Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fire burns the determined soul more fervently than any other. This is a lesson many warriors learn over time, and it is one our young hero is now experiencing firsthand. He finds himself questioning, why did his world have to collapse so swiftly? Why did the fleeting moments of happiness he enjoyed have to incinerate in the blink of an eye?

Clive Rosfield was a boy with a heart as vast as the ocean, his emotions as visible as a beacon, displayed proudly on his sleeve. All Clive yearned for was to prove his worth, to demonstrate to those who cast doubt upon him that he was more than capable, that he was indeed worth a damn. He devoted countless hours to training, perfecting his swordsmanship tirelessly. The idea of appearing weak again was sickening to him, as was the thought of letting those he cared for down. So why did the relentless beast of fire seem intent on tearing away everything he held dear?

Clive's voice echoed raw and pained, reverberating around the formidable stone walls encasing him. His roars of defiance were directed towards the gargantuan beast before him, but to no avail. This adversary was a monstrous devil, a being forged of pure flame and unbridled fury. Its emergence caused unfathomable destruction in its wake. As if the relentless assault by the Imperials wasn't ruinous enough, Clive was now forced to watch this fiery monster tear into the Phoenix, the very emblem of his home. The Phoenix - a symbol of rebirth, of salvation, and most importantly, of his beloved brother.

The Phoenix's anguished cries echoed off the stone walls of its namesake gate, producing a chorus of haunting screeches that would forever torment Clive. He screamed at the creature to cease, to spare his brother. The crushing weight of helplessness was unbearable; his voice hoarse from raw emotion, his heart burdened with perceived failure. His unyielding training, the countless nights of exhaustion and numerous lessons in combat seemed in vain. Paralyzed by fear and despair, his sight filled with his worst nightmare, he was unable to act. How could he be called the First Shield of Rosaria if he could not protect those he cherished? He cried out for his brother, watching helplessly as the Phoenix, or rather Joshua, unleashed a breath of pure flame at the demonic beast. Yet, the creature merely shrugged off the flames as if they were mere irritants. It latched onto his brother with its fiery maw, and hoisted him upwards. Clive's pleas for the beast to stop fell on deaf ears, drowned out by the chaos of the flaming arena. The vision of the beast raising its skeletal, charred arm in the air, its talon-shaped hand resembling a cruel spear, will forever haunt him. His heart shattered as the creature drove its hand through the Phoenix's chest, impaling his brother.

Clive was consumed with self-loathing; he had failed his sacred duty, the duty to his family. His voice reverberated with anguish as he shouted vows of revenge at the only remaining Eikon, promising to obliterate it and whoever had orchestrated this carnage. Suddenly, a large fireball erupted, and darkness shrouded his sight.

Gradually, his hearing returned. The clang of metal, the trampling of boots, and cries of despair formed a dismal symphony around him. Clive barely registered the situation, his mind was adrift in a sea of sorrow. The memory of his brother and father, the two people he had failed to protect, plagued his thoughts. His vision was blurred, his body felt shattered. The scent of smoke and death permeated the air, a wretched reminder of the carnage he had witnessed. The surrounding noises blurred into a singular, piercing screech that began to weaken as soft sounds of boots shuffling through the rubble approached. They clearly didn't belong to the invading Imperials. The footsteps hurried closer, attempting to mask their presence but falling short as if not used to running on rough terrain. They quickened as they neared him, halting abruptly. Fabric from their outfit rustled, gently flapping in the wind. The noise abruptly drowned out as a wave of pain shot through his body. Despite the onslaught of agony, Clive could only whimper. His body seemed to reject any assistance, wishing instead to languish in this ruin. The stranger's arms encircling his torso began dragging him away. His strength was ebbing away; he could hardly resist or articulate his reluctance as his limp body was hauled over the rocky debris.

Clive longed to stay there, to succumb to the darkness that was creeping in at the edges of his vision. Yet, he was continuously dragged away from the spot, away from his past, his failures. He heard the stranger curse softly, dragging him in another direction. The sounds of clanking plate armor suggested there were more imperials surrounding him and his savior than just the ones in the distance. As they pulled him back, he was dragged into what seemed to be a ditch. As his vision cleared, the extent of the devastation was alarmingly apparent. Figures dressed in Imperial steel armor were visible in the distance. Any attempt to move was met with a burst of pain, but the person who was pulling him back was relentless.

Weakly, Clive stretched his hand out as if to grasp what he had lost. Tears welled up in his eyes as he was hit with a wave of loneliness. He wished to be left behind, to meet his fate. Through his blurred vision, he could see the Imperials scouring the ground where he had been moments ago. His rage simmered as he saw their blurred blades stab into the earth, finishing off the wounded like slaughterhouse cattle. He could hear the heavy breathing of the figure who was dragging him away. Clive redirected his gaze towards the Imperials, determined to remember them, to etch their images into his memory for the revenge he swore to exact.

In the distance, he saw a single figure, clearly not a common knight or soldier. The figure stood out like a malignant shadow, exuding an aura of malevolent authority. Clive's vision was beginning to clear further as he was dragged farther away. In spite of the protests from his battered body, he strained to raise his head to get a better look at the figure. A set of hellish black armor and a blade of similar design gave the figure an intimidating presence. Clive committed the image to memory, even as exhaustion began to creep over him and adrenaline started to wane. His gaze fell on the slender, dirt-streaked hands of his rescuer as they pulled him away from the ruined castle. There was something painfully familiar about those hands. If he wasn't on the brink of unconsciousness, he might have recognized their owner.

His vision started to fade as he turned to look at the person who had been pulling him to safety. The sight of a deep purple cloak fluttering in the wind and disheveled blonde hair confirmed the identity of his rescuer. His eyes widened at the realization, his chest tightening but the revelation was too much, and he finally gave into the exhaustion, his eyes closing as he surrendered to the enveloping darkness, praying for the silence and oblivion it promised.

Chapter Text

Clive awoke with a start, a mysterious ringing echoing in his ears. He cradled his throbbing head in his hands, but this did little to alleviate the stabbing pain that shot through his temples. The peaceful serenity of his chamber offered no relief.

He crumpled back onto his bed, the piercing pain dimming only enough to allow him a moment to take in his surroundings. The morning light peeked over the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow that filled his room, offering a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within him. He sighed, rubbing his temples in a vain attempt to banish the persistent headache.

Groggily, he slid out of bed and staggered toward his dresser. Even this simple task seemed daunting under the weight of his pain. After pulling on one of his high-collared white shirts and a pair of black trousers, he reached for his black leather boots. His attire, similar to that of any other day, was always completed with leather pauldrons and vambraces. As he armored himself, his gaze strayed toward the window, his eyes unfocused, seeking solace in the tranquil landscape that stretched before him. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, then grabbed his sword and left his room, entering the hallway. The training grounds beckoned. His steps were swift and sure, despite his inner turmoil.

Clive bore a burden unlike any other in Rosaria. He was the firstborn son of Archduke Elwin Rosfield and Duchess Annabella Rosfield, and as such, expectations for him had always been high. He was supposed to be the dominant of the Phoenix, an eikon of fire that was a revered symbol of his lineage. However, fate had dealt him an unfortunate hand. The revered Phoenix rejected him and had chosen his younger brother, Joshua, instead. The looks of empathy and disdain from those around him served as a constant reminder of his failure. Despite his training and dedication, Clive could not escape the shadow of his shortcomings.

He continued to serve his family dutifully, though. His relentless efforts had earned him victory at the Grand Ducal tournament, and the title of First Shield of Rosaria. Joshua had even shared a small part of his Phoenix power with Clive. Although this made Clive faster and stronger than normal, it was a bitter reminder of what could have been, and what should have been.

His focus returned to the present as he noticed the hustle and bustle indicating that breakfast was being prepared in the castle. He had lost count of the number of times he had chosen to miss these meals. The pitiful, adoring, and disdainful looks he received from his family were more than he could bear.

