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In the void between life and death, there lurked a fell presence. A dragon of terrible might, and even worse ambition. A wyrm who would stop at nothing to see the world wiped clean of life itself. It was dead, yet somehow alive. Its entire existence a perversion of nature, a crime against life itself.
Its name was Grima, and it was about to be born.
Grima had been born before. Not like how others are born, but it was still a birth. This was different, however. This time, he was being born of a human woman. Different than a cold, stiff vial, and a tad bit more comfortable at that. Mortal worms had beseeched the dark god, in hope that it might make good on the promise of a world without life. To that end, they sealed a pact, and brought their god into the world by way of a mortal vessel.
No infant wails accompanied the sudden harsh light, just the exhausted cries of a mother in pain. Where once there was but familiar darkness came sights and sounds not unfamiliar to Grima, yet still strange all the same. It wasn’t often the dragon got to see worms up close, after all, or through human eyes.
Those who assisted with the birth seemed unnerved. The mother, on the other hand, wore a smile. A tired one, but a smile nonetheless. Uneven breaths and shaky hands, Grima was accustomed to - they usually came coupled with panic or precluded fervent, fanatical prostration. But not like this.
As the dragon was handed off to the human who birthed it, Grima felt… affection. Warmth. Alien emotions that it instinctively knew, yet had never known. The baby stared up at its would-be mother, unnatural intelligence in its gaze. It did not understand. Surely the woman knew what it was, right? Her child was no mere mortal, but the wings of destruction, the breath of ruin–the Fell Dragon itself. Most who smiled in its presence smiled because of some twisted, dark pleasure. But this?
Was this… love?
Its creator did not show it love. The alchemist was a cold, calculating sort. There was no affection present when Grima was brought into this world, just sheer terror and manic glee.
It was wrong. Nothing about it made sense.
Grima’s face twisted in confusion, and tears streaked down its cheeks.
“Oh, my darling… I’m so happy you’re here…” The mother cooed. She did not urge the dragon to stop, so it did not. Whining and squirming, a torrent of alien emotion welled up inside of Grima. It didn’t. Make. Sense.
“My little Robin…”
The moment was short-lived. Soon after, a grim-faced man entered the room and all eyes were on him, Grima’s included. He wore a sickly grin that grew immensely when he laid his gaze upon the dragon-spawn. No one stopped him as he snatched it up, not even the mother. That fact made another strange emotion well up inside Grima. Things didn’t make sense, and that needed to stop.
Luckily, they did start to make sense. It started with the man; he was familiar to a fault. How could he not be, when it was he who made the pact? The tears stopped, and the dragon glared at the man. His grin only deepened.
“At long last…” He lifted the child above his head in reverence. “Our lord made manifest… come to deliver us from this wretched world!”
Glowing red lines trailed down the infant’s eyes, from which two spectral pairs appeared. Everyone in the room fell to their hands and knees, prostrating themselves in reverence. The mother was the only one who did not… but perhaps that was because she had already spent so much of herself birthing the Fell Dragon.
Grima glowered at its ‘subjects.’ This made sense. Pitiful worms, wishing for death. It would be granted, in due time. Despair was inevitable, destruction the only path forward.
Grima was a monster, and a monster killed.
…
…
It would take time until Grima could lay waste to the world. That was fine; Grima was used to waiting. 18 months passed in the blink of an eye for an immortal dragon, doubly-so since most of it was spent learning how to walk and talk. Day in and day out, Validar hovered nearby, observing his lord’s progress. It might have been mildly embarrassing to be watched so closely in such a helpless state, were Grima not certain Validar was nothing more than a slavering sycophant who would lick the dirt clean if it meant his master would have an easier time waddling about..
“Ah, your progress is staggering. You shall be combing through our libraries and tomes in no-time, my lord.” He sang empty praises, to which Grima nearly thought to roll his eyes.
Beside him, the mother sat quietly. Upon seeing Grima stand upon two legs, however, she spoke up at last. “Oh, that’s it sweetheart…!”
“Mind your tongue.” Validar snapped. “That’s no way to talk to our master. Pray he forgets all about this when he begins to form words.” She shrank slightly beneath the weight of his words, but the affectionate gleam in her eye persisted. Grima still didn’t know what to make of it.
‘He.’
That word felt strange to attribute to Grima’s self. But it was of little matter. Grima’s mortal form was not truly him, just… an extension of himself. A vessel. Nothing more. His true majesty would be harnessed in the physical plane once this body had matured. Until then, it did not matter to what the worms perceived him as.
… So why did all of that feel wrong to say?
Masking his confusion as determination, Grima waddled and waddled until it was almost a walk, and walked from one end of the room to the other. The mother clapped, and for once, she seemed in-sync with Validar.
“Marvelous!” He cheered. “Now, to me, master. You’ve worked hard, and deserve a rest.” He knelt down and opened his arms, ushering an approach.
Carefully, Grima started towards him… but hesitation weighed down his steps at the last. He looked between his ‘parents;’ one a raving parasite, who’d skin himself alive if Grima so much as needed a tissue. The other, so gentle and subdued… but kind. Nurturing. Things Grima did not understand. How could he? They’d never been given so freely before now. Not like this. The ‘kindness’ of his followers was thinly-veiled greed, a means to an end. They revered him so they might beseech him to do as they asked. None of them mattered, but they made sense.
What didn’t make sense was this tugging at Grima’s chest. This urge to accept his ‘mother’s’ warmth. She wasn’t his real mother… or was she? Did that matter?
Maybe it was this confused tugging that drove Grima to step towards her at the last. Surprise colored her face, but a blinding smile soon took over. She reached out, and–
“Enough.” Validar scooped up Grima at the last. The dragon blinked, then looked to the fanatical zealot with as fierce a scowl as he could manage. “Our lord is clearly tired, this feeble human form addling his mind. I will put him to bed, you are dismissed.” Propping the child over his shoulder, Validar made to leave.
In his retreat, Grima was allowed one last look back at his mother. There was such a pained sadness in her eyes now, one that resonated with Grima. He reached out with one chubby little hand… and then she was gone, disappearing as another sand-colored corridor replaced her.
The stone sinking deeper and deeper into Grima’s gut had luckily been named for him already–melancholy.
