The Dawn of a New Day That's Waking

“Got it.”  Ike isn’t chagrined at all to hear Sothe’s explanation. He had missed the start of it, after all– he nods with attentive eyes, and then with visible appreciation as he realizes the hefty amount he’d missed.  It was starting to become a common mistake, he noticed– his first assumption was to attempt to find a fixed point to steady himself on, and even on firm ground, that approach hadn’t worked as well as he’d thought it would have. He stores the observation for later.  Try more things that require unstable and agile footing. Rely less on your footwork and weight, and instead on the balance of the rest of your body. Surfing is one way to do it, perhaps riding and flying next? He follows Sothe, wading a little deeper to match him, then throws the board out. It lands with a splash.  Immediately, difficulties arise, beginning from his very attempt to pull himself up onto the board flat– Ike is heavier, much heavier, so he finds his body awkwardly pushing one of the sides under the surface, which then retorts him by rocketing out from the waves with a vengeance. He ends up scrambling for purchase, the plank slipping from his fingers and away. Luckily, he’d expected this, and his other hand is still fast enough to grab at its fleeing tail so it does not get lost. This time, he slows down his attempt, and he’s able to pull himself up, toes touching the tail of the board. He presses his hands as close as he can to the center of the board, setting his chin straight ahead.  Nothing goes wrong here: once he’s stable enough, the rest is piecemeal. He pushes himself up with fluid ease, following Sothe’s example to rise into a position resembling vaguely a sprinter’s start, deft footwork allowing him to drop his left foot into where his knee had been, his right moving almost to his palms.  He waits for a moment to sense the feeling and attempt to stabilize, feeling a growing sense of tension like he shouldn’t be like this for too long– and then uses the position of his stance to twist himself upwards into standing, like a rubber band snapping straight. He fans his arms out to the side for balance instinctively, before he can stop them, and Ike winces as he prepares for a fall.  Nothing happens. The salty air tickles his neck, and Ike almost blinks in surprise as he finds himself balanced properly, standing on the board as the miniature waves rock lightly under his feet.  

“…Huh.”  Ike can feel a smile curling at the edge of his lips. This is actually kind of fun. He looks eagerly over the water. There’s the peeling waves that the figure had gone earlier on, but Ike frowns at the thought of immediately going in. He looks around for something smaller, and his eyes catch on a layer of white foam as the waves break over a bank that’s shallow enough where he can still see the pale sands rise and fall with the ocean, much like it was breathing. It’s not too far from them. “Sothe, look over there.” He points, jerking his chin at the point of interest. 

Sothe could only smile, seeing Ike succeed. He sure needed ways to pass the time—aside from swordfighting and training that is—and this had the potential to stick. On that note, he also thought of possibly returning to this in the future, although, perhaps, in an attire fitting for colder weather.

When the other called out to him, Sothe followed his eyes and pointers to a number of smaller waves a bit out to the right, still near the shore. Those would be a wise place to start: after all, they were unprepared for the higher peaks, as much as he wanted to head out there. The island didn’t seem to pose any danger, but who knows what could happen should they bring the danger upon themselves.

“That works,” he replied. “Let’s?”

As Ike approaches, he notices Sothe paddling about the sand with his steps. Now that he’s closer, he realises that the surfer’s movements must have been far more intricate than he’d been able to notice from that distance, Sothe rocking his balance ever just so slightly, pivoting on the balls of his feet. The grace present is evident– whether it be the footwork of a noiseless informant or the gliding steps that tamed even water, and he can’t help but lock his eyes over to watch, trying to glean the voiceless secrets that they must hold.   Sothe stops. Only then do Ike’s eyes dare to move up, to meet his expression.  Ike squints as he sees Sothe’s face fall, the twilight gleam enough to illuminate the contours of his frown. It’s only then that he remembers the last thing he’d told Sothe. He feels a pang of guilt, but Sothe opens his mouth and mentions the board. And the silver surfer. He nods quickly, to assuage his worries, then he steps back, thoughtful. This message must’ve been for him, then. He appraises Sothe.  Slim figure, backlit by the moon, lithe and sleek like a panther. The stars are out, glittering like jeweled eyes in the darkness, a formidable backdrop against an endless sheet of rippling white, only Sothe breaking the stillness with his stance confidently buried into the sand like a midnight paw.  Mhm. Seems to fit the occasion. He’s sure if Micaiah were here, she’d be cheering with hands clasped tightly, charmed with pride over the suave character Sothe has grown into. “Yeah, I saw that. Not very well, mind.” He thumps a hand on the board next to him. “But having this means I should might as well try, huh?” Ike mutters, a small lopsided smile on his face.  He won’t lie, he’s attracted to the idea of being to dominate water like that figure had done, tug back control even against nature’s fiercest pull and hover above it all, head unbowed, free.  That idea sings to him. He isn’t surprised– to float and to fly aren’t all that different when you’re at the helm.   Galvanized, he decides to pad on over to the shallows and attempt what Sothe is doing. Floating the board over the water, he steps and prods at it as he attempts to figure out its buoyancy. Getting on it, even in water only a foot deep, is an experience: his first attempt ends in him overbalancing and crashing into the sand immediately.  Completely unfazed, he picks himself up and attempts to step on the board again. 

