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The portal was blinding. The vibrant blue wormhole in the middle of the Ylissean throne room was anything but natural, an almost dreamlike aura about it filling the empty space in the room.
It was easy to get lost by it, the sounds it was making felt like it was touching him, creeping up his spine and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand tall. The mist that surrounds it was finicky and untame, the possibility of it going anywhere or expanding to swallow the entire castle whole just plausible enough to unsettle the young man standing before it.
He had just watched all of his friends walk through it, disappearing as they went. If that wasn’t eerie enough, the part that truly troubled the boy was the fact that he doesn’t know when he’ll see them again. Such a notion was not new to him or anyone in this day and age, but this time it was beyond certain. They may never come back, no one really knows the nature of this spell. This portal in front of them was a Hail Mary, it was the decision of desperate people who knew they were out of rope.
Hard to believe it also held the key to their future.
“Are you sure you aren’t coming, Owain?” a hardened voice approached him, the sound of it feeling like the act of extending a hand, reaching out towards the lone soldier.
Owain steeled himself, he tried to give her a smirk, but it seemed impossible now. He wanted to reassure her the way they all needed, but despite the fact that this was his choice, he couldn’t help feeling like his life was coming to a close right here, right now. At least, the life he’s been living will be no more, replaced with something new, something less.
Clenching his jaw, the green eyed royal dipped his head at his elder cousin with as much confidence that he could manage to find. “Thine not worry about me, dear cousin. I hath still a duty here that I intend to follow through until I can no more. This is where I belong.” The eighteen year old declared as gallantly as he could, but the amount of faith he had in his own words has withered since watching everyone he grew up with fade into the nothingness of the floating magic trap ahead of them.
At this, Lucina mimicked her younger cousin, the grin she gave him not quite reaching her sapphire eyes, but he could forgive such a glum look. This was a goodbye after all, perhaps a last one at that. The obscurity of it all is starting to get to him, he feels his chest lurch at the thought of never seeing her again. “Well then, you’re the best man for the job, Owain. I am positive that you will do Ylisse justice while,” she paused, searching for the right word, for the truth of the ambiguous new reality she was about to step into. “We’re away.”
Finally, neither one wanting to take another gander at that portal until it was all they had left, Lucina really did extend out her hand this time. It was waiting right in front of him, soundly, but restless; itching for him. Was it’s last desire to give him a final show of respect? To symbolize her giving away the burdens of being Ylisse’s heir as she faces a mission she might not come back from? Or was it the sole plea of a cousin wishing luck a boy that she’s loved all her life? In many ways, he was like another brother to her, to her and Inigo both rather than a cousin.
They were fundamental parts of him he never hoped he’d have to see off and now, though they may not be perishing in the heat of battle the way he expected their farewell to go, he feels losing that part of him all the same. Suddenly, he felt lacking and the only person that could fill it was the one gaping across at him. So, the teen blatantly ignored her hand in between them and reached his arms out wide. He didn’t hesitate as he enveloped the princess, her smaller frame was used to this by now and it hadn’t taken long for her arms to join his. He cradled the entirety of her in his muscled embrace, squeezing so tightly, a part of him was scared she’d run out of air. That’s how he felt though, at the thought of watching her go he felt like the breath was seized from his lungs. She had to know that.
Lucina, though not as habitual at this kind of affection as much as he, returned his hold just as strongly, neither wanting to admit that their days alongside each other may end here. Neither said a word of it as they parted, Owain wiping the tear that was close to falling behind her back before he could face her again. Lucina chuckled at seeing him straighten up, letting it pour out of her like it was the last she’d spend on him; and she didn’t want to miss it. “You must go.” He encouraged her as best he could muster, he never thought he’d push her to leave. “They’re waiting for their captain.” The man spoke deftly in spite of the edge he tried to give, hoping that would be better at convincing her to go before one of them changed their minds.