…
…
Birthdays came and went, speech following soon after the ability to walk. Grima’s first words?
“Ruination. Despair. Misery.”
Validar was ecstatic, as usual. Mother, on the other hand, looked a bit less-so, but still smiled all the same. Grima quickly expanded his lexicon–rather, he adjusted it to his new tongue. Words, Grima knew already. It was saying them with all those ridiculous wet flaps that proved a challenge over the first few years of his mortal life. Still, it kept his mind occupied, and a somewhat pleasant change of pace in lieu of plotting and scheming every waking moment. The constant learning reminded him of his days in the vial, watching and learning from Forneus as he toiled away in his lab, occasionally showing Grima tomes and notes that held little meaning at the time.
It also had the benefit of keeping his mind off of his ‘mother’ and any strange feelings associated. Validar seemed to keep her on a short leash, any moments between them a ‘reward’ for having carried their god for nine months. Besides that, she was treated as any other acolyte; utterly worthless, unless doing something to explicitly benefit their cause. By all means, Grima seemed poised to let all those cumbersome emotions and feelings rot and wither…
Until one fateful day at the ripe young age of five.
Grima had already begun familiarizing himself with the magic tomes available to the Grimleal. Schooling was trivial, his ancient mind more than a match for subjects far and above his appearance would suggest. He was doing so well that his tutors struggled to find things for him to occupy himself with. So, with a break in lessons while they figured out something new for their lord and master to chew on for at least a few days, Grima was allowed to roam as he pleased.
He hadn't really taken in the Keep before now. It was sparsely decorated–an unsurprising detail. Plegia had never been particularly wealthy, in spite of the various riches Grima himself helped procure, both directly and indirectly. Mortals never seemed to know how to hold onto their possessions of value. None of it mattered to Grima; it all began as dust, and would return to it in due time, but for now? There was little harm in letting the worms do with their money what they saw fit. What decorations that did adorn the halls all bore Grima’s likeness, or near enough. Three pairs of eyes, intertwined and always watching. A reminder of the inevitable despair, an unavoidable end.
Again, none of it mattered to Grima, though if he was being honest, having effigies and iconography of himself plastered on every wall, terrace, and napkin was a bit unnerving. Humans and their capacity for feverish worship were quite the unquantifiable enigmas. Enigmas not worth solving, if you asked him. He paid it all so little mind that it actually came as a surprise when he realized he’d absent-mindedly wandered into someone’s room.
It wasn’t his own, he knew that at just a glance–nevermind the fact that it was on the other end of the building, Validar had ensured his lord had only the finest, most lavish, and entirely too-gaudy of living quarters. This place, by comparison, was sparse. Barren. A semblance of a kitchen crammed in one corner, a bed in the opposite, and a table just between. Why had Grima come here? It wasn’t a conscious choice. He tried not to question it any further, turning to leave. It was then he got his answer.
Standing in the door behind him, quietly stunned at the Fell Dragon’s presence… was that woman. The one who birthed his mortal body. This was, perhaps, their first time ever being alone with one another, and after a moment’s hesitation, the woman’s expression shifted to one of gentle enthusiasm.
“I–I hadn’t expected to see you today, sweetheart! I haven’t even gotten the chance to clean up…!” She scurried past him, taking care not to invade his personal space (even if she looked as though she desperately wanted to scoop him up). “Please, make yourself at home!”
Grima watched, dumbfounded as the woman tidied up some loose clothes and swept away the errant dust. A half a loaf of plain bread and a mostly moldless block of cheese were laid onto the table, the room’s owner busying herself while he stared at the food. This wasn’t like when his other followers showered him in gifts in exchange for power, trite offerings that meant little and betrayed the humans’ shallow nature. All their gifts had been extravagant, unnecessary. But this? This was–
“So, how have your studies been? I heard you’ve been progressing so quickly that it has your teachers scratching their heads!” His thoughts were interrupted with yet more oddly personal small-talk. None of this made any sense. “I never got much formal education myself, but I don’t mind. I’m just glad I could get you that kind of schooling! I… I’m very proud of you–I hope you know that.” Why didn’t it make sense? “I thought about asking if I could sit in on some of your lessons, but your father–Lord Validar, that is–said I’d just be a distraction. He’s not wrong, but is it so bad for a mother to want to see her child every so often?” Why didn’t she make sense? “Oh, but look at me complaining when you’ve taken the time to come visit me. I hope you can forgive me fo–”
“Why?” Grima’s voice was quiet, strained. So many unnamed emotions roiling within his chest–it was maddening. Like his soul was caught in a maelstrom.
“...” The woman quieted, looking to him and waiting for him to ask the real question.
“... you know what I am.” He said, matter-of-factly. “You know what I intend. You know what I represent, what horrors I would wreak. I am no human child–I am a God given flesh. So why?” He stared up at her, vision starting to fog. “Why do you show me affection? Love?” He all but pleaded. “Not the hollow ‘love’ those brainless followers outside shower me in, but…”
“...” The woman looked away for a few seconds. Her eyes closed, and she sighed silently. Then, as she turned her gaze back to him, he saw… melancholy. Longing. But above all?
He saw love. Again and again, he saw it on her face, in her eyes, but never quite so much as then. There was love in her gaze, earnest and true. Real, familial love. He couldn’t figure it out before, nothing had quite clicked - not until now. No Validar or Grimleal to bar its way, to filter or obstruct that love. Grima could feel it all, and it felt… it felt. He didn’t have a word for it just yet, it was too new.
“Because, god or no… you came from me. Your body did, at least.” Idly, her hand ghosted over her stomach before coming to rest there. “Because I always wanted a family, no matter how broken or unorthodox. Because… I’m selfish, like all humans, and I’d rather live in a fantasy where I get to have a child than face the reality that I could never have had one if not for the fact that I lent my womb so a god could be born.” Pain colored her features, but it paled in comparison to that idle, motherly affection which overwhelmed her every time she laid eyes on her ‘son.’
What a strange, alien, terrifying… and alluring thought, to be a son. Someone’s child. Her child.
“...” Grima did not speak, for there was nothing to say for a while. Instead, after a painfully long pause, he slowly slithered his way further into the room and dropped his vessel into the nearest seat. It made the most sense in the moment, he figured.