His father still viewed him as a capable warrior, but his sympathy felt like a weight that added to his guilt. Joshua’s adoration felt suffocating—why should his younger brother look up to him when he was the more powerful one? His mother's coldness was the hardest to bear. She had once been warm and kind to him, guiding him around the castle grounds, sharing stories of their family and his future responsibilities as a ruler. Now, she hardly acknowledged him, her stern gaze cutting through him like a sword.

With a sigh of resignation, Clive made his way to the training grounds, a place where he felt most at ease. The morning passed as he vented his frustrations on the training dummies, each strike revealing the depth of his turmoil.

"Clive, you're here!" The cheerful voice of his younger brother cut through the morning air. Joshua stood outside the training fence, beaming at him.

"Joshua, what are you doing here?" Clive asked gently, lowering himself to meet his brother's gaze. "You shouldn't be outdoors. Let's get you inside," he suggested, trying to hide his concern behind a comforting smile.

"But can't I stay and watch? Mother keeps me indoors all day," Joshua pleaded, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Clive exhaled softly, patting his brother's shoulder. "Only for a little while, then you need to rest. Alright?" Joshua's face lit up at his concession. Clive wasn't used to this kind of attention—it made his heart swell.

In response to his brother's eager gaze, Clive flourished his blade. He called upon the blessing of the Phoenix, his body surrounded by a soft, ethereal glow of flames. His movements appeared as though he were teleporting around the training ground, each strike against a dummy resulting in a burst of fire. Joshua watched in awe, his joy unmistakable.

Their interaction was cut short when Clive noticed a small group of handmaidens trailing behind their mother, the Duchess. He cast a warm smile towards Joshua before rising to his full height, preparing himself for the icy interaction to come.

Their mother approached, her nose crinkled as if the surrounding air was foul. She barely acknowledged Clive, focusing her attention on Joshua. Her voice was stern as she scolded, "You should not be outside. We've discussed this."

"I'm sorry," Joshua muttered, his small hand balling into a fist. The sight stirred Clive's sympathies. He turned to their mother, his voice formal as he greeted, "Good day to you, Mother," bowing slightly.

She offered no words in return, her stern gaze causing Clive to avert his eyes. He could feel his cheeks burning in shame, a sensation that only intensified when their mother took Joshua's hand and started walking away. As Clive's fellow shields threw him looks of pity, their mother paused and turned to look back at him. "Both of you," she instructed, her tone curt but firm. Her unexpected command took Clive by surprise. "Yes, Mother," he stammered, hurrying to catch up with her and Joshua.

Their public appearance together was a rare sight for the inhabitants of Rosaria. Usually, the Duchess was only seen with Joshua, her precious chosen one. As they walked through the castle gardens toward the throne room, their mother spoke up. "You were absent again during our morning meal," she commented, her eyes focused ahead. Clive swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Apologies, Mother," he stammered. "I wanted to get a head start on my training for the day."

His mother's face remained expressionless. "Make sure it doesn't happen again. You carry the Rosfield name. I won't have it be known that we can't feed our own." Her icy tone made Clive wince, but he nodded in understanding. "Of course, Mother. It won't happen again."

Upon reaching the throne room, Clive held open the grand doors for his mother, brother, and the accompanying handmaidens. He watched as his mother instructed her handmaidens to escort Joshua to his room, promising severe punishment should anything happen. As Joshua was led away, he turned and waved at Clive, who returned the gesture with a warm smile.

Suddenly alone with his mother in the throne room, Clive felt a wave of tension washing over him. He began to bid her farewell, but she interrupted him. "A meal is waiting for you in the kitchens. I expect you to eat it." Her words were void of emotion, but the direct eye contact she maintained was unexpected. Clive nodded, still shocked by this rare interaction. "Of course, Mother. Thank you," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. His mother studied him for a moment longer before moving deeper into the throne room, leaving Clive standing at the entrance.

Clive's mind spun with thoughts as he walked down the familiar hallways of the castle. He could not remember the last time his mother had spoken to him directly, let alone about anything concerning his well-being, no matter how small. He made his way to the kitchens, as there were multiple in the castle. He enters to see nobody present but a meal was waiting for him, just like his mother mentioned. He sat down and ate the meal. His thoughts bundled together after today's events. He closes his eyes savoring the flavor, awaiting what the rest of the day would bring.

Chapter Text

Alone in the castle's deserted kitchens, Clive finds solace at one of the staff tables, his senses reveling in the rare joy of a meal eaten alone. The rich flavors seem to dance on his tongue, a delicate symphony that he always relishes. Finishing his simple yet satisfying breakfast, he rises, fueled with newfound vigor, ready to face the challenges of the day. Thankful for not missing out.

Navigating the silent castle corridors, his head is held slightly higher than usual, reflecting an underlying sense of confidence. The path leads him to the tranquil gardens adjacent to the throne room entrance, the sheer beauty of the surroundings prompting him to pause. As he kneels gently to admire a vibrant red flower, its beauty temporarily stirs him from his contemplation. However, this moment of tranquility is abruptly shattered by hushed whispers of local nobility nearby.

Huddled in a small group, the nobles converse in muted tones, their words heavy with the dread of the Blight — a plague slowly decimating their lands, relentlessly extinguishing life in its path. Clive's heart contracts painfully at the mention of this. His chief concern is the looming danger it presents to Rosaria, his beloved homeland. While other kingdoms may be experiencing the same fate, he can't help but feel detached from the troubles beyond his home.

Slowly rising from his crouch, Clive's hand involuntarily tightens around the flower, its petals crushed under the strength of his grip. The thought of the Blight driving monstrous creatures closer to the innocent villages ignites a fury within him. One he never knew he possessed. His gaze narrows, fixated on the ruined flower in his hand — a symbol of the beauty and innocence threatened by the Blight. His vision seems to lose color. His anger is mixed in with all his insecurities driven into him for years.

Overwhelmed by a fierce desire to prove himself — to show he's more than just a failure, more than a shunned firstborn — Clive grapples with his inner turmoil. His insecurities fueling this strange new rage. He discards the lifeless flower, its crushed form reflecting the ruin that the Blight could bring. Then, with his face set in an expression of fierce determination, he strides off, his destination unknown.

As Clive battles with his inner demons, two fellow shields, older but respectful towards Clive, attempt to greet him. Their gestures of camaraderie go unnoticed, his mind too consumed with insecurities, fear and anger. His fellow shields exchange worried glances, stepping aside to let the archduke's eldest pass. "Must be a bad day for the boy," one murmurs to the other, who nods in agreement, "You saw him earlier with his mother; that's probably why, you know the way whe treats him." He replies. "Exactly, so why would she be around him then?" They exchange glances, mulling the question over.

As they watch Clive depart, their attention is abruptly diverted by the call of their commander, "Sir Tyler, Sir Wade, move and assist in carrying these weapon crates to the barracks!" Rodney Murdoch, their stern Lord Commander, orders. Reluctantly, the pair jog over to their superior, leaving the retreating form of Clive alone with his thoughts and fears.

Stumbling on his way, Clive braces himself against the cold, unyielding stone wall of the castle. This strange surge of rage getting worse. He slams his clenched fists against the wall, his anguished cries echoing through the air. A throbbing pain begins to infiltrate his senses, his vision blurring, and a persistent ringing sound drowns out all other noises. His anger baffles him; although the threat of the Blight to innocent lives has always distressed him, it has never incited such an intense reaction within him before.

As his strength dwindles, Clive collapses, his back sliding against the rough texture of the stone wall. His hands instinctively fly to his head, his fingers digging into his scalp, while the relentless ringing sound seems to intensify. Desperate for respite, he pleads for relief from the mental strain. "Stop! Please stop!" He yells. His emotions spiral into disarray, with each insecurity, each failure clawing at his sanity. But as his thoughts tumble into chaos, the piercing noise and pain gradually recede, replaced by a deafening silence. He leans back against the cool stone, a solitary tear carving a wet trail down his cheek. His vision shifting from a yellow tone back to normal. Confusion etched with pain evident on his face.