The blue haired princess nodded her agreement and squeezed his hand still in hers one more time before she wordlessly turned her back. It felt like ages watching her before her form too blended into the portal’s periwinkle vapor; a timeless image for someone trying to save it.
Finally, he was alone; or so he thought.
“Well that’s a somber sight.” a familiar tone disrupted the silence he’d resigned himself to dwell in, but it wasn’t ever a tune that could upset him. “And here I thought I’d already had the most depressing goodbyes in this lifetime.”
Owain couldn’t resist the fragile smile that sketched across his face as he turned to gaze out at his mother in all her glory. Ever since he was a little boy who couldn’t even hold a sword without poking himself with it, she could always soothe his tribulations away. One twinkle of her clement eye, one wily snicker, one stroke down his back and it would feel as though nothing could get to him. She made him feel safe, even when he was far away on the battlefield. It was perhaps his greatest gift, the fact that she was always there for him.
The exalt crinkled her orbs as she graced him, her ashy blond hair didn’t bounce anymore as she walked, the headdress she’s been wearing these past years had restrained it some - much to her displeasure. Still she allowed it, saying that it made her appear more refined as she thought the exalt ought to look, but when it comes off in the confines of the castle, Owain preferred it messy - it made her feel more like mom.
The assassin inched over to her, not letting the woman get another step before meeting her closer to the back of the room. Their hands met first, as he took hers dutifully and gave the shorter royal a kiss to her cheek in greeting; a show of understanding. It wasn’t a thing he’s come to realize most households do, but he supposed royalty were more flamboyant than most.
When he pulled back, his hand instinctively going to rest on the hilt of his sword, Mystletainn, the isolation began to rain over him and the boy clicked his heels together in search of something to do. “Mother, I-I thought you couldn’t dain to send our comrades forth? What brought you here?” The pale Shepherd questioned her curiously, remembering her saying something earlier about having heard too many goodbyes already.
The reminder didn’t sit well with the exalt, Owain could see this in how her head fell to the marble floors and her fingers twisted in each other behind her back; telltale signs for anyone who knows her at all. “I had a change of heart I guess, no big deal. I thought to stay back here though, none of you kids needed the tears of an old Shepherd to make it any harder.” The sage admitted hastily, like most of her confessions go, but this one was laced in something deeper - something he couldn’t quite identify.
Owain narrowed his brows at his mother, his head cocking in bemusement. He sincerely hoped something wasn’t wrong so soon after losing most of their best fighters. “Is there something I should witan, Mother?” He reached out to her again, wishing to shoulder a burden if there is one there to bear, he would always do what he can to comfort her, even if it wasn’t always a lot.
She shook her head, knowingly. “No, no, nothing you need to know, but it is something important.” The healer claimed almost shyly, as if she knew the conversation ahead of them wasn’t a pleasant one. With a dramatic puff, Lissa ultimately let her hands fall in front of her for him to see. “I simply wanted to give you this.”
Revealed in her hands was the widow’s wedding band, a ring that has been cherished by the woman for longer than Owain has been alive. For a princess and now queen, it wasn’t made of the shiniest material, but the best his father could offer at the time. Still, something about it dazzled the eye, shining as the room’s light hit it just right. Like all the other rings his friends hold close, the last twenty odd years have nestled themselves into the metal, showing obvious signs of fond wear and tear. Being who she was, Lissa could have easily afford to keep up with the jewelry, but now that the one who gave it to her has long past, the wife has instead harbored a fear of changing it in any way; in many forms - it was exactly the same as when she adorned it for the first time.
The prince was frozen in place, forgetting all sense of his surroundings. He felt his stomach sink at the indication it endowed. It was strenuous to take his eyes off of it, but when his irises finally met hers, he saw the sober expression defining her features. He had hardly seen that look on her, even in times like these, it was a look reserved for the people who knew her most. Suddenly, Owain felt his spirit temporarily leave his flesh, an out-of-body whisper churning at his insides.
They both knew what this meant.