Sothe watched his attempts back from the beach, taking in Ike’s every action. It seemed clear that, like the commander himself said, he hadn’t seen much. Standing up on the board in shallow waters could just be a simple test, but it was not going to go well regardless of what the other did. One were, from what he could muster, supposed to carry the force of the wave to be able to stand up like that individual.

How would you even get out into the water, standing up on a still board? Even in terms of balance this was nothing close to what it would be like out there: standing up in shallow water implies keeping your centre of weight in the exact centre of the board, while that wouldn’t necessarily be the case on the wave. It would constantly shift, adapting to the environment and power of the water. This experience could do more harm than good for Ike, and Sothe decided to intervene.

“Never imagined I’d be in a position to tell you this, but… stop. If you’re wary of your balance, it is best to try on smaller curls near the shore; what you are attempting to do is nearly the opposite of what awaits us. That’s not even mentioning that we’ll have to get out there by basically swimming,” the rogue added, imitating swimming movement. “A plank of wood only moves if it is propelled, and the best result you’re going to achieve by standing on it is getting shot back onto the sand.”

Sothe threw his board onto the water, just a few feet from Ike. It was the first time he could really look into the details: it was green, but not monotone: it was more like endless treetops, with large strokes of lighter and darker shades. On top of that, lines of blue, gold, black, changing and crossing in almost a weaved pattern. In some spots those lines formed symbols of daein, in some—his own memories. The ship where he stowed away. The Cathedral in Nevassa. The city’s defense. The Goddess Tower. All symbolic, but their meaning clear as day.

“Instead, try this,” he lay down onto the board and repeated what he saw at the very beginning—the way to get up in the moment. First his head, then shoulders and all of upper body and, at the end, the lower body, with his left leg instinctively taking his weight. Dang, doing this on the water is harder than I thought. He nearly fell over as a result, but kept his feet steady for just a few seconds before jumping off into the water, flipping the board. Once his head was back above the surface, he finished the sentence. “This is how that silvery man did it. And how we are probably supposed to, as well.”

"You have such a Sothe-ing voice," she begins, but covers her mouth, unable to keep a straight face. Regaining composure, she offers the quill. "I think that one was worth a signature, don't you?" 

Sothe was going about his day as a pink-haired girl approached him, introducing herself as Mae. Of course, he had to hear her out, provide help if needed, but... this? This came rather unexpected.

His ears immediately went red.

"You must be a thief, because you stole my heart."

And after this, his entire face as well. WOW, that was stupid. Both the lines and his reaction. Although it was less about the words and more about the tone the mage used. 

Reminded him of Aimee, if he were honest.

As much as Ike disliked how this place only seemed to be a facsimile of true peace, he had to admit– sometimes, it was good at what it did.  Now would be a good example. The sky is a generous pool of ink, framing only the pale clouds that look like maroon tufts of cotton passing by. The moon is a pristine jewel, its cloak of maroon ringing it like a clear aria.   If he were at the top of the cliff, he could almost imagine it– the sound of an owl crying out in the night, leaves rustling imperceptibly in the woods.  Looking up at the starless night, he finds the view… soothing.   The eerie stillness and dreamlike wind works for the dead of night, suspending the moment in velvet tranquility. The sand crunches under his feet. Aside from the gentle waves and the glittering grains that flicker before his eyes, he hears and sees nothing. As his eyes drift over to the horizon, he blinks. Somebody else is out there, illuminated by the crested waves. The figure glitters like silver, prideful and alone, backed to only itself, its reflection in the waves as it cuts through the surf like a gleaming knife.  It stands like the moon, distant, untouchable, even by the forces of the tides themselves. They crash about it, froth and boil and churn, and it alone stands, untouchable, immovable, the one constant slicing through the ever swirling liquid like a star of ice.  A wave rises and swallows up the visage, and the silver beacon twinkles out like it was never there at all. Ike remembers to catch his breath. The night air is cold, frosty, and wet, and it breaks him from the momentary trance that he’d found himself in.  Was that a message? He wonders. To whom? Looking out at the far horizon, Ike squints– and his eyes are dragged back to shore as he finds someone closer to the beach. The figure and slip of green is familiar enough for him to recognize it.  …Sothe? He hears a soft ‘thump’ beside him, and turns around. Wedged in the sand is a long, unfamiliar board, coated in a pearly white. He questions it for a second. Is that like the vessel the figure had stood on? It’s larger than he thought it was– he’d imagined it was just a plank.  Not thinking too much about it, he grabs the board under an arm and jogs up, intent on meeting the Whisper. 