His anguish draws a small crowd, castle staff and nobles alike. Among them, he notices his mother's handmaidens, their presence triggering a guttural sense of dread. They only appear when his mother is near. As he steadies himself, his fury evaporated and replaced by sheer exhaustion, his eyes lock onto those of his mother. With a resigned sigh he attempts to compose himself, he bows before his mother, stammering a greeting, "H-hello, Mother." His breathing labored from his ordeal. His emotional breakdown had not gone unnoticed, much to his shame.

"You've certainly made a spectacle of yourself," she observes, her gaze coolly assessing his disheveled state. "You are aware that your actions reflect on our family?" Her voice is stern, a verbal slap to his already bruised ego. Clive winces under her critique. "I also didn't expect you to destroy the flowers." Her icy stare pierces him, as if she bore witness to his earlier actions. She motions at her nearest handmaiden, as the handmaiden produces a small cloth which she presents to clive. He gingerly accepts it, wiping his face, composing himself further. "Now, before you make a further fool of yourself, we have important matters to discuss with your father after lunch." Her gaze turns dismissive as she glides ahead of Clive, her regal poise clear in her posture. Making it clear that Clive was to follow.

Summoning his remaining strength, Clive straightens, following his mother back towards the castle. He recalls a previous conversation about attending family meals, the last thing he wants is to provoke her ire by disobeying. He exhales a quiet sigh, lamenting his string of misfortunes.

Their return journey to the castle is uneventful, even peaceful. The midday sun casts a soft, warm glow on the castle grounds, and in the distance, he spots his mentor, the Lord Commander, scolding the two shields who he briefly recalls passing earlier. As the Duchess glides past them with Clive in tow, their respectful bow prompts a small smile from him. Their sympathetic glances, while small, hold the promise of camaraderie.

Opening the heavy doors to the throne room himself again, he allows his mother and her entourage to pass. The journey ends in their grand dining room, a space that radiates opulence rather than mere functionality. A large table dominates the room, surrounded by walls adorned with vibrant red drapes bearing the symbol of the Phoenix.

As he approaches the table, he greets his father with a respectful bow, "Hello, Your Grace." His father, Archduke Elwin, chuckles at his formality, a welcome contrast to his mother's stern demeanor evident as she is the reason Clive uses these formalities with him in the first place. A small, soft smile crosses Clive's face as his younger brother Joshua cheerily exclaims, "Clive! You're actually joining us for lunch!" Joshua's innocent joy brings a small measure of comfort amidst the tension he feels.

Clive takes his seat next to his mother, their placement a clear indication of the family's hierarchy. Joshua, the next heir apparent, sits by their father. Clive, however, has the daunting task of sharing space with his mother, the woman who treated him as lesser for years since he was found wanting.

As the meal is served, Clive finds himself lost in memories invoked by the dish — a specialty native to Rosaria, and his childhood favorite. So lost is he, that he hardly picks at his meal. His mother, noting his lack of movement, scolds him, her voice barely above a whisper, "You're not a child, eat." She hisses at him. Quite shocking to him as these last few hours have been the most she's talked to him in years.

Upon the family finishing, Clive begins to excuse himself. As he is about to leave the dining room, his father's voice stops him in his tracks. "Is something wrong, Your Grace?" he asks, a hint of concern coloring his tone. His father merely smiles, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Clive, meet your mother and me in the throne room after you escort your brother to his room," he instructs with a gravity that belies his earlier levity.

Uncertainty washes over Clive as he contemplates the upcoming audience with his parents. His mind spins with potential scenarios as he accompanies Joshua to his room. "What do you think Father wants from you?" Joshua asks, voicing the question that hangs heavy in the air.

"I'm not sure," Clive responds, attempting to keep his apprehension concealed beneath a reassuring smile.

"It won't be something dangerous, will it?" Joshua's innocent eyes widen with worry.

"No, don't worry. It won't be anything your big brother can't handle," Clive playfully reassures him, thumping his chest for emphasis as they reach Joshua's room. Their goodbyes are brief, with Joshua sending him off with a wish for luck before disappearing behind the solid door of his chamber.

With Joshua's concern echoing in his mind, Clive mentally prepares himself for the imminent audience with his parents. The walk to the throne room feels more daunting than ever. Whatever they wish to discuss, it's undoubtedly significant. His mind races, ruling out war or border skirmishes due to the lack of recent reports. His thoughts inevitably gravitate back to the whispered conversations about the Blight.

Could the Blight be wreaking havoc in the nearby villages? Or perhaps it's driving monstrous creatures to surface more frequently? His gaze hardens with determination as he pushes open the grand doors of the throne room. Whatever the crisis, Clive is ready. The sight of his parents, waiting for him, solidifies his resolve. He would prove his worth, not as a dominant, no that's reserved for his brother. He will prove his worth as a Shield of Rosaria.

Kneeling before his parents, Clive bows his head in humility. His father, bearing a solemn expression, looks as though he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. In contrast, his mother watches him with a piercing, analytical gaze that sends a chill down his spine.

Breaking the silence, his father steps forward, his voice resonating with quiet authority. "We've heard less and less from one of our neighboring villages. We need someone dependable to investigate discreetly, and I believe you are the right person for this task, my son," he announces. A twinkle of amusement sparks in his eyes as he adds, "This could be the perfect opportunity to to prove your mother wrong." He whispers with amusement just quiet enough for Clive to hear.

Swallowing hard, Clive manages to ask, "What should I anticipate, Father?"

His father's gaze drops, losing itself in the intricate patterns of the stone floor. "Honestly, son, I'm not certain. You're no stranger to the tales of the Blight. It's been driving creatures, monstrous and otherwise, further south from the north. I trust in your ability to face whatever adversity you might find. Your skills with the blade have no equal in Rosaria. Remember, you are my pride, just as your brother is."

Clive instinctively steps back, his father's words igniting a flurry of emotions within him. The sincerity of his father's trust in him envelops him in a warmth that starkly contrasts the chilly atmosphere of the throne room. "Thank you, Father," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "I swear, I won't let you down." His words hang in the vast room, echoing his newfound resolve.

Then, Clive turns to face his mother. Her icy gaze cuts through him, her voice echoing coldly, "You would do well to remember the standards you are expected to uphold while you're out there." Her frosty reprimand sends a shiver down his spine. Clive bows again, his mother's icy approach a harsh contrast to his father's warm trust. "I won't disappoint you, Mother."

Chapter Text

The throne room is steeped in an almost painful silence as the Duchess exits, her presence - or lack thereof - lifting a tangible weight off the room. Clive's focus, momentarily torn between his mother and father, settles back on his father. The older man seems to deflate, his demeanor shifting into a solemn seriousness. "You will be heading towards Stillwind," he declares, his voice shrouded in a somber tone.

"Stillwind?" Clive's brows furrow, confusion etching lines into his usually composed visage. "Father, that place has been abandoned for ages. Why would you need me to venture there? You mentioned a village had lost contact and required my investigation... not an uninhabited ruin!" His voice escalates, a raw edge of frustration seeping into his tone.

His father lets out a sigh, his gaze never wavering from his son. "I know what I said, Clive. This conversation is strictly between us." He leans forward, an earnest expression painting his face. "Your mother... you know as well as I do, she's been...different when it comes to you.. Her sudden interest in our conversation... don't you find that odd?"

Clive's features twist in confusion, his mind a whirlwind of unprocessed emotions and thoughts. "What are you suggesting, father?" he asks, his voice quieter now, subdued by his growing unease.

"Son," Elwin's voice lowers, matching the seriousness of the situation, "There are strange happenings in our realm, things that pose a potential threat to our home. As for your mother... her recent behavior has been... peculiar. You must understand, I can't risk anything, not with the dangers surrounding us."