“W-Mother?” He couldn’t say anything more, his feet faltering to step away from the offending garment.
Her face perked up at his suggested abjection, but the quick lived glee felt forced even to him, it could only pull at her muscles so much. “Oh don’t worry, sweetie, I’m not planning on dying just yet.”
Shaking his head, Owain almost tripped as he went down a step, his chest close to feeling ragged and uneven already. “W-What are you implying, Mother? Why are you giving this to me?” He was beside himself, disregarding his normal flair to speak clearly, the way he thought she needed to hear him if she was to understand how zealously this action bruised him.
Lissa didn’t move a muscle, the ring presenting itself as though it has no idea what it stands for, but he does; they both do and Owain wasn’t going to accept that. “Is it not obvious? You’re going to need it in the future, silly.” How she could be so lighthearted doing such a thing, Owain had no earthly idea.
Biting his lip so hard he could taste the iron in his blood, the swordsman tried to form words, but they were choked in his throat along with a lump that was too hard to swallow. “The f-future? Mother, I-I told you, I’m staying here. The others are more than capable of handling the past, but I will not leave you here all alone to defend Ylisse.” He was blinking back tears now, drops that came so swiftly that they startled him.
He couldn’t believe his ears.
A puff was Lissa’s response, but she stood her ground, that crease in between her brows staring straight at him. His breath was caught, he was at her mercy now, knowing how serious she had to be to glare at him like that. He wouldn’t tell her, wanting this abrupt nightmare to end more than anything, but he was holding onto her every word; afraid. “Owain.” Her tone was like a gentle summer breeze, warm and solacing to the degree that almost made Owain throw away all his worries. She was so talented at that.
A woman who he never wanted to part from, he now couldn’t get far away enough. He didn’t want to hear what she had to say, this wasn’t going to happen. He’d told her, this was his decision. She wasn’t going to come in and change that. “No, I’m not leaving. I’m not!” Mindlessly, his words grew passionate, strict and unwavering. In any other scenario, he’d be scared to speak to her in such a way, but she needed to hear him. “The others, they are going to fix this world, but I-I can’t. I can’t merely walk through a portal and enjoy what life used to be like while knowing that you are still here, in this hell.” He could see visions as he spoke, flashes of a reality where he chose to leave her and she remained here, alone again with the weight of the world.
Owain would rather die than take part in such a future.
“With all our best fighters in the past, they’ll succeed, but here? This future just has you and me now and I’ll be damned if I shorten that list any further!” He argued, but from the way her eyelids fell shut, he felt like he was arguing with a ghost.
“Owain-”
“You may be skilled, Mother, but you can’t hope to take on Grima and his army of Risen all on your lonesome. No, if we die, we die together. For Ylisse.”
“Owain-”
“Your fate will be the same as mine. This world needs people too and so do you. With everyone else gone, I am all you have left, so you’re just going to have to deal with me, Mother.”
“Owain!” She used her parental voice, one that was surprisingly more stern than her diplomatic or war voice - and he was the only one honored enough to hear it.
Hearing his name said so harshly, it left a dagger like cut, striking him so fast he felt whiplash befall over him. His head had just finished spinning when Lissa’s hefty sigh brought him back. The room now felt dark and dim, there was a grave pause suffocating the solitary pair. The unspoken matter unresolved between was festering and it felt hushed to Owain, an unholy and grim discourse sat at their feet. It was inevitable now that they would talk about it, neither could turn back even if that was all Owain wanted to do, but it appeared no more easy for his mother than he.
Lissa ran her hands down her face mournfully, a shadow of bitterness and regret stinging in her orbs. As Owain watched her take a deep breath to compose herself, it wasn’t difficult to spot the silent apology nestled on her face, ready to slowly overtake her. It was like a disease, gradually weakening her over time before it claimed her. It bothered him to notice how close it was to the end. “Owain, you must go with the others. They-they need you more than I do, please.” Though she had the authority to order him, she asked; a heartsick melody to her query now that punched Owain in the gut.