He was ready. He managed the stunts about as well as one only could on sand, but, of course, the waters would be the real test of his skill. He looked up at the sky. The clouds have all cleared out, revealing an ocean of stars above: it was much brighter, it was unreachable; it was even deeper than the one laid out before him. And yet, the two bore much unseen similarity: one that was not expressed by words, but only felt in one’s soul. Perhaps, the truth hid in the reflections, perhaps it lay deep beneath the surface of vision and understanding.

Anyhow, Sothe was happy he had come out at night.

Just as he was taking off his shirt, he heard footsteps from behind. The sound was dimmed by sand but not gone, and he wouldn’t be a rogue had he missed it. Arms still tangled in linen, he turned around on an instinct, one trained for years, only to see Ike jogging in his direction. Luckily, the moon was high and the beach was clear: it was much like in twilight, seemingly eternal in the high walls of the former city-fortress.

Remembering their last conversation, Sothe almost sighed. Not the time. As the cloth went limp and fell to the ground, he spoke up. “Hey, I know I said whe-” but then he noticed the board. It wasn’t hard to draw the conclusions from that: he wasn’t here for the talk. “Guess I wasn’t the only one out. Have you also seen that, per chance?”

Fhirdiad turned Flayn into a paragon of regrets.

Hands unconsciously move towards the scar on her chest. She knows that she is most certainly not a ghost, but her mind had a habit of deceiving her; perhaps she really is a ghost, forced to haunt the living in this sick realm. 

That would certainly explain Sothe’s reaction to her now.

Golden eyes size her up once more, mouth curved into a taut frown as the student stiffens in recognition. His grip on the trash bags he was holding tightens, hands forming into tightly clenched fists. Flayn feels herself shrink under his gaze; perhaps it was too soon to hope for a happy reunion. Still, her stubborn self refused to give up– there had to be a way for them to repair their friendship.

Sothe forces down his unraveling emotions with a shake of his head. However begrudgingly, the student accepts her invitation. The sacks of rubbish disappear from his hands as soon as he says the word, warranting a stare from the two. The young saint knew this beach was a realm of mystery, but that was rather… unexpected.

“I, er… well, that takes care of that, I suppose.”

Flayn stutters, still flabbergasted at the strange sight. This place was most mysterious. What kind of realm was this? First, she is resurrected from the dead again, and now things were disappearing right before her eyes. It felt less and less real by the moment (perhaps it was never real to begin with?) Nevertheless, she continues her fishing journey, pointing towards the shoreline using the tip of her fishing pole. A small smile forms on her mouth– she hopes the gesture would ease him into speaking with her.

“That aside, I thought we could use this time to talk and fish. I find there is no better backdrop for conversation than the shining, blue sea and the silent idleness of fishing. Let us go to the sea, then, and catch ourselves fish aplenty!”

He manages a smile in response. “No better backdrop indeed.”

The island has no connection with the outside world, whether or not that still exists, but there is a small dock that can support boats and maybe smaller vessels. It is there that they head, arriving but a few minutes later as distance doesn’t seem to matter in this dream realm. If you’re deep in conversation and enjoying your time, you might walk for hours, but if thing are awkward or unpleasant, well… why draw it out? The latter applies to this situation as well, although the both of them undoubtedly hope that they can make amends.

As usual, there are two-three boats around, but the dock goes deep enough into the ocean that some—though tiny—fish can be seen in the shallow waters. Looking at the flimsy rod the mage constructed, Sothe can’t help but think they shouldn’t go for the bigger ones, but everything on this island is shrouded in mystery and they might as well try.

beach purgatory / starter for @ceaselessblade​

Of all odd things that had ever happened to him, this one easily took the cake. The island full of mysteries, wishes coming true in a moment’s passing as emerald cliffs rose from sandy beaches, not even mentioning the dreamlike haze and inability to leave. Was this supposed to be a vacation? Being confined to a “resort” kind of took away from the excitement.

But, aside from that specific detail, it was… tolerable. Nice even. Beautiful sights, warmth. The ocean.