"But she's still family, father!" Clive's voice rings out, his loyalty towards his family evident in his vehement reply. "Yes, she's distant, cruel even at times but she's my mother, your wife! We shouldn't discuss her as though she's an enemy!"

"Clive, listen." Elwin's tone is calm, attempting to soothe his son's rising temper. "I'm not accusing her of anything. I'm simply stating facts. She's been acting strangely, disappearing without notice. I can't ignore that. And at this moment, you are the only one I can truly trust, your brother is too young."

Clive's shoulders sag, his gaze falling to the floor as he processes his father's words. "What do you need me to do?" he finally asks, his voice filled with an overwhelming sense of resignation.

"There are rumors of troops moving along our borders... The Empire of Sanbreque is amassing its legions." Elwin's voice carries the weight of his worry, his eyes never leaving his son's face. "Recently, there have been sightings of a knight in black armor near the swamps of Stillwind. This knight has been seen near areas affected by the blight. Your mother didn't react to the mention of this knight much, but the mention of the Imperials being seen around them... her interest seemed piqued."

Elwin's words hang in the air, a reminder of the dangers lurking beyond their borders in the rest of Valisthea. "I need you to investigate, Clive. With your capabilities, you are the best suited for this task. You have the speed, the power, and most importantly, my trust."

Nodding, Clive looks up, determination simmering in his eyes. "I'll do it, father. I don't appreciate the secrecy, but I understand the necessity. I'll head to Stillwind and return with what I find."

After the emotionally taxing conversation with his father, Clive leaves the throne room, his heart heavy with his father's revelation, Clive walks along the stone-walled corridors of the castle. The once familiar and comforting surroundings now feel ominous and foreboding. The afternoon light seeping through the windows seems dull, matching his sullen mood. As he mulls over the information he just received, he fails to notice a figure in front of him until it's too late. With a jolt, he collides with the figure, staggering back. His heart sinks as he finds himself face-to-face with his mother, her usually cold eyes now flaring with annoyance.

"My apologies, Mother," he says hastily, fumbling for the right words. "I was... I was distracted. I didn't see you."

His mother's icy glare doesn't waver, her arms crossed firmly across her chest. "Such a disgrace," she mutters, disdain evident in her voice. Clive cringes, a pang of hurt twisting his heart.

"You and your father had a rather lengthy conversation, didn't you?" Her sharp gaze scrutinizes him, as if trying to pry the truth from his very soul. "I was under the impression that he said all he needed to before I left."

"We did, Mother." Clive does his best to divert the conversation, acutely aware of his weak lie. "We were just... catching up."

Her stare is relentless, the iciness making him shiver despite himself. Her eyes scanning over his form as he speaks. "Your fingers twitch when you lie," she remarks, her voice a low, threatening hiss. "I demand to know what you spoke about with your father."

Clive's heart pounds in his chest, a rush of fear and confusion swirling inside him. His mother's unexpected interest in his conversation with his father raises the bar on his father's suspicions, and he stumbles over his words, attempting to relay a version of their conversation that would not reveal all the details, especially about her supposed reaction to the mention of Imperials.

She seizes onto the mention of the black knight. "A black knight? Within our borders? And your father wants you to investigate?" Her tone is oddly even, a thin layer of hostility brewing beneath the surface. "You would do well to ignore such a foolish notion." Her instruction raises the hair at the back of Clive's neck. Something wasn't right.

"Mother, what do you mean?" His voice comes out in a whisper, his apprehension giving way to dread.

Her icy facade cracks a little, revealing a flicker of something he can't quite decipher. "Investigate if you must, but do not engage with that knight," she warns, her voice laced with a emotion he's never heard before. As she begins to walk away she suddenly stops, not looking at him. "That abandoned village of Stillwind is occupied by a group of Imperials, a detachment of knights."

Her words echo in his head as she leaves, her steps whispering against the cold stone floor. Clive is left standing in the corridor, his mind spinning. His mother's knowledge, her warning, and her unexpected information about the Imperials... All these pieces were puzzling and troubling. She may be many things, but he never imagined his mother could be a traitor. So why did she know all this?

As he tries to unravel the mystery, he can't help but question: was his mother trying to warn him... or lead him into a trap? His resolve strengthens. He would head to Stillwind. He would find out the truth. He would not let his father down. The words spoken by his mother begin to take root, eating away at his mind. Exposing his fears, his family bonds begin to be tested.

Clive doubles over, a torrent of ringing shrieking surges into his ears like waves. A grimace contorts his face as he fights to stifle the wails echoing in his mind. It's as if some unseen force is mocking him, goading him through the torturous rhythm. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the maddening sensations dissipate, replaced by a powerful surge of resolve.

With newfound determination fueling his every step, Clive decides on his course. He would head to Stillwind, seek out the Imperials, and search for this mysterious black knight. If he left immediately, he could be there by midnight. Choosing discretion over speed, he opts to proceed on foot rather than ride a chocobo.

~~~~~~

As Clive steps through the main gate of Rosalith, he veers northward, his eyes marking the transition from day to night. The once vibrant green of the hills and the deep blue hues of the ocean and streams succumb to the encroaching darkness. The silence of the night serves as a stark contrast to the storm raging in his mind.

Father's suspicions... The thought clings to him, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. His father had not outright accused his mother, yet there was an insidious undercurrent of doubt, of secrets kept. As his steps carry him farther away from Rosalith, he gazes up at the vast expanse of the night sky, its tranquil openness providing a momentary escape from the turmoil of the day.

Where did it all go wrong? Clive wonders, his thoughts drifting towards his mother. Why would his failure to be chosen by the Phoenix trigger such a downward spiral? Was it a desperate need for power, or a singular obsession with bearing an heir destined to be the Phoenix's Dominant? Had her entire identity become entwined with this singular desire?

Questions continue to swarm like hornets in his mind. Did Mother truly care for me? He recalls instances of affection, of family moments filled with warmth long ago. But now, he's forced to reconcile those memories with the potential of her betraying them for the Empire of Sanbreque. Self-doubt floods him as he realizes how naively he had shared his father's confidential words with her.

The questions continue to echo, morphing into a relentless torrent that threatens to drown him. His heart heavy with these burdens, Clive trudges on towards Stillwind. Bathed in the ethereal glow of the moon, a burden great for his age resting on his shoulders.

~~~~~~

Clive traverses the route at a brisk pace, concealed by the cloak of darkness. If anyone had foretold that he would be venturing into an abandoned village under the cover of night, seeking answers about a mysterious black knight and imperial soldiers, he would have deemed them insane. Yet, here he was, wading through the murkiness of Stillwind, every sound making him alert. The fog eating away at his paranoia.

Despite his mother's warnings about Imperials in the vicinity, there is no trace of their presence. Nor is there any sign of the black knight. Gradually, the outlines of dilapidated buildings come into view – the ghostly remnants of a once-thriving village. Cautiously, he approaches, crouching low to minimize his presence.

The stench of death assaults his nostrils, making him reel. It is a gruesome reminder to be ready at a moments notice. Steeling himself against the foul aroma, Clive presses on. The sight that greets him under a fallen tree is one of pure horror - goblin bodies litter the area, their faces frozen in eternal torment.

The sheer number of dead goblins forming the horrid stench. Their bodies bloated and disgusting. The realization that the Imperial knights may be behind this massacre sets his senses on high alert. He hears a splash of water in the distance.

His heart hammering in his chest, he inches closer to the source of the disturbance. As he peers through the darkness, an Imperial knight materializes from the gloom. The sickening reality of his mother's words hits him like a blow, fueling his rage. Clive knows what must be done. These Imperial invaders, encroaching upon Rosarian land, were a direct affront to their home, they had no authority to he this far in Rosaria. But he also knows the odds are heavily stacked against him.

