#lyon support

@resurrectionpact ; @thelordoftheair ; @ceaselessblade ; @onlygodremembers

The kingdom of Valla, referred to by those who dare as the invisible kingdom, is a land hidden away at the bottom of the Bottomless Canyon, only to be visited every few decades when the skies above the lands of Hoshido and Nohr change. Following the curse of its creator, the silent dragon, none live there but ghosts, whispers of the past and what once was and no longer is. A land lost to time and myth, just as any belief or faith’s inevitable end.

In the here and now, it is not Vallaites, but unknown shadows that surge upon the monastery with weapons drawn and spells alight, crying out for the blood of the devout and retribution for whatever secrets time has swept away.

It is not the same. But the similarities are enough to leave Mitama on edge.

Mitama rolls a 19. Crit! 3.5 damage. Target is now poisoned.

Mitama’s voice cracks through the battlefield as she charges in, Valaura flying through the air once more to seep into the shadowy archer’s skin. The figure cries out as the spell burns and poison takes hold of its form. 

Should she be concerned about how easily she’s taken to the spell? She’s never dabbled in poisons before...her father-

isn’t here. Nor is the Dawn or the Dusk she knows so well. Only the Goddess and the blessing she bestows upon them in her name, despite the mark her protectors call a stain of sin upon her ankle. Well...if the Goddess deems this the path Mitama might take, so be it.

She’s never been one for fighting fate anyways.

Sword Mercenary attacks for 1 damage.

The sound of the sword slicing through the air grabs Mitama’s attention before the pain as a cut blossoms on her arm. She hisses and recoils, turning to face the new opponent. Before she can retaliate, another figure attacks it. Mitama blinks, recognizing Ike, before she huffs.

“Oh, good, we made it!” Asugi laughed, slowing to a stop and placing Lyon down safely as they stood in line to give their tickets. “I would have been SO MAD if I’d won the tickets at the last second, only to miss the boarding call!”

The catacombs are dark. It is an unsurprising thought. They are underground. But it had not occurred to Mitama exactly how dark they would be until the light was stricken away from them. The sudden plunge, along with Mitama’s mark growing more and more irate under her sock similarly plummeted her own mood.

The sight of a golem at the other end of the hall certainly does not help either.

Mitama sighs to herself, examining the walls as she grumbles and wonders why the religious heads of the institution did not think to deactivate their defenses before their arrival, when her eyes fall onto a mural that decorates the passage.

The shrine maiden hums curiously. It is religious in origin, clearly, but not anything the shrine maiden can recall hearing of in the preaching. Not that that was unusual either.

Her eyes drift to their newfound mystery guide. Mitama could easily use this as an opportunity to question Rhea and Seteth further, but it would not do well to leave any loose ends. "Might it be possible to receive an explanation of what we are seeing for those of us who are less informed in such matters?"

"Ah, of course!" Faolán steps in front of the group to get a better look at the wall.

Water and time have faded the mural's original colors, and there are parts where you see the bare rock rather than paint. However, you can still make out a large female figure daintly stepping onto a blue floor (tile? water?). Where her foot touches the blue erupts light, clouds and snow and magic, trees and flowers and the animals that leap after them.

"The Creation of Fódlan," Faolán whispers in wonder. "When the Goddess alighted on our world, when it was but a cloudless ocean... even when worn by time, its glory is arresting."

Mitama hums, thoughtful, turning her attention to the mural once more. She cannot deny that it is a gorgeous piece of work. “Why would such a piece be commissioned in a part of the monastery where none would see it?” She wonders out loud, crossing her arms before her. “Surely it would fair better to be displayed openly, for all to gawk at.”

              The little prince looks up to the imperial general with wide eyes.  It’s been so long since he’s been allowed outside, but there’s a break in his fever and a warm temperature today, so he’d asked to go into the courtyard, and his father said yes and reflexively assigned one of the Imperial Three to babysit him.

              Valter Moonstone is so impossibly large, he’s more of a tree to Lyon than a human being, and his words make little sense to the child, who’d just tripped and scraped the palm of his hand on the cobblestone path.  He’d shown Valter, because he thought that was what one did when they were hurt, and Valter had responded with that.

              He looks down to his scraped hand, lined red, and pokes at some of the cuts.  It’s a different kind of pain than leeches or bloodletting, one that’s hard to compare to those he’s experienced.  It stings sharply, and he flinches when his finger touches down.

              For a boy of five, Lyon is surprisingly well-read, and his little voice speaks eloquently, though he’s very quiet.

              ❝ The books say life is full of hope, ❞ he says.  ❝ That the knight will always defeat the dragon and the princess will always fall in love with him. ❞

              His face carries the blank expression unique to children – curiosity scarcely touches it, even though he raises it to face Valter as he poses his own query:

              ❝ Are there books that try to sell things?? ❞

Valter frowned down at the boy, scowling at the naivety of the child. Gods... Were all kids this stupid? He wished he could travel back in time just to smack some sense into himself at a young age. 

“What a stupid question. Of course there are books that try to sell you things -- in fact, all books you’ve read are trying to sell you something: themselves.”

He scoffed a bit, rolling his eyes as he leaned casually against his glittering silver lance. “Who would buy a book that tells people what they already know but fear to acknowledge? That the world is a cruel, dark place where no one cares about you and your life is as worthless as that of a bug crushed underfoot?” 

He shrugged. “People WANT to believe the world is a happy, prissy fantasy land. That’s why the books write it -- they know some poor, depressed person will buy it to try to feel better about their own worthless existence.”

DUNKED ON!

“OH GREAT, just what I needed! What the fuck do you even think you’re doing? Can you even see straight? Do you need Ephraim to throw for you? You need him to do everything for you anyways, so he might as well–”

                         Lyon mainly remains quiet in a mix of bewilderment and surprise.  he would think after what he’s done no one would ever speak to him so fondly, and yet this stranger…  who looks so suspiciously like Valter…  pulls him into an embrace.

                         he flinches, but doesn’t pull away, nor does he reciprocate.  instead he merely waits for the other to release him, before taking a step back and straightening his robes.

❝ erm…  thank you, Sir… ❞  he searches the other’s face for some kind of sign.  he looks so remarkably like Valter…  it’s eerie.  Lyon’s guard rises instantly.  ❝ i appreciate the support…  uhm.  sorry, i don’t think we’ve been properly acquainted… you… have me at a disadvantage. ❞

... What? 

For a second, Walter’s blood ran cold and he withdrew, fearing that he’d mistaken another for his prince yet again. But, no. This was most assuredly HIS prince -- down to the traditional jewelry and fine robes. So why was he looking at him with such confusion and alarm?

“Erm... S... Surely you muse recognize me, s-sire?” he asked, grinning nervously. “It’s me... The, ah, th-the Opalite? One of your f... father’s Imperial Generals? I even assisted you with your study o... of the magical arts...”