Sothe liked to be out at night, breathing in the fresh air in quiet, only accompanied by the waves. He would sit out by the water barefooted and throw pebbles into the whitewash, watching them be carried away from the shore and sink. The sky on the island was rarely clear, but both the clouds and the shining stars brought a similar sense of peace. It had less to do with them though, and more with the waters, the night breeze, urging him towards the shore and beyond… With freedom he could feel even though it had been ripped from them for over a month by then.

That night, he was sitting there also, overlooking the far horizon. Similar thoughts were running through his weary mind, both calming and putting him on edge ever more. It would have been just a usual night, and he would have returned to the house in little time, but.. he thought of freedom. And right then, noticed something in the moonlight.

A silhouette of silver, near yet farther that all had ever swum. Standing on a kind of… plank, or board, gliding atop the waves. They were far, but Sothe could see it all in extreme detail: their movement and actions, the spray of water they sent flying into the air each time they shifted. And he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—look away.

The demonstration lasted for a good few minutes, until a high tide crashed on top of the silhouette, engulfing it. They weren’t seen again. He could only feel this served as a warning: maybe not for this place necessarily, but for a later time.

The rogue rubbed his eyes and looked around. The ocean was the same as ever, but he couldn’t say the same about the beach. Right near him, there lay a wooden… surfboard? Was that its name? A surfboard and a can of wax. 

beach purgatory | @l-bloomed-overachiever-l and @lolucina asked:

🌴 Well, everyone was stuck at this beach, so Annette figured that she might as well make the most of it and do everything she can. A few trees in the distance caught her eye, one in particular seemed to have little orange dots among the leaves. She turned to the person closest to her, which happened to be Sothe, and said "Hey! Do you wanna race to that tree over there? I think I might've seen some fruit!"

He was a bit startled by the sudden address, but looked over in the direction she was pointing in. Indeed, he could see fruit handing on the branches high above around and dang, there was much. The resources of the island seemed to be infinite, but even what they had available at all times was a lot. 

“Should we get some for everyone?” he asked, immediately regretting the question. That would be a lot of oranges. “On second thought, we might need more help with that, to gather and later carry them. Can’t say I’m weak, but I can only hold so many,” before the mountain becomes too high and collapses on the person carrying it.

Sothe looked around for more people. Most everyone was out at sea, but there were a couple people walking around. The first of them he called out to. “Oi, Lucina! Want to climb some orange trees?”

What he doesn’t know? Sothe probably knew already. Why isn’t he saying it? 

He’s giving you the chance to say something. Take it. 

But does he even know he, himself, has a problem? He ends up clenching his fists, nails digging into his palms. 

He does. He hasn’t been fighting well. If it’s affected his ability to fight, then it’s damned well serious.  But he’s getting better, isn’t it? It’s something that should fade, until there’s nothing left. It’s only because he was thrown into this place that his recovery had been left askew.  Would things really recover to what they were with time?  It might, but… He opens his mouth, to tell Sothe to wait, but no sound comes from it.  “…I’ll take you up on that.” He can’t stop the momentary quiver in the start of his tone. At least he left himself the option to decide when he should talk to him. But he won’t back down.  He won’t.  Ike stays silent, unwilling to look Sothe in the eyes. Maybe Sothe will think he meant to speak to him later. He’ll deal with it then. 

“I’ll take you up on that.” 

Later it is, then. 

“All right, whenever you deem it necessary. Take care,” he said and started walking off. He averted his gaze. Now Sothe was certain it was serious, serious to the extent of greatly bothering and, possibly, crippling Ike of all people. A problem of a kind even he wouldn’t want to discuss. Now that he thought about it, all he had ever heard about Ike having struggles were rumours… So had he ever talked about his problems? Even and especially to Titania, Mist, Soren? Even Ranulf or Reyson, who he had also seemed to be close with?

In any case, that didn’t matter now. If he needed time to get his bearings, that was perfectly fine, but for Sothe to be the person he’d potentially open up to… he found that amusing and just as much concerning. Avoiding Leonardo with his history seemed like a rational choice, Ilyana had always been more focused on food than anything else—but Tibarn, to his knowledge, was with them and available. It was obvious the hawk knew Ike better than Sothe, and one would expect it would be easier to have this talk with him, instead… But then Sothe would be told that outright.

Was he worried about the image he had to uphold with Tibarn? Sothe shivered, remembering their interaction by the stables. Then again, his history with Tibarn was much, much more complicated than Ike’s, his long-time ally’s. Tibarn had no reason to get angry and would, more likely, give him advice and ways to resolve that problem. So there must have been a reason Ike avoided that conversation. A reason yet unclear.

Had he done something that would enrage the King? Made some kind of costly mistake or, unbeknownst to him, committed a terrible act? His behaviour could certainly suggest so, but, still, that was too wide of a range to guess.