She beamed, brighter than the non-existent sun of Plegia that the clouds so stubbornly obscured. Grima reckoned she could pierce that eternal overcast with her expression alone.
It took a minute more for Grima to open his mouth, but when he did… he did exactly as she asked. He told her about his classes. Told her what he’d been learning, how he was insulted that his tutors thought so lowly of him that they expected his progress to be slower - not a detail was spared. She didn’t seem to like the less savory parts involving the sacrifices and blood, but she always looked past it.
She looked to him. She could see him in a way no other mortal ever had. Dragon, Monster, God - none of these mattered to her. As far as the woman was concerned, he was her darling offspring telling her about his day.
“Well,” His mother started as he concluded. “You sound like you’ve been having fun! It means the world to me that you’re growing up happy, my little Robin.” That name rolled so naturally off of her tongue, that Robin forgot himself. It was so easy to just… give in. Accept her love, her familial familiarity.
And she adored him for that. For being… together. Each other’s… family.
Robin finally knew how to describe that feeling of love:
It was good.
…
…
Time flew. Grima’s vessel grew. His patience with Validar dwindled, yet his relationship with his mother flourished. Validar believed that the two things were connected, and subtly tried to give his master less and less opportunity or reason to visit ‘that ridiculous creature.’ Grima never let it stop him, however. Few argued when their master abruptly stood and left the room, or when he decided it was more important to be with his mother than to be literally anywhere else. Validar was fuming silently, of course, but Grima liked him better that way. It was harder for the man to scheme when he was mad.
Unfortunately, not all schemes could be put off forever. The larger Grima grew, the more his followers’ ambitions did as well. In his teens, Grimleal raids began anew, halted since the birth of their lord and only until he was of sufficient might to lend his power unto them once more. He did, as was their pact, but each time was more and more tiresome. Their requests felt more like demands, and even when he vaporized a few just to remind them who was in charge, all they’d do was cower and ‘request’ a little softer. It was becoming irksome… no, more than that, Grima hated these followers of his. Almost more than he hated humanity as a whole.
A single person was exempt from his hatred: mother. Around her, he could be Robin. He could be something besides the Fell Dragon. He’d always be the Fell Dragon, but it felt nice to simply step away from it. Play pretend. … It was pretend, was it not?
Mother was a calming presence, one he enjoyed whittling away the hours with when he wasn’t getting his ear talked off by that insufferable Validar or his cronies. Said man was also becoming more bold, urging his lord to ascend to Plegia’s throne and lead them into war. That was his endgame, of course: war with Ylisse, the neighboring kingdom. The home of the last worm that dared challenge Grima and his might, and the home of so many more of his line that held the power to seal him. To hurt him. There was no lie, Grima hated the Exalt’s bloodline, as he hated Naga who gave them their power. His only interactions with them had been hateful, inane ramblings from some steel-dressed, self-righteous blowhard waving his enchanted little toothpick about.
Except that hate was slowly losing its bite when he had a gnat to constantly badger him, day in and day out. As if to distract himself, Grima found other things to focus on that Validar’s long-winded rants and plans: himself.
“...” Grima stared into the mirror, examining his vessel as he had many times before. It was definitely growing well, there could be no doubt. Having spent so long in it, one might’ve expected the dragon to be a lot more attached to it - and he might’ve been… were it not for one small problem.
“......” Grima frowned, for he did not know what that problem precisely was. He just knew that, every time he gazed upon his reflection, something looked off. It had started when the body began to mature properly, to mate and reproduce as all worms do. A natural process, yet with every passing day enduring it, Grima felt some level of dissatisfaction with the development. Something didn’t make sense, and he hated that. Annoying little fibers jutting up from places he didn’t want them to, the way his jawline began to square off – even the subtle broadening of his shoulders irked him.
Destruction didn’t need to be all wide and brawny, destruction took whatever form it pleased… and something (or many small somethings rolled up into one) did not please the Fell Dragon.
“Mm?” Mother caught him lingering, and slowly slipped up from behind. “What’s wrong, dear? You look… troubled.”
“...” Robin sighed. “I don’t know. I just know that–” He pointed at his image, who pointed back. “Looks wrong.”
“Oh?” His mother tapped her chin, frayed hair shifting as she tilted her head. “Maybe… we ought to update your wardrobe a little! I don’t think your father would be overly fond of ditching the coat, but perhaps we can… accessorize a little. Find your style and all.”
“...” The boy mulled it over in his head. “... Perhaps.” He deemed it satisfactory for now. He didn’t believe that ‘accessorizing’ would fix whatever this unknowable problem was, but it would distract him from it which was the next best thing.
Over the next several hours, Robin and his mother took turns raiding the keep’s storehouse, trading in all manner of clothes and garments that would fit beneath the boy’s robe. As the dug through the pile, they discovered quite a few acceptably well-tailored things for him to try on, leading to quite a few smiles from Mother as she watched her boy find things he liked. At first it was mostly practical stuff; lots of pockets for potions and poisons and such. That changed when he found a good pair of boots.
There were nice, tall things. Cut a rather imposing silhouette, too. Ended in nice, sharp points. Sharp was good, it reminded Grima of a good blade, or his horns. As he slipped them on, his mother looked over with a curious glint. “Oh, sweetie I think those are… for…” She trailed off as he looked back to her, obliviousness clear in his gaze. After a moment, she just shook her head and smiled. “... I was just worried they’d be a bit too small for you, dear. They look nice!”
Robin blinked. He could tell she was going to say something else, but not what it was. It reminded him of that irksome problem, which promptly nagged at him by association. So he put it out of his mind and put on the boots, taking a few steps in them until a grin began to form. “Perfect.”
He built up from there. With such sleek, imposing boots, of course he’d need some well-fitted clothes. They didn’t find much, but Mother promised she’d break out the sewing kit and do what she could. He didn’t like how bulbous baggy clothes made him feel. He was big enough as a dragon, no need to lumber about in his human vessel as well. No, this body must be sleek, agile, dangerous. That was his train of thought.