Blessed with a portion the Phoenix's power, he knows he could hold his own, but he shouldn't be foolish. The act of taking a life is a grave one. An act that Clive has never committed against another human, only beasts and monsters.
Clive approaches the unsuspecting knight from behind, a sickening knot forms in his stomach. A swift strike to the vulnerable area of the knight's sabatons incapacitates him before Clive delivers the fatal blow. The sounds of life leaving the knight's body are gut-wrenching, leaving him reeling with shock.

The horrifying reality of his actions crashes over him like a wave, and he drops his sword in a panic, sinking to his knees in the swamp. His stomach churns, and he vomits, a profound self-loathing coursing through him. "Get a hold of yourself," he pleads with his own reflection in the murky water, trying to justify his actions. "He was an enemy. I had to." But even as he speaks, a shrill, piercing ring returns, ripping through his skull. He cries out, curling in on himself as the pain intensifies.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he spots silver armor glinting in the moonlight. Reinforcements have arrived, alerted by his anguished screams. He shakes off the debilitating pain and stumbles to his feet, clutching his sword in one hand and his pounding head in the other.
A thunderous roar resonates in an unknown language, amplifying his terror and rage. The flickering aura of the Phoenix flames ignites around him, transforming his fear into a seething fury. He stands resolute, defiance blazing in his eyes.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you all!" His voice echoes around him as the Phoenix flames burst forth, turning him into an incandescent beacon of flame. Swift as an arrow, he charges, his blade meeting the first knight's armor with a brutal finality. One by one, he cuts through the Imperial ranks, the flames dancing darkly around him becoming a cyclone of fire, consuming everything in its path.

As he dispatches the last of the knights, Clive comes back to himself, horror dawning as he surveys the charred remains around him. "By the flames... What have I done?" His voice wavers, anguish permeating each syllable. The once noble Phoenix flames now seem sullied, tainted by the horrific brutality they've been used for.

His contemplation is cut short by the whistling of a spear cutting through the air. Barely evading, he finds himself facing a dragoon, an elite member of the Imperial army. "Imperial vipers!" Despite his fatigue, Clive matches the dragoon move for move, his augmented speed enabling him to dodge and counter each strike. After a grueling battle, Clive finally buries his sword in the dragoon's chest. He reels back, retching at the visceral reality of his actions.

As the last embers of his Phoenix flames flicker out, Clive is left standing amidst a field of the fallen, bathed in blood and sweat. His body feels as if ready to faint. Pushing himself up, he stumbles to the village ruins.

He picks through the aftermath, looking for any trace of the elusive black knight, but finds nothing. His face is a pallid mask of exhaustion and dispair as he turns to make the long, lonely journey back to Rosalith, leaving behind a village of dead and silence.

A thousand questions roll in his mind, each demanding answers. The thought of confronting his mother about her knowledge of the Imperials being in Stillwind only fuels his frustration. As he trudges through the swamp, battered and worn, a sense of dread gnaws at him. But one thought persists above all others - He needs answers.

Chapter Text

Underneath the dark night sky, Clive trudged through the viscous muck of the swampy waters surrounding Stillwind. Each step was a battle; his body ached from a grueling fight with the Imperials, his veins throbbed with exhaustion from harnessing the Phoenix's flames, and his heart was caught in a torrent of turmoil, homesick for the familiar faces of his family regardless of the consequences. As his journey towards Rosalith continued, every step felt like a trial, a reminder of the burdens he carried.

Along his path, a winding stream mirrored his journey, its waters fleeing from Stillwind's borders as if desperate for escape. The wind howled past him with harpy-like cries, each gust biting through his thin attire, gnawing into his bones. In response to this unwelcome chill, he hugged himself, his body yearning for warmth. The heavens above wept, raindrops drumming onto him in relentless rhythm, and the air grew colder around him.

In a desperate attempt to fight back the chill, Clive mustered his dwindling strength and summoned a flame in his hand. Its ember glow was a small comfort, but maintaining it sapped his dwindling energy, and he found himself struggling to keep the life of the flame. Shivering, he searched vainly for any shelter.

Clive's jet-black hair, usually neatly styled, became a tousled banner of defiance against the relentless storm. Rain traced down his face like sorrowful tears, matting his hair to his forehead. In the distance, the MotherCrystal's ambient glow, the heart of the land, pulsed slowly, as if providing a silent and distant solace. He fixed his gaze upon it, willing the thought of its warmth to seep into him as the rain turned into a brutal onslaught.

His mind was a battleground, the echoes of his actions reverberating in the silence of his thoughts. The lives he had taken weighed heavily on him. Despite knowing they were enemies, he grappled with the morality of his actions. Were they not just pawns too, following the orders of their own kingdom? His body was already worn and his mind was spiraling into chaos. He felt as though a piece of his soul had been carved out, leaving a hollow ache.

To his left, a green hill stood resolute amidst the chaos, like a beacon of tranquility. He made his way towards it, finally collapsing against its unforgiving solidity. His breath hitched in his chest, the events of the day hitting him like tidal waves. A self-reproach filled monologue began inside his head. He needed to stand up, to push onwards, to reach the sanctuary of his home. Yet a crippling fear held him back. What would he find once he returned? Disappointment from his father for not finding traces of the black knight? Fury from his mother for returning at all?

He had been trained to be resilient, to stand strong as the First Shield of Rosaria, but in this moment, he felt his resolve crumbling. The sky seemed to empathize with him, the rain and wind intensifying, the elements mourning for the broken teenager. Emotions welled up in Clive, a torrent breaking the dam of his stoicism. Tears streamed down his face, indistinguishable from the rain, as the realization of his first human kill weighed upon him.

Looking at the dying flame in his palm, he contemplated his life. This very flame, a symbol of honor and pride, now seemed to mock him. His gaze hardened, a bitterness creeping into his heart. Anguish and resentment swelled within him as he extinguished the flame, his hand balling into a fist. He slammed it against the rough cliff wall, picking himself up despite the howling winds that threatened to push him back.

With determination etched into his tear-streaked face, Clive began his march home, walking along the stream. The grass around him slowly meshing with sand as a beach began to take shape ahead.

---

The castle of Rosalith hummed with restless energy, its stone walls echoing the undercurrent of tension that swirled within its grand halls. The archduke, a formidable figure, sat atop his throne, the usual warmth in his eyes replaced with a glint of concealed worry for his eldest son, Clive. His words reverberated through the lofty throne room, "I had only advised him to visit the neighboring village, not embark on a night journey so recklessly." His voice carried an edge of frustration, belying the calm facade he attempted to maintain.

Standing by the room's edge was the Duchess, her stance relaying little emotion. She arched a slender eyebrow at her husband's words, understanding his attempts to hide their eldest's true destination of Stillwind from her. Her eyes narrowing slightly as they bore into him. Swathed in her sleepwear, a white gown trimmed with blue accents, she seemed as if she just awoke, yet her hair being in perfect place showed otherwise. She paid scant attention to her husband's fretful muttering, her gaze instead riveted on the main doors where a guard, visibly flustered, stuttered his greeting, “Y-your grace!”

“Any news?” Her words were sharp, slicing through the guard’s nervous prattle.

“N-none your grace, no sign of the young lord,” he stammered, scampering away under her icy gaze.

The Duchess, having heard enough, moved through the castle's dimly lit corridors. A Phoenix banner, hanging ominously, caught her attention. She gave it a fleeting glance before stepping onto a balcony that overlooked the sprawling realm of Rosaria. As the night's rain pelted her skin, her stern gaze lingered on the distant castle gate. Her warning to Clive about the Imperial presence in Stillwind still echoed in her mind. Confusion marred her usual demeanor of indifference, her nails digging into her palm.

Striding back through the echoing corridors, her steps were firm, their rhythm a stark contrast to the quiet murmurings of the night. She pushed open the doors to her quarters, heading straight for a petite vanity. Lighting a candle, she rummaged through a drawer, her fingers deftly finding a hidden latch. Pulling it open, she found a unopened letter bearing the insignia of the Empire of Sanbreque, embellished with blue and gold. Her face gave away little as she held the unopened letter over the candle's flame, her eyes only slightly narrowing as it began to turn to ash. She scattered the remnants, leaving her quarters, a faint spark of recollection and remembrance in her eyes the only sign of a change in her demeanor.