He’d wait until the hour or the day Ike would actually speak. Everything else was, frankly, harmful speculation.

beach purgatory | @slumbering-saint asked:

🎣| Fingers fiddle with twigs as Flayn ties the sticks together using a fishing line she found on the shore. With enough time, the saint manages to cobble together a barely usable fishing pole. Before she can set off, however, she spots a familiar man; Sothe. Guilt tugs at her chest— their last interaction had been rather sad. Flayn wanted to make it up to him. Looking down at her flimsy fishing rod, she knew just what to do."Sothe! I was just about to go fishing. Would you like to join me?"

He is walking around the beach, collecting everything that catches his eye. Shells of curious design, stones with unusual patterns, other oddities that could have appeared on the sand only through the power of wishes. In addition, he is collecting trash, left by the other campers. Even if the island is nothing but a dream, he still feels bad over seeing the beach littered. Some other person would just wish it away, but he doesn’t like to deal with wishes. They’re dangerous.

And besides, this makes for a decent calming activity. It hasn’t even been 24 hours since they were yanked out of Phirdiad and placed here—for whatever reason—on this island. What’s worse, he has trouble recalling the events that transpired in the castle. He remembers the pain in his shoulders and stomach, but also his soul aching, for something, someone that must have got hurt in the situation. Oddly, collecting garbage while feeling like garbage works as a great distraction.

Or it did, until he heard a familiar voice call out to him and the memories flooded back.

It’s not overwhelming: all this time it felt like they were covered by a thin veil, easy to pierce and throw away. It isn’t overwhelming, but it is painful, not physically, no, but relieving all of those emotions in the span of moments cannot be good for one’s mental stability, or sanity. Not to mention, he still cannot recall who he, Beruka and Hilda met up with, who they found in the warehouse, who it was that killed Flayn… Is ‘killed’ the right word? She stands before him unharmed: her voice as chirpy as usual, smile on her face. When everyone got together, he heard tales of people dying and coming back, so she must be alive.

What is the right word to use then? Matters not.

He must have looked at her in shock, so he shakes his head and huffs, forcing the unpleasant sensations to leave his mind. “I’m sorry, still.. recovering from whatever in Marado that was. Yeah, sure, sounds like a nice time! Let me just… get rid of all this,” he raises the bag filled to the brim with paper and peel, already starting to smell. And, as he says it, the bag disappears without a trace.

Are cliffs really that noticeable around here? This isn’t the first time he’s been interrupted… He glances about for a second, looking at the expanses of beach and the low trees below them.  Ah. It really is kind of obvious, isn’t it? Still, he finds himself reluctant to leave. He likes this place!  Man, if only I had wings. 

He pushes the thought out of his head. He’d always thought he was better on the ground, but now he’s starting to doubt that he actually wants to stay on it… Well, why not give a try sometime? But that’s not for the consideration at the moment– It doesn’t miss him that he appears to be trying to distract himself from what Sothe is saying.  Does he require help? Yeah. Probably. 

He frowns. Is he so easily read? He supposes that he’d never really been able to hide his emotions from anyone else.  And considering how well Sothe would be to scout about, then… perhaps, would he know?  … He can’t lie, then. As much as it galls him to admit it, it wouldn’t be him if he did, and Sothe would know regardless.  He also didn’t miss the way Sothe almost called him ‘sir’. He’d probably come here to check on him. He’d be doing him a disservice if he brushed him off.  “No, truthfully, I’m not. It’s not something the healers can fix.” He admits, voice somewhat flat. “But it’s not something to worry about– I just need time.”   There. Enough to push back the moment of concern, and hopefully ease his worries. If Sothe wishes to disengage, then he has his chance.  He ignores the quiet twinge of desperation in the back of his head. That time is over. He’s fine, now. 

Now that he had time to look, the cliff was strangely normal for a tropical island. It was like it had been pulled from somewhere familiar—Daein even—and dropped here on this beach, with no effort or consequence whatsoever. Even the temperature at the top was closer to Northern Tellius than to Brigid, although that could be due to the height they were on.

Sothe listened to the swordsman’s words refraining from interruptions. Ike admitted he had a problem and, although the nature of it he wasn’t aware of, it seemed serious, especially if it was something to lose your sleep over. And yet, if he said it was nothing to worry about… there was little chance he would actually talk about it. In any case, if he did at least acknowledge there’s a problem, he would be able to handle himself, right?

“If you say so,” the rogue replied, getting back up on his feet. “I won’t ask if you don’t want me to know, but, just, you were there for a good few of us when we needed it, and we can return the favour. If you feel the need to talk, the least I can do is listen,” he dusted his trousers, giving the other a few moments to think the offer over and respond. 