At least until he stumbled upon some kind of two-cupped strap that seemed made to affix to a chest. Robin’s mother blushed awkwardly as she explained “It’s for girls, to keep their chest safe.” Blinking, Robin took a moment to stare back at the strange thing before setting it down and moving it aside… ignoring how the way it changed the shape of his body, even in passing, seemed oddly fitting in the brief instant he’d held it to his torso.
As the day waned, Robin seemed to be satisfied with his little makeover. Thus it drew to a close, his rather lavish and gaudy undergarments replaced with something a little more practical and interesting, something which roared ‘I’m carrying several deadly weapons’ instead of ‘I just woke up from sleeping in a pile of money.’ They pinched and bunched his flesh in a few places, yet it was a price he was willing to pay to look as dangerous as he felt. Beaming, Robin gave his mother a farewell for the evening, happy to have found something akin to a sense of style and spending time with her in the process. As he strutted down the hall in his new boots, he idly contemplated the way his robe flowed behind him. He liked that feeling. It felt kind of like flying.
He should grow out his hair. There’d be more to flow that way.
… As he left, his mother couldn’t help but find herself drawn back to one particular article of clothing, still visible atop the pile that she’d need to move back to the storeroom.
Did Robin realize she’d seen him moving that bra towards his chest? And did he realize that nearly every garment he picked out was fitted for a girl’s figure? Questions brewed in her mind, the kind that had her wondering if she ought to have a talk with him.
“Oh my dear little Robin… I fear there’s another egg you’ve yet to escape…”
…
…
Grima always knew Validar wasn’t to be trusted. How could he? The man was human, same as all the rest. Besides Mother. All of them were pitiful, lying insects. They never cared about him, all they wanted was power - and he gave it to them, to watch them destroy themselves. But this? This was unacceptable. It made no sense, save for trying to isolate Grima and make him do their bidding.
Validar had ordered Mother to be moved. ‘Somewhere safe,’ he’d claimed right to his lord’s face. ‘Away from the fighting.’ Indeed, war was poised to pick up soon, now that Grima was of-age to lead an army. His vessel was so deeply attuned to his dragon body’s Fell might that he could wreak equal havoc in either form, now. The time had come to lay waste to Validar’s enemies, as Grima promised.
Except Validar had broken Grima’s trust.
It took naught but half a day for the dragon to find out where Validar was really sending her: a slave camp, to be beaten and worked until she died from either exhaustion or starvation. Decades of loyal service to their cause, and for what? Was this the fate that the mother of their messiah deserved? Was this the reward for being a dutiful parent, raising her child to fight their wars and kill their foes? No, Grima would not stand for this. He could easily destroy this entire wretched country, followers be damned… but Mother wouldn’t want that.
Plegia was grim, true, but it was her home. Mother had said that not everyone was like Validar, and while Grima hadn’t met many to prove her point… there had been a few. Mother herself was proof enough of that. Perhaps it was asinine to be so attached to a human like this. To consider her thoughts and feelings even as he pondered taking rightful vengeance upon the worms who so gracelessly betrayed his trust and their pact. Such thoughts plagued Grima during the witching hours.
He buried it beneath yet more study, deciding to err on the side of caution and absorb as much knowledge of Plegia as he could before leaving; because he was leaving. He and Mother both, he’d decided. This place held nothing for either of them, and, save for merely razing the place, there was naught left to do except find greener pastures and disappear somewhere Validar would never find them.
Somewhere he’d never find Mother.
Thus Grima had to absorb himself in Plegia’s knowledge. Troop movements, patrols, camp locations, spy networks, even their culture to understand how they might react when things went awry and their glorious dark God disappeared into the night. He had to know, to plan, to make sure nothing went wrong when he marched across that border and left it all behind, hand-in-hand with Mother.
He did naturally plan for after that, too. Plegian knowledge of Ylisse was limited mostly to ‘vital strongholds’ and ‘places to burn down that’d really piss off the ruling Exalt,’ but it was sufficient for his purposes. Slipping somewhere far, far behind enemy lines would only make it all the more difficult for Validar to follow them, should he pick up the trail. He probably would, knowing him - Grima knew his ‘father’ all too well. The man might’ve been a delusional sycophant, but he was no idiot. Grima would have to plan for every contingency, down to the last guard’s midnight snack-run. It would’ve driven lesser minds mad, but Grima was created by a genius and inherited (then surpassed) his intellect.
He could handle a simple nighttime escape plan, right?
Grima waited for the perfect moment. Many of the main garrison’s forces had been redirected towards the southern front, shoring up their defenses and ‘persuading’ a few small villages into annexing themselves into Plegia. While Grima was a well-known face around the fortress, the dragon had an ingeniously simple disguise prepared: a simple spell caused his hair to grow, long enough for any passing glance to doubt his identity as the Fell Dragon. Better yet, since the dress code was oh-so uniform between acolytes, merely pulling his hood up could sufficiently obscure his face.
Grima stared into a mirror, his brand glowing as he cast another spell to make sure that, even if someone did see beneath the hood, they still wouldn’t recognize him… at least, not as Grima.
The dragon watched has his face shifted slightly, features smoothing out, chin softening. Slowly and naturally, the shape of his eyes adjusted, just the faintest bit, ever-so-slightly less narrow than before. Grima had been working on this little trick for a while now, subtly experimenting with little changes to his vessel that, when compiled, left him looking less like ‘Grima, our lord’s vessel’ and more like ‘some person who vaguely resembles that lady who got sent off a while back.’ Indeed, Grima bristled at his own genius; he could have easily passed as Mother’s cousin or niece.
Or daughter. A faint voice in the back of his mind whispered. It came and went in an instant… but Grima paused. Those cold, crimson eyes blinked, refocusing on themselves with an odd warmth that wasn’t there a second ago. He… really looked a lot more like Mother, didn’t he? Why did that…
… feel nice?
Something wasn’t clicking about all of this. Girma buried it, like he had so many times before but didn’t quite remember or realize because there was always something more important to be doing.
Gaze narrowing, Grima was convinced this would work. Still, just to be sure, he morphed his mortal form a tiny bit more. Just around the chest. A little… volume. Help sell the role of ‘random acolyte’ that he was selling.
Again ignoring the feeling of satisfaction rushing through his flesh from head to toe as he looked at the person in the mirror.
No time for that.