In another part of the castle, young Joshua woke with a start, his slumber disrupted by a sudden coughing fit. The hushed whispers of the handmaidens, assigned by his mother to care for him, filled his ears. They spoke of Clive, seen sprinting through Rosalith's main gates as twilight descended. He could hear the raging tempest outside his window, a shroud of concern drawing over his features in recollection of what they spoke about earlier. This night was complex in many ways.

---

Meanwhile, Clive's weary journey took an unexpected turn. A shipwreck loomed in the distance, a blemish against the nearby beach. A flicker of movement caught his attention, driving him closer despite his weary state. The sight that greeted him froze his blood.

A frail blonde woman, her hair a sodden halo around her face, was being dragged from the ship by two brutes. Their gruff laughter filled the air, their intentions clear as daylight. Clive's heart pounded with an adrenal surge; his battered body momentarily forgot its wounds, his mind disregarding his moral dilemma, replaced with rage.

The young shield already had the blood of Imperial knights on his hands; adding two despicable bandits seemed a necessary evil. He crept silently, using the chaos of the wind as his cloak. His sword, slick with rainwater, struck the men down with swift precision. An almost guttural glee in his eyes.

The terrified woman, freed from her captors, cowered against the shipwreck, her body trembling. Clive's gaze turned to the bandits, feeling nothing but relief. He slowly approached the woman, trying to soften his demeanor. “It’s alright now, no one is going to hurt you anymore.” His voice was barely a whisper against the wind, but it held a promise. He gently extended his hand towards her, reassuring her with a soft smile. Despite his efforts, she recoiled, a stray animal wary of a stranger's touch. Her eyes darting to his and away.

Determined to provide her some comfort, Clive rummaged through the ship, hoping and managing to find a dry blanket amidst the debris. As he returned to her side, he gently guided her towards the shelter of the wrecked ship. The woman hesitantly moving with him. Her eyes locking on to his smaller form.

“You’re just a kid…” her voice was barely audible, but her amber eyes held a mixture of awe and gratitude. Against the relentless storm outside, they found a fragile peace, two souls, broken and lost, providing each other a semblance of company in the midst of a storm. Her whisper wafted through the damp air, an acknowledgment that contrasted his recent heroism with his youthful visage. “And you’re incredibly brave,” he responded gently, his tired eyes meeting hers. For a moment, they shared a connection; two survivors in a storm-tossed world, offering peace.

Within the claustrophobic confines of the ruined ship, Clive wrapped the blanket around her shivering form, his face softened with a blend of empathy and concern. Her breath hitched as the warmth seeped into her skin, a weak smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice an echo against the crashing winds outside.

Clive watched as her breathing steadied, her initial fear ebbing away, replaced with a newfound calmness. With the immediate threat gone an understanding silence enveloped them, Clive felt it was an appropriate moment to introduce himself. He took a deep breath, hoping to offer a sense of familiarity and comfort.

"I realize we haven't formally introduced ourselves," he started, his voice soft but steady. "My name is Clive, I'm from well... here." A hint of pride touched his words as he softly motions to the outside. He extended his hand towards her in the dim ambient light, offering not only his name but his promise of companionship.

She took his hand, a faint smile crossing her pale lips. "Benedikta," she replied, her voice barely a whisper yet strong enough to reach him. Clive noticed her grip tighten slightly, a sign of trust that warmed his heart.

For a long while, they sat in a comforting silence, the tempest outside serving as a stark contrast to the tranquility that had settled within. Benedikta eventually dozed off, her fitful sleep slowly giving way to a peaceful slumber, and Clive found himself watching over her. He used what little energy he had left to light a small fire around them for warmth in his palm. His thoughts traveling back to Rosalith, to his home only a few hours away. Exhaustion finally set in, as he closed his eyes.

The pitter-patter of rain echoed around them, its rhythm a gentle lullaby that lulled them both to sleep, huddled against each other in the wrecked ship. Despite the horrible circumstances they both faced today, they found a certain tranquility, a certain sense of security in each other. A companionship.

Chapter Text

Clive stirred from his slumber, his mind foggy and a dull ache throbbing at the base of his skull. The gentle intrusion of the morning light, weaving its way through the splintered timber of the shipwreck that served as a makeshift shelter, jarred him awake. The chaotic memories of the previous day flooded back in an instant - the skirmish, the brutal killing of the Imperials in StillWind, and his rescue of Benedikta.

On remembering her, he snapped to full consciousness, his eyes darting around the confined space, falling short of finding her. The blanket he'd given her was draped over his own form now. A pang of abandonment struck him at the thought of his newfound companion having departed. Clive tugged lightly at the blanket, letting it pool at his feet as he rose, wincing at the stiffness in his body feeling his previous wounds.

Stepping outside the shipwreck, he was met with a stunning view, the serene splendor of the early morning standing in stark contrast to the storm of the previous night. The verdant lushness of Rosaria sprawled before him, the beach underfoot warm, and the ocean stretching out to the horizon in an expansive canvas of deep blue.

His gaze was drawn to the blonde woman he had saved, Benedikta, standing in the distance. His heart flooded with relief as he realized she hadn’t left after all. “Benedikta! Hey!” He called out, a warmth in his voice that startled the young woman. She turned slowly, a soft smile gracing her face, not as exuberant as Clive's shout but welcoming nonetheless. She lifted her hand in acknowledgement, slowly closing the distance between them. Clive noticed that her outfit mirrored his own in its state of disarray, consisting of simple black pants and a black shirt, her outfit worn and tkrn. A sword hung at her hip, most likely a weapon she'd procured from the vanquished bandits from the previous night, considering their bodies were nowhere to be seen. "Good riddance," he thought to himself.

“Benedikta, you’re soaked!” He remarked, eyeing her wet clothing as she drew nearer. She cast a glance out to the sea, a flicker of discomfort crossing her face. “I…wanted to wash up, after last night…You saved me, but the memory of those heinous monsters clutching me, their filth…I needed to cleanse myself of it.” Her voice was a quiet murmur, the traumatic recollection casting a shadow over her features. Clive's eyes mirrored the sadness in her voice. “I’m so sorry, I wish I could’ve been there sooner,” he murmured, reaching out to hold her hand in a comforting gesture. Benedikta responded, her hand gently folding around his in a quiet acceptance of his support. She looked around, her brows furrowing slightly, “Speaking of ‘here’, where exactly are we?”

Clive paused, realizing the insensitivity of his initial response. Of course, she wouldn't know where they were; she had been abducted, as evidenced by the events of the previous night. Quickly amending his approach, he replied, “I’m sorry, we’re in The Grand Duchy of Rosaria, on the western side of Valisthea.”

"Rosaria, huh?" Benedikta mused, "You must be from a nearby village then?" Still holding his hand, she asked the question gently. Clive straightened a bit at her words, "I'm from Rosalith, I live in the castle," he declared proudly.

"In the castle?" She echoed, surprise flashing in her eyes. Recognizing his blunder, Clive hastened to clarify."I apologize, I gave you my name, but not my title. My full name is Clive Rosfield, firstborn son of Elwin Rosfield, the Archduke of Rosaria," he explained, his tone steady and a little embarrassed, not one for titles usually.

"Are you next in line to be the new Archduke?" she asked him, curiosity piquing her interest. She had never expected to meet a member of royalty in her life. Her perception of them had always been of individuals who took advantage of others, but this boy seemed kind-hearted and truthful. She hopes that she will never have to meet a ruler who would use their own people as pawns.

