnerable, she didn’t say aloud.
“I get it,” Gaius brushed her off. “My lips are sealed.”
Lucina stepped away from the wall, taking a deep breath.
“Where’re you headed now?” Gaius asked.
“I’m… going to try to go back to sleep, I think,” Lucina replied. “I’m… exhausted.” She sighed out the last word, shoulders drooping.
“You gonna be alright?”
Lucina nodded. “I think so.”
“If you need anything, I’m always around,” Gaius said. “Your parents and your brother, too. And all the rest of the Shepherds. You don’t have to carry all your burdens alone. You’ve got the people who love you for that.”
Lucina nodded, her heart swelling. Gaius patted her shoulder twice before turning to walk away.
“…Gaius?”
He turned back to face her.
She smiled. “Thank you. Again. For…” The words caught in her throat, but one look at Gaius told her that he understood what he was saying.
A certain warmth crept into his eyes. “Anytime, Cinnamon Stick.”
As Lucina made her way back to her room, a part of her feared that she would wake up from yet another nightmare in the same panic that she had before. Her heart clenched at the thought.
But when she turned her head to look out the window at the bleeding light of smoke-touched dusk, she found a warmth inside her that wasn’t there before overpowering the way her heart clenched at the sight of the fading crimson light, and her worries were put at ease. There was no telling whether it would happen again or not. But if it did, she wouldn't be alone. And she felt like she could sleep in peace with that knowledge.
The sky was red. But night would fall in its wake, and soon a new dawn would rise.
She still had hope.
The future yet remained.