Naturally, Grima did not walk out the front door. Guards were posted outside his chambers at all times, they’d notice if some strange -girl- person stepped forth from their lord’s quarters. Instead, he tied some of the many, many lavish blankets and curtains together and draped it out the window precisely in the gap between the moments the nightly patrol was due to pass by. He was more than a few floors up, hence the makeshift rope. Gradually the Fell Dragon gracefully (nearly slipped several times) down the wall of the keep, gently setting back down on solid ground.
With a swift flick, the rope came down, and with a soft snap of his fingers, the window above swung silently shut. Disposing of the evidence was simple; the ‘rope’ was tossed behind a nearby stable, burning away with a smokeless, arcane flame that made short work of the fabrics. Having forgone his more ornate robe in favor of swiping one out of the laundry, the dragon flipped its hood over his head and crept quietly along the fortress’s perimeter. Any prying eyes that chanced to see him would only see some hapless apprentice who got locked out after curfew, and not the Fell Dragon preparing a daring flight towards freedom.
Finding the right window nearly halfway around the keep’s main building, Grima slipped back inside. Like a shadow, he slithered through the darkness; more than a few guards had no idea their gracious and malevolent overlord was lurking just a few feet behind them, tailing them until they conveniently passed by an obscured door or dingy hallway.
The place was a maze, but a maze Grima knew like the back of his vessel’s hand. As familiar stonework led him to his destination, he could feel his pulse quickening. Every passing second risked the alarm being raised from some bumbling idiot disturbing his chambers at this hour. It would happen, he knew it - at best, they had until morning before Validair went to wake him, only to realize Grima was gone.
At worst, the time he barged in on some unsolicited midnight visit was ticking closer with every beat of Grima’s blackened heart.
Plans rarely held up to scrutiny or practice, this the Fell Dragon knew all too well. Case-in-point, it was not the plan of Validair or his followers for their lord to get so fed up with their asinine plots that he just up and left, yet here he was, doing precisely that. There were just too many variables to account for to prevent everything from going wrong, so it was merely easier to assume things would go wrong and have a backup plan. Fortunately, either thanks to Grima’s genius or some unseen third party making sure things went his way, said backup plan did not need to see use just yet as he finally came upon his Mother’s chambers.
The dragon’s head whipped from one end of the hall to the other. Hand wrapping around the handle, eyes scanned again, paranoia creeping at the edge of Grima’s senses. Sure, he could hear an assassin adjusting their undergarments from two whole chambers away with his draconic abilities, but even he wasn’t perfect. Someone could be watching, waiting to sneak up on him right now. Cognizant of this, he slowly twisted the doorknob, so intimately familiar with it that he knew precisely how swiftly to turn and how much pressure to apply and at what angle to prevent it from squealing like a stuck pig.
Once inside, he tip-toed to his Mother’s bed. There she laid, wholly oblivious of Validar’s plans to remove her from the equation. Sickening thoughts bubbled deep in Grima’s heart, thinking about that man, though they came down to a simmer as he instead concerned himself with Mother’s safety.
“Mother… Mother.” Grima hissed in a whisper, displeased to awaken her from what seemed a blissful sleep though spurred by the urgency of the situation. He laid his hand on her shoulder, carefully jostling her back to the conscious world.
“Mmg… w-wuh–who–?!” His Mother’s eyes widened at the shadow-veiled figure above her, the dragon’s palm quieting her yelp before it could escape her throat.
“Mother, it’s me.” Grima pulled his hood back, showing her the sinister brand that marked him as who he said he was before removing the other over her mouth.
“R-Robin…?” She blinked, certain the moonlight was playing tricks on her eyes. No, she didn’t doubt that this was her Robin, but–
“We need to leave. Father–Validar is sending you to a camp. You will be worked to death unless we leave now.” His hushed tone brimmed with urgency.
“I–” She shook her head, trying to refocus on her son(?) as she processed his words. “M-my bag–”
“I have essentials packed.” Grima interjected. The crimson glow of his eyes cut through the dark as he opened his robe, pulling a satchel seemingly from nowhere. A paltry spell, though one he hadn’t the time to gloat about. “We have two minutes until the next patrol passes your room from outside, and three until one passes my chambers above. Get dressed.”
Precisely two minutes and twenty seconds later, as a pair of guards rounded the corner along the wall of the keep, Grima slid the window open and climbed out. Moments later, his Mother climbed out as well, helped along by her far-more able-bodied child.
The dragon once again whipped his head to-and-fro from one end of the wall to the other, sincerely missing his larger form’s longer neck. “... alright, go.” He pulled his Mother along, the both of them blurs in the night. They’re nearly halfway towards clearing the keep’s outer wall when–
“Hm?” Someone walks into view from near a guardhouse, carrying a book. Grima curses under his breath, damning the incessant beating of his own heart in his ears that likely drowned out this person’s footsteps. There’s no time to get out-of-sight, and they’re noticed almost instantly. “Oh, Sparrow! How odd to see you at this hour.” Of course they recognize Mother.
Putting aside the fact that he’s never actually heard anyone refer to Mother by name, Grima is about to interject to get them out of this when, instead, Mother decides to say something. “A-ah, yes, well it’s odd seeing you here, too! I didn’t think you’d still be up after having your duties so early…”
“Yes, well, I had to find my tome.” They waggle the book in their hand, their tone tired. Grima, meanwhile, keeps his head down, trying not to draw attention to himself. “One of the guards picked it up after I’d lost track of it and kept it for safe-keeping. All well and good, but I really had to go on a goose hunt for it, haha.”
“Ah-hah, that is unfortunate…” His Mother replied, seemingly humoring the individual. Gah, how Grima itched to blast this fool and continue on their way, but it wouldn’t do to cause a commotion so close to the guardhouse. “At least you’ve got it back now, right?”
“At least, yes…” Their eyes inevitably drifted towards the figure beside the woman, their head tilting curiously. “Who’s that with you?”
“!!” Grima tensed, gritting his teeth as he tried to come up with some excuse. Bah, he’d planned for getting caught, not striking up conversation!! ‘Think, damn you, THINK.’ Grima pleaded with his mind, an eternity spent in his head while mere seconds passed in the world at-large. He can tell the stranger is getting suspicious, they should just run, he can’t think WHY CAN’T HE THIN–
“Thrush!” Grima blinked, Mother’s voice snapping him out of his stupor. “This is Thrush, h–she’s new around here. Just arrived a few days ago with some of the other acolytes from up north.”