The prince gauged the gap separating them, a feeling of hate bubbling up at the rift it created. Realizing that this was no more fun for her than it was for him, Owain lessened the distance apart from one another and stood before her, tall and aching at what she was telling him to do. “How can you say that? Th-this world is broken, Mother, it’s on the brink of collapse every single day and we are all that remain to protect it. Where the others are going, everyone is alive, Grima has not yet risen. If they can survive here, then they can do wonders back there. This is where I’m needed, at your side.” He hopefully explained to her as best he could with the fist around his heart, anxious now more than ever that she’ll continue to disagree with him when he needed her to heed him most. “Why are you pushing me away?”
He could see her cry at such an inquiry and the son instantly regretted it. There was enough anguish in this world without family turning on each other. He knew it wasn’t fair, that she wasn’t truly distancing themselves in the way he made it sound, but he couldn’t help if that was how he felt. “They need you, Owain.” She explained to him simply, her voice suffocated and out of breath. Her baby bird has never left the nest before and after he’s gone, she would intimately know what it was like to be the last. “Every person in a team has a role to play and without you, they’ll be lacking. Trust me, I know how hard it was back then - they need you.” She spoke in no uncertain terms, giving it all that she had, but all Owain could focus on was how it made her notes crack.
“You need me. I already lost one parent to this war, I won't lose another. You can’t make me go; I will not abandon you.” He held firm and steadfast, the most unmovable mountain he’d ever been. No one, not Grima or even Naga could banish him from her side.
His mother shook her head gingerly, tears building in her orbs. A pair of irises that resembled lily pads nearing winter, slightly dim but full of fighting life - a pair that mirrored his own - stared back at him with a sense of unassailable duty and sorrow. They caught him; trapped. “You won’t be. This time travel business, it’s ancient and trickier than anything even I have faced before. There is still so much we do not know, but Owain, you will be saving me too.” She implored him in the only way she knew how, assuring and confirming to him perhaps the only thing that could convince him to leave.
At first, Owain was ready to argue back, but the words died on his tongue when he opened his mouth. He and his friends had gone over every little detail and possibility of this spell near one hundred times in a thousand different ways. What would happen if they fail, what could change in this future if they succeed. Would they return to the past after a job well done or would they stay in the future, unable to get back home? What aspects of this life would be altered? Would the people know? Would they remember their old world or would it be like it never existed in the first place? Would they retain their memories upon their return or would stepping foot into this new reality warp their brains to match it?
Would they even live if they perform The Awakening? Would these old versions of themselves cease to exist and fade away into nothingness; waiting until they are reborn in this new life? No one could say for certain, but they knew whatever the outcome, it was worth the fight, the frightful ambiguity. The lives of a couple Shepherds did not outweigh the world and they were all in agreement on that.
So to hear his mother talk as though she already knows what will happen, it surprises him and he finds his tongue tied into intrigued knots.
The exalt rests her hands on both sides of his shoulders, steadying him in place, the way she always does. “By going to the past and preventing all of this from happening you will be saving everyone, you’ll free the entire world from this malevolence. Every citizen who suffered, every soldier that laid down their life, every shepherd that defended this nation through thick and thin.” She paused, her words scattered and grief-stricken even after all these years. “Your father. If Grima never rises, I will not be put in this position, none of us would be. Here, you’re right, it’s broken. It is only a matter of time before the Fell Dragon consumes us and without the others, we have no hope of staving it off for long. Even if you stay, we are doomed. So you must go, you must fight when the war can be won, staying here is nothing but a death sentence.” She was at the point of pleading, every proclamation that stemmed from her mouth a lesson, a revelation all on its own; each heading in a downward spiral - the end of the trail.