His reaction to her question was immediate. Clive seemed to withdraw into himself, his hand, which was holding hers, curled into a fist. Those words haunted him, a painful reminder of what could have been, what was expected. Seeing the turmoil on his face, Benedikta quickly moved her hand over his fist, trying to soothe him. "Hey, it's okay. Just forget what I said," she said softly, leaning over to look him in the eye. "Who needs to be a ruler anyway? You seem like a capable fighter. I bet you could give any lord a run for their gil" she joked softly, attempting to lighten the somber atmosphere.

A chuckle escaped from Clive at her words. "I was supposed to be next in line for the throne after my father. But I guess fate had other plans," he said, his laughter tinged with bitterness. Benedikta offered him a gentle smile. "Whatever the reason, fate certainly missed out on a kind young man," she said quietly. "You didn't have to help me, you didn't have to stay. You could've left me. But you didn't. That means more to me than any title ever could." Her words were sincere, her tone somber. Clive was taken aback, her kindness a contrast to the sad expression on her face.

After a moment, he managed to collect his thoughts. "Thank you…" he murmured quietly. Such kindness was a rarity in his life. Gathering himself, he looked at her. "Where are you from, if you don't mind my asking?" His curiosity had been sparked. Benedikta sighed, her expression turning solemn. "I'm from somewhere far away. I'm no one important. Just another life to be discarded when its use is over," she said bitterly.

"No! You're wrong," Clive countered immediately. "You're someone important. I believe that with all my heart, I swear it. You're amazing, Benedikta!" He was determined to make her see her own worth. "You're like the wind, free to come and go as you please. You're your own person, and that makes you important." His words struck a chord within her. Benedikta smiled at him, giving his open hand a comforting squeeze before letting it go.

"How sweet," she said, her smile genuine. "As much as I love the wind in my hair, I don't think it would do us any good to stay on this beach any longer than necessary," she pointed out to Clive.

"I need to head back to Rosalith. Why don't you come with me? You're a stranger to these lands and I could use the company. There's a warm meal and a roof over your head in it for you," He offered, his tone warm. Benedikta's face lit up. "That… that would be nice," she replied, a genuine smile playing on her lips, accentuated by the glow of her blonde hair.

~~~~~~

The journey back to Rosalith was uneventful yet serene. Together, Clive and Benedikta navigated through the verdant landscapes, pausing periodically so Clive could regain his strength. Benedikta observed his fatigue and wondered about the circumstances that led to his weakened state. The abundant vista of rolling hills radiated against the shimmering ocean, the view breathtaking, only rivaled by the silhouette of a towering castle in the distance. Benedikta deduced this must be Clive's home.

The peaceful surroundings were a sharp contrast to the turmoil she had known just a day prior. Her encounter with Clive had altered her perspective on life, seeming to soften it overnight. She pondered whether all she had needed in life was someone who would listen, someone who would simply be there for her. As they neared the castle, she couldn't help but notice a change in Clive's demeanor. He stood taller, his youthful face assuming a more mature look. However, the melancholy in his eyes remained, a detail she made a mental note of.

Finally, they arrived at the main gates. A large group, likely the castle's guards, began to approach them. "My lord, you're back!" they exclaimed, their relief evident. "Your father has been worried sick about your disappearance. If you had been gone any longer, I'm afraid he would've sent Rodney out to look for you!" They exchanged jests with Clive, their camaraderie clear.

The soldiers took notice of Benedikta but didn't challenge her presence. Instead, they respectfully made way, standing at attention and saluting as Clive moved through the main gates. Benedikta followed close behind, noting the small smile that had blossomed on Clive's face at the sight of his welcoming fellow shields. It was a heartening sight, one that seemed to add an element of normalcy to him.

~~~~~~

Upon entering the courtyard, Benedikta noticed the unusual attention directed at Clive. It was puzzling that the stares weren't for the unfamiliar woman accompanying him but rather for Clive himself. Whispers filled the air, some sounding harsh while others resonated with respect. Clive turned to her, seemingly unaffected by the undercurrent of the courtyard, and said, "I need to meet with my father. He would love to meet you, and I can arrange for your accommodation within the castle." A warm smile graced his face, his blue eyes gleaming with sincerity. "I would be honored," she replied, offering a playful bow that elicited a laugh from Clive.

The castle courtyard was awash with the vibrant hues of blooming flowers - an enchanting spectacle that warmed her heart. As they approached the main doors, a guard saluted Clive and held the door open for them. She trailed behind Clive, entering the grandeur of the throne room where a man, bearing a striking resemblance to an older Clive, sat on a throne. Beside him, a blonde woman cast her penetrating gaze on Clive before quickly shifting it to Benedikta, her eyes narrowing further. The likeness was unmistakable; she assumed them to be Clive's parents.

Clive's respectful bow confirmed her assumption. "Your Grace, I apologize for my actions. I've returned," he formally stated. The man rose from his throne, accompanied by the blonde woman, and approached Clive. Benedikta noted a familial warmth as the older man placed his hands on Clive's shoulders and pulled him into an embrace. "Clive, you can't just leave like that again. You were supposed to depart during the day, with provisions arranged in advance," he admonished before separating himself and turning his gaze toward Benedikta. "And who might you be?" he inquired, a smile on his face that echoed Clive's own goodwill.

"My name is Benedikta Harman, Your Grace. Your son saved me from a troubling situation," she responded, echoing Clive's bow. This elicited a chuckle from the Archduke, who reassured her, "No need for formalities, young lady. You've traveled with my son, which makes you a friend of his, and therefore, a friend of our family." Caught off guard by his kindness, Benedikta was unable to respond before Clive interjected, "Father, I was hoping she could stay in the castle, receive some new clothes and a warm meal."

"Of course she can. Miss Harman, please accompany one of the handmaidens. They will see to your needs," the Archduke graciously offered. With a grateful bow and a reassuring glance at Clive, she followed the handmaidens out of the throne room.

Once Benedikta had left, the Archduke sighed heavily. "Clive, your impulsive actions certainly caused a stir. We'll discuss this later; for now, freshen up and change your clothes," he instructed, holding his gaze as if to express his need to discuss his investigation into Stillwind in private, before leaving to attend to a waiting noble with grave news.

As Clive began to retreat to his quarters, the sound of his mother's footsteps resonated behind him. Halting, he heard her say, "We need to talk about your little adventure," her voice laced with her usual demeaning tone and her expression almost unreadable, yet a strange look in her eyes reminded him of the past. "Come" her single command echoing. Clive could only respond with a shameful glance, her disappointment piercing him deeply. Gathering his composure, he looked at her squarely. "Of course, Mother." With a solemn bow, he began to follow her down the corridor, filled with anticipation and concern about what lay ahead. His mind was abuzz with questions - what would his mother say, and why would she even want to speak to him. Would she discuss how she knew about the Imperials, what was he getting himself into?

Chapter Text

Clive dutifully trailed behind his mother, their footfalls echoing eerily in the grand corridors of their family castle. The sight of the Duchess of Rosaria and her eldest son together was a rarity, an event so unusual that the servants cast sidelong glances from the corners of their eyes whenever the Duchess's gaze was averted. Their proximity served as a stark reminder of the chasm that had grown between them over time.

Clive grappled with a wave of anxiety, his mind whirling with worry as he wondered what his mother intended to discuss. He feared the worst - was she plotting to harm Rosaria? Was she merely taunting him with a rumored threat of Imperials in Stillwind that came to be true, hoping to see him falter and fail? His insecurities clawed at the edges of his consciousness, each dark thought sending a searing jolt of pain through his skull. His hand flew instinctively to his temple, but he managed to maintain his composure, hiding his distress from his mother. He knew he couldn't afford to appear weak - not now. His worth, he believed, lay solely in his ability to contribute to his family. This belief was so deeply ingrained in him that the thought of being valued for anything else seemed absurd.