Grima’s mind, again, halted, albeit for a different reason. It hung on that one word: she. Why…?
“I’ve been showing her around, but she’s terribly shy.” Of course, Mother was smarter than Grima gave her credit for. She had to be, to have birthed a genius like Gr–like her Robin. Mother was playing up her child’s ingenious disguise, constructing a cover. Excellent. Why hadn’t Robin thought of that? Urgency, most likely. The next plan would be made with a cooler head, rest assured. “So shy, I… thought it better to show her around when it’s later. Less people to frighten her, you know?”
Grima– Robin raised his her their head, a quick spell hiding their burning irises with a far more unassuming brown which started anxiously at the stranger. “...” They said nothing, merely nodding sheepishly.
The stranger visibly relaxed, seemingly trying to appear less threatening. “Oh, I’m sorry, my dear girl!” Girl. “I didn’t mean to pry, it must be so much to be at the seat of our lord and country’s power like this. Do listen well to Sparrow, she’s wise beyond her years. I dare say, a young lady like yourself could do far worse for role models.” Young lady. “Truly the most pious of us all– Ah, but I’m rambling. You two enjoy your evening, but don’t stay out too late!” Their footsteps retreated, but Robin couldn’t shake the buzzing in their ears or the warm, melty feeling in their chest.
What… what was this? What was that? Why–
Robin snapped back to attention as soon as the stranger was nowhere to be seen. They hadn’t even realized Mother was staring at them, her eyes wet with concern and a hint of knowing. She hadn’t meant to bring those feelings to the surface, but she had to say something convincing with that disguise of theirs.
They continued on their way, past the wall and through the ramshackle village just beyond it where all the hopeful would-be worshipers lived, the kind not important enough to be welcomed inside with the rest. There, on the outskirts near a stable, they had some time to catch their breath.
Robin sighed, slouching against the half-rotted wood wall. They’d soon commandeer a pair of steeds, but for the moment, they were far enough to escape immediate detection. Even were the alarm to raise now, it’d take too long for Validar’s minions to search such a distance from the keep.
Beside them, Mother sat, panting softly. She wasn’t quite used to having to run so far in so short a time. Robin knew Validar had kept her malnourished, barely fed enough to function in order to ensure she stayed on as tight a leash as possible.
That Grima stayed on that leash, too.
The dragon’s blood boiled at the thought; he truly believed he could control the Wings of Despair? Validar would burn for that… though perhaps not at Robin’s hands. No, Robin was content to put as much distance between them and that despicable wretch as possible. Let him rot in his paper kingdom and his fortress of lies.
As they mulled over their hate of the worm who’d unfortunately fathered this vessel of theirs, Mother turned her gentle gaze back towards her child. “Robin…” Her voice drew them from their musings, her child glancing at her with soft, worried grey irises. The same color as her own mother’s. Oh how much they looked like her. “I apologize about– back there, I didn’t mean to–”
“What? Mother, it is fine.” Robin shook their head. “Your swift thinking let us escape–”
“Yes, but I saw your expression, I hadn’t meant to bring out those feelings before you were rea–”
“What feelings?!” Robin asked, genuinely and willfully confused, forcing themselves to forget the emotions whorling through their chest at the thought of those inane, echoing, simple words. “Mother, I am fine. I was… merely strategizing. Dealing with uncertain variables.”
“If you insist, sweetheart, but…” Mother sighed, uncertain whether to press the matter. Eventually, she did, if only to leave the door open. “Just… no matter who you are, you are my baby, okay? My child, no matter who you choose to be.”
Robin rolled their eyes. “I know, Mother. I am not some hatchling, though. I know well who I am: I am the Fell Dragon, the Wings of Despair, but I am also your s–.” A pause. A blink. Odd. Why does their throat constrict at that word? Why can they not say that? Why does it feel…
Wrong?
“–your child.” They finish. It’s only then they realize they… aren’t even thinking of themselves as a son anymore. They can’t even use the word ‘he’ to refer to themself.
Mother detects the growing confusion boiling over again. A compassionate hand lands onto Robin’s shoulder, the dragon’s brow furrowing. Why does it not make sense? First love, now… this?!? Whatever this was, they just wanted it to make sense. Why this? Why now?
It didn’t make sense. Robin hated it when it didn’t make sense.
As Robin realizes they aren’t even thinking the name ‘Grima’ when referring to themself, it’s then they catch a glimpse of an odd glint. It’s around Mother’s neck; where had she gotten that…?
“Mother, where did you get this?” They reached forward, grasping a strange pendant.
“Oh, I forgot I was wearing this… I got it just after you were born.” She gazed down with a conflicted fondness, the same kind she had whenever she looked at… him. “It’s funny, I always wore it, even knowing how little it meant. But that day meant more than whatever he meant for this to be, so I clung to that, I think.”
Robin’s eyes widened at the implication, realization creeping across their face with an icy chill. “Mother… you don’t mean he gave this to you…?”
She nodded. “Yes. I… I know he never cared about me. I still couldn’t just let it go, though. I always was weak-willed, I suppose… it was nice to pretend he cared, even for a bit. And every time I saw it, I only thought of you, not him - that special day you came into the world.
As touched as Robin was, the revelation that this pendant was gifted to Mother by him only made them that much more worried. “No, that’s– it’s fine, but may I?” They slipped it off her neck, peering into the blackened jewel in its center…
… only to see Validar staring back. “There you are.”
Robin froze. Mother did, too. Not simply because the jig was up.
It was because that voice didn’t come from the pendant - it came from right behind them.
Robin whipped around, hand glowing with swirling magic – when a weight threw itself onto their back, an angry cry escaping their throat as they were suddenly pinned to the ground, hands bent behind their back. They thrashed and growled, baring their teeth as they tried to shake off their assailants, only for several more weights to fall atop them, various shapes blocking their view. Robin’s first instinct wasn’t necessarily to protect themself; yes, they wanted to be free, but they had to protect Mother.
Even obscured through legs and torsos and shadows, Robin caught a glimpse of her. She wasn’t being restrained, but she was cowering. Trying to back away as another figure approached her.