Owain attempted to steele his features, not wanting to give her another reason to despair, but he was not stronger than the tears blurring his vision. “Mother,” He began, the sound of his tone more like a croak. “Please don’t ask me to do this. How will I sleep knowing I’ve forsaken you here? What kind of son would I be if I condemned you to fight entirely on your own? You will surely fall and I-I don’t know if I have it in me to turn my back on that; the thoughts alone would tear me apart.” He couldn’t prevent the tears from finally falling, a warm trickle down his cheek that glistened against the throne room’s candlelight, even in the face of such wretched doldrums.
“Oh, my sweet boy, my brave warrior.” The middle-aged woman cries as her hands wrap around her only beloved son; his loyal heart taking care of hers. In their embrace, his neck bent down to rest his cheek on her shoulder, he soaks in the feeling of home. “You are not turning your back on me. This life that I live now, it’s at its final chapter. I have outlived my parents, both my brother and my sister, my husband, and all of my friends I have watched be slain one by one. I couldn’t save them or from making orphans out of their children. I have done my best to guide them and look out for them, but they are grown now. All of you have your own destiny, your own path; yours rests with them. This one is mine. This Ylisse might not survive but when I go, do not weep for me, honey. I will finally be able to be with them all again.” She foretold sacredly, wistfully happy in a paradoxical way and wise beyond what one would think for someone in their early forties.
He doesn’t know why he fights it anymore, but he does. Maybe it was merely because he doesn’t want to know what it's like to live without her. Perhaps he was just too afraid or just maybe, he felt like being selfish for once in his life. “Mother-” He started half-heartedly, but he hadn’t expected to finish anyhow.
“As for you, once you’re in the past, the only me that exists is the young one; the princess.” She eventually and begrudgingly breaks the hug to glare at him fastidiously, hands on both sides of his face, so she knows he’s listening to her. “If you must look out for me, protect her. That girl has no clue what awaits the world, what awaits her in the future. She will need you.”
She meant business, he heard this, and saw he had no other choice but to nod. Listening to her tell him all she had endured, bringing to life the unspoken tragedy of the Shepherd that lived, put things into perspective. If they accomplish their goal and save that future, she would never know this suffering. He still detested the idea of abandoning her here to fight by herself, but hopefully he can make sure that never comes to pass. If he had to trade being there for a version of his mother’s final moments, to create a whole new world where she and her husband and brother can be together, then he will fight like hell to bring it to her. He will lay a happiness at her feet she hasn’t felt since he was an infant, and that will undo all the dolor this life has reaped.
In reply, Owain then striagens up to stand tall over his short mother and ignored the tightening in his chest wallowing at yet another departure. “I will be there for her, I vow that no harm will befall her, not while I have her back, I swear this to you.” He put his hand on his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat against his brand communicating to her the gravity of his promise; one in no higher form could he give to her or anyone at all.
At this, Lyssa actually smiled. “I know.” She whispers deftly but sure as the exalt sets the ring tenderly in his hand and closes it; parting from her most prized possession. “It will be a challenge, but one I have no doubt you will rise to.” The widow hummed resolutely and even sanguine, how her fingers curled his hands around the remnant of his parents’ love made something flare up in him; a newfound drive. Her entrusting this to him meant everything to Owain; he couldn’t think of a better farewell.
As he took a deep breath and allowed their hands to part, Owain then cocked his head around a room he’s seen a million times, but nothing felt strange to him. His whole demeanor and mindset had shifted, but nothing else had along with him. “How will I get there?” He questioned, both royals now knitting their brows and gazing around the open space. “The portal-” He stuttered with wonder, hoping he hadn’t missed his chance right after he’d just sworn to her the impossible.
Suddenly, the duo hears the slightly familiar sound of whirling and static coming from behind them. The two spun around to where Owain had just watched the rest of his friends and family disappear, only to find the wisteria portal floating above the marble floor right where it was before, as though it never left. The mother and son let out a morose chuckle, the blonde queen then quietly mumbling a thanks to Naga as though they were old friends. “Now you must go.” Her encouragement gave him deja vu from when he said the very same to Lucina just moments ago. “Your friends are waiting for you. Everyone is.” Her grin had a wobbly tremble to it, her jaw clenched to refrain from crying yet again.