You can only help those who want help, after all. And some problems are best kept private. They weren’t exactly close and, despite his admiration, it would be inappropriate to meddle in personal business.

The wind whistling past his ear had long become a low drone of annoyance. He’d enjoyed it at first, but as he found himself sleepless, it’d just grown to be a nuisance.  It’s also all he hears except slight rustling. He waits– for what he thinks are a few seconds, but as the silence stretches on, he cracks open an eye, to find Sothe… sitting in silence?  He didn’t look like he was busy. Did he think that was an order? He did call him Commander. Chagrin colours Ike’s face as he unpins his tangled cape and sits up in a single motion.  “You don’t have to stand on courtesy.” Ike looks at Sothe, expression serious. “I was just joking earlier.”  He suppresses a sigh, breathing in as he picks the cape back up and tries to loop it back around his neck. It falls over his expression while he does so, and he’s glad for it– he’d rather Sothe not see the resignation in his eyes as he offers reassurance. Just like always. He prepares himself, dragging back what dregs of care he can muster, and breathes out the old practiced words.  “…Is there anything I can help you with?”  If Sothe really did come here for a purpose, who is he to refuse? He’ll just help for a bit. Once more… 

“No..?” the rogue is surprised by the question, seeing as he hadn’t mentioned that even once. “This cliff appeared out of thin air and I went to see if everything was all right. And found you, s- Ike, lying face-first into the ground.”

If this was indeed a comfortable place to sleep, he would just leave him be, but it… didn’t seem so. Not to mention the weary expression hidden behind the old mantra: is there anything I can help you with. Sothe had never been a good talker, but never a bad reader. You had to read people well to get by. And the reading he was getting was not of a joking, or caring man.

But of a tired one.

His reaction is awkward, and she can hardly blame him for that. Not only had she briefly mistaken him for someone else—her beloved at that, gods, how embarrassing—but the last time they met hadn’t exactly been on the best of terms. He’d been burned and injured from wounds she inflicted on him, and though he had accepted her apology for that, Celica still felt guilty about it.

Which is why she opens her mouth to protest when he voices his intent to attend the seminar, wanting to protect him from the fraud, but stops when she realizes how much of a commotion that might cause. She had come here to conduct her own business with Franzi Pans, and it wouldn’t be fair to drag Sothe into it. 

She closes her mouth, and thinks for a moment. The back, he says. Celica would much rather be at the front, where she could have easier access to the fraud… but the room was rather full, so it might be best to attract less attention to herself, and wait for the opportunity to strike.

“Yes, I would like that.” She smiles softly, “It’s comforting to have at least one familiar face around.” Which, now that Celica thinks about it… no one she knew had even come. Perhaps they, too, could sense this woman’s ill intent?

At Sothe’s suggestion, they both head to the back of the crowd, Celica crossing her arms over her chest as she begins to listen to Franzi start her lecture, though not before going off on a tangent about how she took on three sandworms simultaneously. By the skin of her teeth. While injured in one leg, and wielding two swords. The princess scoffs as uproarious applause kicks up around her, and she is ashamed to think that, at one point, she would have clapped along with them. 

“Ooooh… the situation was rather tense… I was trapped, and the worms were rapidly closing in on me…” Franzi sighs dramatically, holding the back of her hand to her forehead. But she quickly perks up, voice light and airy as she extends her arm in a flourish. “But in the end, my lovely, dearest, TRUSTY blades, Ragnell and Alondite, helped me win the day! ♪ ”

Celica quirks a brow at the names, but they don’t strike her as particularly familiar. Still, she had no doubt it was probably a lie of some sort, or a gross exaggeration. Her lips purse together pensively, and she casts a glance at Sothe, wondering what his reaction to all this was.

They sit down and Sir Franzi begins her lecture. She speaks on immeasurable dangers and unexplained myths, her adventures in Fodlan and beyond, the fiends she slew and the princes she saved. The presentation is mesmerising for those who are truly listening and Sothe’s attention is undividedly captured. That is, until she mentions the worm incident.

“But in the end, my lovely, dearest, TRUSTY blades, Ragnell and Alondite, helped me win the day!♪”

Huh. Repeat that?

And to his sheer bewilderment, she does. She goes in full details of how she pushed the blade through its stomach, freeing herself from the encroaching horde. The bewilderment soon interchanges with confusion and then skepticism and irritation, all clearly defined in his expressions.

After the traders’ scam, he isn’t about to fall for yet another trick.

“Sir, could you elaborate on that,” he raises his voice for all to be heard across the hall. “I’d very much like to hear what these wonderful blades look like, and which powers of theirs you have released in that moment.”