“NO!” They screamed. “GET AWAY FROM HE–ACUK-!!” Their fury choked in their throat as a shackle clamped around it, more locking their arms in-place behind their back. Draconic might fell deathly still inside of them, like their inner flame had just been doused or covered with a clay pot.
“Robin-!!” Their Mother forgets her own safety and throws herself upon the ones atop her child. Sadly, her valorous rescue attempt is in vain, only able to pry off one of Robin’s attackers before she is thrown aside, herself. Standing over her it a tall, sickly figure, one all too familiar to them both.
“Tsk, tsk, it appears your tutors were not thorough enough in subterfuge, my lord.” Validar’s sneering tone coaxed an angry snarl from Robin. They thrashed again, only serving to rattle their bonds; the damnable things burned with some ancient magic, magic all too familiar to Robin. It reminded them of the vial, and the maze - of home.
“Snake. Worm. MAGGOT.” The Fell Dragon hissed coarsely through their constricted windpipe. “You planned this from the start. I knew you wretches would use me, I allowed that, but to BETRAY ME!?!”
Validar turned his head back towards them, almost looking genuinely hurt. “Use? Betray? Never, master. All this – it has always been for you. For the sake of your glorious destruction, of your righteous fury. All we Grimleal ever do is in service of this and of you.” His vile neck swiveled, almost audibly cracking as his features twisted to disgust upon laying his gaze upon their Mother. It prompts another savage flailing, but to no avail. “But THIS wretch would seek to steal you from us. To pervert your holy purpose, to defile your ruination. Poisoning you with pitiful, mortal concepts which only quicken this world’s demise. Misguided musings like loyalty and love.” The man literally spat those words, so utterly convinced of their depraved nature that he could not stomach the thought of having them leave his lips.
“I–I didn’t want to–” Their Mother tried to rebuke.
“SILENCE!!” Validar sneered, causing her to cower.
“P-Please, don’t hurt them…”
“Hurt?” He looked appalled. “It is you who would damage, maim, and torture our master with such repugnant human concepts as those you have showered him with.” He crept closer to her, ignoring the rising, desperate cries from said ‘master’ as they protested his mere proximity to Mother. “–But fret not, o’ wayward soul. I know, deep inside, your devotion still exists. Had it not, then our master could never have taken flight from your pitiable flesh. We need but excise your sin, REDEEM your error.”
A spindly, decrepit hand came down upon her face, causing her to whimper with fear. Robin struggled against the chains, their mortal flesh straining so hard its bones might’ve broken had they the room to stretch as far as they wanted - NEEDED - them to stretch. Had to get him away. Had to protect Mother.
Validar’s other hand reached into his robe, pulling a gnarled, twisted dagger from its depths. It was little more than simple steel, but against a frail human, that was all he needed. Their Mother tried to pull away, but his grip tightened around her neck. She struggled, flailing her arms forward as fiercely as she could, to no avail. She was no fighter. She was no unholy priest whose every breath was laced with death.
She was no Fell Dragon, born from mortal womb and whose tears streamed down their cheeks as they kicked and raged and screamed their throat raw.
“NO!!” Robin’s teeth dug into dirt. “PLEASE, NO!!! I’LL GO BACK, I’LL KILL WHOEVER YOU WANT, I’LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT!!!” They hopelessly bargained. “DON’T HURT HER!!!”
Sadly, all their pleadings only served to enrage Validar even further. Not at Robin, of course, but at their Mother. “Look. LOOK at what this vile, mortal compassion has done to our master. Sniveling and crying in the muck for a mere worm.” He raised his weapon, pale moonlight gleaming off its edge. “But there is yet salvation for you, my dear, sweet Sparrow.”
His grip tightened, fingers squeezing the hilt of his blade.
“In death, the master’s Truth, you will know forgiveness for your sin of EXISTENCE.”
The dagger came down.
Robin’s breath caught in their throat.
Their eyes widened in horror as sharpened metal pierced Mother’s chest.
Their whole world shattered in an instant as blood sprayed from the wound, splattering across Validar’s wicked grin.
Robin’s tears flowed unabated, cries so mournful they were silent. Everything was going white, black, emptiness like the void. That void of their hollow creation and meaningless existence returned, consuming their senses one by one.
Yet before it could, before Robin’s vision could fade from sheer, all-encompassing grief, they saw Mother reach out for them one final time. Gentle, caring Mother, whose last thoughts were only of her darling Robin.
Selfless devotion Grima had never known. Could never know.
But Robin knew it. Robin had lived in it, basked in its embrace like morning sunlight after a cold winter’s night. Swaddled themselves in its comforting presence on those tiresome afternoons running tutors ragged on their poorly-prepared lessons.
Robin knew this love. Robin couldn’t exist without this love – it had brought them into this world, nurtured them, and now?
Died for them.
Blackness turned to red. Sorrow, to rage. Mortal flesh burned from the inside-out, ancient magic shackles literally melting as Robin reached deep, deep, oh so deep for their fire.
So smug about his accomplishment, Validar failed to notice Robin breaking free of their bindings, of his ‘master’s’ might pushing far beyond what their vessel was thought capable of.
Failing to witness the unbridled fury of a child who’d just watched their Mother die for them.
“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGH-!!!!” Robin’s deafening anguish explodes outward, purple aura wreathing their form and blasting the cultists holding them down. Two of them, furthest from the epicenter by mere centimeters, are blown away, sailing through the night before crashing to the ground with lethal force. The rest don’t even get a chance to scream, reduced to dust on the breeze as Robin’s grief literally pours outwards, made manifest in whorling, vengeful magic.
It’s only then that Validar turns, satisfaction turning to utter dread for the mere moments he has to witness his master’s true ire.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH-!!!!”
Another, horrible, mourning shriek rips through the air, and a concussive blast big enough and strong enough to level the entire keep instead detonates just outside of it, vaporizing a portion of the wall while much of the rest crumbles or is sent careening back into the fortress itself, devastation once thought reserved for the Grimleal’s enemies now brought down upon their very heads.