“I will make you proud, Mother.” He didn’t hesitate, sounding more like a man now than he believed he ever did.
This smirk appeared more like herself as she tilted her head at him ardently. “You already have.” She assured her child, a guiding light in the midst of such darkness and uncertainty as he kissed her cheek goodbye. Once he started walking back towards the portal, forcefully having to tell himself to put one foot in front of the other, he could hear her call back to him. “Be safe! Be smart! Remember the land! You don’t know where you’ll end up on the other side! Just keep moving and stay clear of Plegia, son!” She dragged out their parting, wanting more and more to hear his voice for the last time, to cling onto this last image of her entire world fading into the divine unknown; he knows because he does too.
He couldn’t stop his chuckle at her maternal bout of last minute advice. “I will, I will.”
“And Owain?”
“Yes, Mother?”
“I know it won’t make any sense to him, but please, say hi to your father for me.” The confident sovereign now seemed to curl into some kind of shell, her face tinting pink and fingers wrapping around themselves delicately, feeling like a young woman again. “The thief won’t know how to make heads nor tails of it, but I-I just need him to know I am still thinking of him; that I miss him.” She sounded so soft, the short lived and butchered product of youthful love crawling up to the surface again after so long of being buried for the sake of her country. He couldn’t imagine how much she’s missed him.
Owain instantly felt guilty about his father’s memory coming second on this mission of his. He’s been so worried about leaving his mother, he hadn’t considered that he would be seeing his father for the first time in many years. He was just a boy when he died, that arrow he took for his clueless son not only ended his life after a long three days of bleeding and poison, but it also set Owain on the course he was following today. The blame and self-hatred he felt for himself after that event kept him up at night and it fueled his resilience against the Risen; the day his father left this world was the day he committed himself to the war fully. The boy in him still felt like he had time to live a life outside the fray, but losing his father showed him it was a fool’s dream.
Now he would be returning to his father’s prime, the years where he was alive and well, eating pies and spending his nights curled up beside his mother. This would be before he had a son that would one day get him killed, but he would make sure it wouldn’t go that way this time. He would defend his dad if it was the last thing he did - just like a future version of the thief did for Owain. “I promise.” He cultivated his thoughts into those two words, doubting that any others could summarize them any better as the young man steps up to the ominous portal. “Mother?”
“Son.”
“I just want you to know, in case I never get to tell this version of you again.” The boy invested all the courage he had left into this adieu - wanting this claim to be the last thing she ever heard from him. If she was to die with it, he wanted it to serve her well and keep her company during the upcoming lonely nights. “You have always been my hero.”
Lyssa nor Owain says another word, exchanging a smile that doesn’t need words to convey how kindly it touched them both. He couldn’t believe he had been a kid since he last said that to her, she deserved better - she was the strongest person he’s ever known.
With that, Owain pried his frame away from her and hastily faced the portal, fearful he’d run back around and retreat at any second if he waited too long before stepping through. As soon as he had, the ground below his feet vanished but he didn’t fall. He could see the Ylissean throne room behind him, but it was warped and tinted violet beyond recognition. In front of him, his surroundings in every direction were the same distorted cloud of some type of void, all shaded a celeste tone of blue. He had no idea where he was.
His best guess? He was in the vacuum between time and space, and ahead of him - the only clear and natural colored sight in this hollow otherworldly cavity - was another portal with a forest on the other side. He didn’t know where it would lead him, but he knew it was where he needed to go - it was his destiny. Everything else would work itself out, wherever it spit him out, he was confident he could find his way back to the castle and meet up with his parents and the others.
Finally, Owain unsheathed his sword for precaution, and ran as fast as he could through the portal; ready to save his parents, Ylisse, and life as they know it from the brink of malignity.
Mother, Father, I’m coming for you.