When Tibarn walks into the stable, he is not sure how he should react to the scene that greets him. On the one hand, he almost wants to laugh out loud - the utter ineptitude this so-called authorized personnel is currently displaying while trying and failing to handle the aggressive wyvern could legitimately make for a good comedy. On the other hand, the poor thing looks absolutely miserable and at this point there is an actual risk of someone getting hurt. Probably not straight up eaten, but a loss of limb could definitely happen.

When the wyvern growls and gets ready to lash out at him and Sothe, Tibarn instinctively transforms and spreads wide his wings in a threatening gesture to intimidate the reptile - which is no longer larger than him now - into backing off to a corner. And back off it does, but the thunder-like growl, although quieter, still resonates through its body, and the whip-like tail slams into the ground repeatedly in a show of frustration.

Fully aware that the situation is still very much volatile, Tibarn keeps up the intimidating posture, but now that it’s not attacking everyone around it, he can take a closer look at the creature.

“With the heating system broken, it’s pretty cold in here, so the wyvern should be lethargic, not aggressive”, he says, his voice unchanged in spite of his form. “Something has to be wrong.”

Just as he says that, he notices what it might be.

“I think it’s hurt”, he adds quickly as he gestures with his head at its left hind leg. The wyvern is almost black, so it’s a bit hard to see, but if Sothe gets enough courage to approach, he should notice a hint of blood on the scales - and more importantly, a large, wooden splinter embedded right by the ankle.

Most of the staff has now had enough time to get back on their feet, and Tibarn allows himself to look away from the reptile for a brief moment to look at them. “We’re gonna need to hold it down”, his voice shifts into that of a commander, “And then someone needs to get that out of its leg and bandage it. We’ve got bandages on hand, I hope?”

Someone nods in confirmation, and Tibarn then glances behind him, at Sothe. It seems clear which portion of this task the rogue is best suited for in the Hawk’s eyes.

“Figures,” Sothe replied, doing his best to keep a steady tone. “And yes we do, the problem is they’re kept right near the stables and, uh,” he looked over to the steel medkit, hung on the wall, uncomfortably close to the wyvern in question. It didn’t seem to be an item of importance to the latter, but it was still well within the tail range. If you go out, do so in battle. “I’ll.. go get the keys.”

(Stealth roll: 20!)

With them affixed to the belt, he started approaching the wyvern. Carefully, choosing the planks that wouldn’t creak and harmless poses, almost a literal spring in his step as he was about to jump at any moment to evade an inevitable attack. Yet the mount didn’t react aggressively. Maybe it was Tibarn’s intimidation, maybe it was the cold creeping into the stable, maybe something else—but he was able to safely make it to the kit and get the bandage. Long and wide, perhaps too much so for a beorc but perfect for a wyvern. 

A muffled noise emanates from the grass, something between a groan and an utterance of like ‘you shouldn’t call me that’.  Groaning, Ike pushes up with both his hands. Why, of all things, on this island, could it provide him both geography and equipment, but not provide him with peace?  Rolling over, he throws aside his arm in a fruitless effort to untangle the knots his cloak has wrapped itself into, pulling himself up to look at the intruder. He’d called him Commander– was it another Daein soldier, like Leonardo? No, perhaps, that voice had sounded familiar. “… Sothe?” He utters, surprised. He glances at Sothe’s clothes– they’re in yellow. The same uniform he’s wearing at the moment… Perhaps they both were transported to this place without clues.  Either way, he finds himself relaxing. Sothe is a familiar ally, not too close that he wouldn’t feel bad about approaching lest they see his weakness, but not distant enough that he’d have trouble talking to.  “I’ve had a bad day.” Understatement of the year. “I was trying to rest. As you can see, It’s not working.” Also an understatement. Normally, he just fell asleep wherever he sat down with his cape. Now, he felt neither tired nor did his mind allow him to sleep, with all the vague feelings of conflict it was supplying him with. It was very much out of the ordinary, and Ike can feel himself getting weary from all this, too. With a casual wave of his hand, he falls back into the turf, shutting his eyes. “g’mme a moment.” 

Sothe’s seen him like this before, he thinks. He shouldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. He’s sure he’s done worse while in his growing pains. 

Sothe had, in fact, not seen him in a state like this prior. On those days, Soren would usually stand guard by the commander’s door and keep most everybody out, and then the green-haired thief wasn’t one to pry into the affairs of his benefactors—or, in a way, caretakers. He did his job as best he could, looked for clues on Micaiah’s location and tried to avoid pretty much all unnecessary contact—not that it was successful, especially in the case of a certain red-haired mage—nothing else was his business and nothing else was worth his limited time and energy. And this was… new, to say the least.