…
……
………
The smoke takes an eternity to clear. As it does, Robin’s awareness slowly fades back in. They’re on the ground again, restraints burned to ashes and assailants rendered to much the same fate. Validar is nowhere to be seen, any number of lumpen soot possibly concealing his form. Nothing has been spared their wrath.
Nothing, save for a lone, bleeding figure.
Robin doesn’t think. Scrambling through the seering, maddening pain running through their body, they fall to their Mother’s side, desperately cradling her in their arms. “M–Mother… Mother…” Their voice is weak and tiny, mouth quivering as wetness again falls from their eyes and clouds their vision.
“... r…” Their Mother stirs, her lifeforce feeble and fraying. Too frayed to save. “R… R–ob…in…”
“Mother… hic–!” They sob, like a pathetic babe. They can’t bear it. They bury their face in her neck, trying to ignore reality. Trying to escape the inevitable.
A familiar touch rests on their cheek. Tender. Loving. “Rob–in, cough-houck…” She labors through bloodied breaths.”You… y-you must… leave, Robin…”
“Not without you–!” Robin hugs her tighter, closer. Trying to preserve what warmth she has left even as it fades from her body along with her soul.
“Ah–hack–” Warm blood splatters onto their coat. “M–My… sweet… gentle… Robin…… I’m sorry…”
Robin clings to her. As if they can stop her from leaving this plane of existence with sheer will alone.
“I… I’m sorry… for… leaving you… lea–cough–leaving you… alone…” She stroked their cheek, like she always would when they fell asleep in her bed. “... and… I’m sorry… for making you hurt… my lord…”
Robin’s head raised, confusion and sorrow in equal parts mixing on their expression. “What…?”
“I’m sorry…” Mother smiled weakly at them. “… sorry for making you… play along… with a silly mortal’s dream…”
“You–” Robin bit back another sob. “… it was no dream, Mother. I–” Their voice caught in their throat, hitching as they reached up to grasp their Mother’s weakening, loving hand. “–I am your Robin.” A shaky smile managed to fight its way above the mournful frown. “The time we spent… the family we were… the family we are.” They squeezed her hand. “Nothing has brought me more joy. Nothing has changed my world more than your love. Love I never knew, was never allowed to know.”
Her eyes brightened against her draining strength, her limbs managing to stave off their declining strength for just a few moments longer. “R–obin…”
“I have lived thousands of years, known and wrought unimaginable suffering… but I have never felt as truly alive as being your child has made me feel. As being your Robin has granted me.” The tears were only getting more voluminous, distorting the final few moments Robin had with their Mother with a hazy filter.
“Oh, my Robin…” She guided them downwards, managing to plant one final kiss on their brow. “Nothing… could’ve made me happier… than being… your mother. Y–koff–you’ve become such a… beautiful child… so… kind…”
Beautiful. For some reason, hearing that from their Mother… it’s all just too much again. They close their eyes, what are certainly some of their Mother’s last words echoing now through their mind. Even as grief consumes them and anguish clouds the world, things… things start to slot into place. What Mother had plainly suspected, but Robin was too stubborn or too foolish or just too ignorant to recognize.
Why Robin had grown displeased as their body grew.
Why Robin had slowly began to hate the Grimleals’ eyes observing their flesh.
Why Robin craved nothing more than to live in a world where they didn’t need to be Grima, for their vessel to be perceived as it was.
Why Robin had chosen this form to flee in. Why she had become so attached to beginning anew.
Grasping Mother’s hand, Robin’s head rose one last time, gaze foggy with anguish and joy. Joy that Mother could finally see her Robin. “And it–it has been my privilege to be your child.” A mournful hiccup was forced down as Robin gave Mother as bright and as earnest a smile as could be forged at this hour.
“... it has been my privilege to be your daughter.” She could barely see now, but Mother’s face was crystal clear as the words finally, finally passed from Robin’s lips, devoid of her doubts at long last.
Her Mother’s eyes sparkled, glimmering with more stars than the sky itself could hold. “Oh… oh my dear, beautiful Robin…” Her fingers tried to curl, squeezing Robin’s hand with no more force than a soft, fleeting wind. “I’m so happy… I could meet… my–little–girl…”
Her eyes shut with a smile. A tender, nurturing, adoring smile, even as her grip finally fell slack and her hand nearly slipped from Robin’s grasp.
“... mother…?” Robin croaked softly. She knew it was too late. But… some part of her still believed. Believed that Mother could still hear her. “… I’m sorry you didn’t meet her sooner.”
For a moment, just a second, Robin could’ve sworn her Mother’s smile only widened, warming against the encroaching chill of her body.
Yet she stirred no more.
As her Mother left this world, Robin wept. Her body had suffered for her rage, but she didn’t care. She’d used up too much of herself to break free and punish Validar’s minions, but she didn’t care.
The world was going cold as water fell, the skies crying with her.
She didn’t care. Her senses again began to fail her, reason leaving her mind as she carried Mother away from this horrible place. Her feet didn’t know where to go, only that they could go. They had to go.
For Mother.
She clung to Mother, soaking up that last ounce of fleeting warmth as the Wings of Despair finally knew true despair itself.
She hated it.
…
---------
…
“S…hing… in… …ield…”
Voices. Sound. Light, peeking through sore eyelids.
“Mgh…” Throat was dry. Cracked. Hurting. Where…?
“It… …oved…!”
People. Their voices, heard. Ears… ringing. Also hurting. Who…?
Heavy footfalls. Multiple pairs. Senses… coming back. Scattered, but there.
What was this place? Where was she? Who were they?
… Who was she?
As Robin stirred, she felt a shadow casting over her. Vision strained but intact, she gazed up, seeing three unfamiliar individuals. Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure what was familiar to her.
“Chrom, we have to do something-!” A girl spoke.
“Well, what do you propose we do?” A sterner voice replied with question. He sounded both sure and unsure, like someone who knew his role in life but still knew he didn’t know everything.
“I-I don’t know!” The girl, meanwhile, was a bit less measured. Younger, possibly. Robin’s not sure why she’s so certain of those observations, or why she’s making such observations on instinct as the two standing above her realize that she’s awake.
“I see you’re awake now.” The man smiles down at her. He was… he looked nice. There was some kind of mark on his shoulder, a mark which made her blood tingle angrily, but when he offered his hand?
She didn’t hesitate to take it.