Of course, he had heard Ike had lost his father to the Knight, he had also heard of the effect it caused, to an extent, but, having grown up parentless, he couldn’t understand the pain the other had gone through back then. His situation had only been slightly similar to Ike’s, and in few ways comparable. That said, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see Ike like this back then. This, however, seemed out of the ordinary and out of the blue. And very wrong.

The mysterious voice who spoke to you at the beginning seems to be listening to you when you make wishes. For better or worse, however odd or crazy they might be, the wishes come true, which makes you wonder all the more if the island is real or dreamlike. One day, a cliff appears on a seemingly flat shore, drawing everyone’s attention. What awaits there?

Another dream..? The events in Faerghus seemed as such; or perhaps it would be better to call them a nightmare. The beach, though reminiscent of events in Brigid, was nice: the sun not too bright, the air not too humid—it was perfect, almost uncannily so. In a way, it also brought a sense of nostalgia: after all, this environment was where Sothe first joined the ranks of the Academy students. 

At least everyone—himself included—seemed okay. Flayn as well, as whatever happened in the castle seemed to have had little effect on her body and mind. His wounds have disappeared, any trace and the person who inflicted them gone in a flash. Calm days were a nice change of pace. Until it was true that going back to the regular order of affairs was nothing but an even more unrealistic dream. 

Sothe was climbing a cliff that had appeared out of thin air just a few hours prior. A wish, huh? Someone must have wanted a place to stay alone, or something else that involved being secluded closer to the sky. Why was he going there then? To check if that person was fine. Hardly anything could harm them in this limbo, but after Fhirdiad he wasn’t willing to chance it.

Soon enough, he was at its top. A clear meadow of soft grass and flowers scattered all across. Windy and quiet, with nary a bird whistle in the air. Clear sky, as it was always like on this island.

And a large figure lying there headfirst into the ground.

The rogue considered calling for help, but the person seemed… familiar, if just vaguely so: he couldn’t discern much from a distance. And, sneaking up closer, it became clear why. It was no one but Ike, his former commander. Was it not? He was, however, acting… very uncharacteristically. Or at least in a way that Sothe had never seen him act before.

“Er.. Commander? Do you require help?” he said, following the old habit. “Why..?”

Sothe stares at her as though he has seen a ghost. Well, he was not exactly wrong; Flayn was dead just a few minutes ago. However shocked the man may be, however, he fights fiercely with strong strikes and fast reflexes. Readying her hands, the saint prepares to enter the fray herself.

The opposing assassin looked to be on his last legs, his movements sluggish and his body battered and bruised. Sothe must have given him quite the beatdown. She would have to pull her weight to ensure that his hard work was not in vain. Flayn cracks her knuckles; this madness ends now.

[ʜɪᴛ ʀᴏʟʟ (10!) ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴛᴛᴀᴄᴋ ʜɪᴛꜱ! ᴅᴀᴍᴀɢᴇ ʀᴏʟʟ (4!)] [—ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴛᴛᴀᴄᴋ ᴅᴏᴇꜱ (4) ᴅᴀᴍᴀɢᴇ! ᴀꜱꜱᴀꜱꜱɪɴ (0/20)]

Gritting her teeth, air swirls around Flayn as she conjures up the spell. Sharp blades of gale slice into her opponent, causing the man to fall onto the castle floor with a dull thud. The saint goes silent; the assassin is dead, just as she was a few minutes ago.

Now that the battle was over, the fact that she was dead and is now… undead hit her hard. Was she even supposed to be here? Why was the goddess toying with her fate like this, throwing her life away only to give it back without explanation?

Whatever difficulty she had in digesting this information seemed to double for her partner. She turns to Sothe, who is no doubt still trying to process her sudden appearance. It must have been a lot to process considering the fact that he saw her get killed.

“I am sure you are completely and utterly lost right now…” 

She lets out a deep sigh, chest heavy with emotions she was yet to explain. 

“I too am rather confused. While I have yet to know the reason why I have returned, I am quite certain that this existence of mine is no illusion. I am here, and I have risen.”

Completely and utterly lost won’t even begin to describe it.

The adrenaline gives out and so do his knees as he falls to the stone in a bout of exhaustion. He didn’t even get to come to terms with what had transpired and now it is like nothing has ever happened. As if he didn’t screw up and cause someone’s death. Is it wishful thinking? But no, the assassin laid in front of him, clearly killed by wind magic, something he doesn’t have access to. 

He doesn’t want to assume he’s in a trap.

“What the fuck is happening around here,” he mutters. “I want to believe you, but it’s far from unlikely my mind is playing tricks on me. I was the one to provoke the attack and get you killed.”