With his eyes pressed shut in a futile attempt to regain control, a mass of memories assailed him. His mind flashed back to simpler times, to his rejection by the Phoenix, and to moments of pain and resentment that followed. His mother's icy voice snapped him back to the present, "Quicken your pace." She cast a cold look over her shoulder, her gaze devoid of any warmth, as if his mere presence was an inconvenience. Yet her eyes stayed on him as if taking in his current state before continuing on. Clive swallowed hard, not daring to meet her eyes as he hastened to match her stride.

As they approached the end of the corridor, they began to ascend a stone staircase. Clive's heart pounded in his chest as he wondered where his mother was leading him. His vision began to blur, the castle becoming a smudge of grays and yellows. As he forced himself not to stumble, he noticed his mother slowing down. She came to a stop at a balcony that offered a breathtaking view of the sprawling castle grounds and the vast, endless expanse of the azure ocean beyond.

"During your expedition to Stillwind, did you find what you were searching for?" His mother asked, her tone as condescending as ever. Clive stuttered, his mind racing, "Mother...I...I found nothing. Just some goblins." He felt a pang of guilt as he uttered the lie, hoping it would shield him from a harsher truth. "You do recall our previous conversation before you left, don't you?" She continued, her voice laced with annoyance. "Your fingers twitch when you lie. You can't even hide the truth properly." She turned her piercing gaze towards him. "I'll ask again, did you find what you were looking for?"

His nerves tingled with apprehension. His mind screamed at him to maintain the facade, to continue living in blissful ignorance. But he knew he had to confront the truth. With a forlorn expression etched across his face, Clive confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Imperials, Mother... I found knights led by an Imperial dragoon. I... I did what I had to." His voice cracked with emotion. "I took their lives..." His gaze drifted to the distant horizon. "Their screams... their cries of torment... they still haunt me." Silent tears traced a path down his cheeks. "I killed knights who were merely following orders. But the worst part... the worst part is that a part of me... enjoyed it." His voice grew raw with emotion as he recalled the dreadful scene, his hand clenching his head in pain. "I was there, Mother. I tore them to pieces, I burned their bodies, I ended them." His voice became a roar of fury as he slammed his fist into the balcony railing. The jarring impact made his mother flinch, though he was too consumed by his own turmoil to notice.

"And yet the most horrifying part is knowing that you were aware of it!" His voice reverberated through the air, the bitterness in his words directed squarely at his mother. "Why? Why did you know about the Imperials in Stillwind, Mother!" His voice descended into a guttural cry. "Please, Mother... I need to know... please..."

"Would my answer truly change anything?" His mother replied, her face devoid of any discernible emotion. "Would it change anything? It would change everything, Mother!" Clive retorted, his voice thick with unshed tears. His gaze did not leave her eyes.

"Finding out that you, my own mother, might have been trying to hurt me, hurt our family, would be a betrayal unlike any other. Despite everything - your constant mistreatment since the Phoenix rejected me, the daily struggle to prove myself to you, to Father, the countless sleepless nights - I've never given up on you, Mother, I've loved you. But the way you've dismissed me, treating me as if I were nothing more than an inconvenience, a disgrace to the family... How could you do that to your own son?" Clive's voice was thick with anguish, the emotional whirlwind he'd been suppressing finally breaking free.

"So yes, Mother, your answer would change everything! It would confirm whether you truly disregard me as family, us as family! Please, I beg you..." His words were choked out between sobs, his tears soaking the front of his worn shirt. "Please tell me this was all some cruel game, a twisted plot, please, Mother. Even after everything, I would lay down my life for you. That's how much I value our family. I can't bear the thought of turning against you." The raw emotion in Clive's voice bore testament to years of neglect and pent-up pain.

Annabella remained silent throughout Clive's emotional outburst, her stoic silence echoing louder than any words. The following words and her actions shattered Clive's world more than anything in his pained past. "Foolish child," she said, her tone as cold as ever. Then, in an unexpected gesture, she reached out and cradled his head against her shoulder. It was a rare moment of physical contact, the first he'd experienced in years. Clive's eyes clenched shut, refusing to believe this tender moment was real. It felt like a fragile dream that would shatter at the slightest provocation.

As Annabella cradled Clive's head against herself with her hand, her gaze drifted over the vast expanse of the ocean. Her eyes held a hardened look, yet beneath that steely exterior, memories of before flooded her mind. Vivid recollections of Clive's birth, images of him toddling around as a child, tailing her through the grand corridors of the castle, played in her head like a nostalgic visit to the past. The meaning of these memories was unclear to her; they seemed to create a storm of conflicting emotions within her. Anger and resentment brewing.

One memory, in particular, etched itself deep into her heart – the time when the Phoenix had rejected Clive. With that event, her simmering resentment had only grown. Her lineage, her bloodline, was entrusted with the immense responsibility of producing an heir with the power of the Phoenix Eikon for the throne. Her entire existence had been tailored around this very notion.

The fact that Clive had failed in this aspect evoked a whirlpool of anger and disgust within her. Yet, she found herself unable to discard those memories of a time before that fateful event. They lingered like a coiling snake and instigating a strange sense of anger at everything.

Still, his mother didn't look at him, continuing the rare display of affection without making visual contact. His tears drenched her dress, and he sobbed against her, his tormented cries muffled by the fabric. His heart raced at her touch, shattering into a million pieces at the thought that this could be a mere illusion. He yearned to go back to a time when he was free of his burdens, when he felt accepted by his family.

"Your brother is ill, and you were rejected by the Phoenix. Your father's naive ideals are a threat to the survival of this nation. So, yes, I entertained the thought of aligning with the Imperials," she confessed, her voice icy cold. Her hand remaining in his hair, the soft contact at odds with the chilling words. "It was all planned. I was ready to send the signal, to end it. Yet, I found myself hesitating." Her voice grew tighter as she confessed, "I burned my only means of communication with the Empire. So, if you ask why I knew about the Imperials, there's your truth. Rosaria is weak, power reigns supreme. My plan was flawless until these moments of hesitation plagued me." Her voice hissing at a near-whisper. "The Empire is planning to strike. I don't know when, but they are. Add to that the recent reports of the Blight increasing in the North..." She scoffed bitterly, her gaze fixated on the distant ocean. "You claim the title of 'First Shield of Rosaria,' then prove it in the days to come." Her hand on his head softened, a stark contrast to her cold words.

Clive, overwhelmed with a maelstrom of emotions, sniffled into her dress, stammering, "I... I promise, Mother, I won't let our family be harmed. I'll protect us all. Thank you…" His tears showed no signs of relenting. "I won't tell Father. I promise." Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, his weeping intensifying at the unfamiliar touch after years of rejection.

Annabella, her gaze hardened yet revealing a hint of emotion before it was swiftly hidden, continued to stare at the sky and sun. She did not return his embrace but instead removed her hand from his head, pulling away abruptly as if burned. "Change your clothes, you're a mess. And go see the castle physician," she ordered sternly before walking away, her footfalls echoing ominously. She did not look back.

Left alone, Clive leaned against the balcony railing, trying to comprehend the profound exchange that had just occurred. Was this another sick plot to make him vulnerable or was his mother actually being honest? His vision cleared, the pain in his head subsided, at least temporarily. He glanced up at the sky, traces of dried tears marred his face, and managed a small, sorrowful smile. Raising his head in a gesture of gratitude towards the heavens, or to anyone who might be listening, he wiped his face with his sleeve.

Turning around to leave the balcony, Clive's smile lingered, tracing the echoes of his mother's departing footsteps. A newfound sense of hope surged within him, preparing himself for the trials and tribulations that were sure to follow. He calls upon the flames of the Phoenix, his hand erupting in flames. His smile widens at the sight, a contrast to his bitterness before. He'll face any nation, and hunt down anyone who would harm his family.

~~~~~~

After Clive's emotional encounter, he returned to his room, where he had some privacy. Clive changed out of his attire, choosing an almost identical outfit, but this time adding a vivid red undershirt beneath his crisp new white shirt. He traded his damaged leather boots and vambraces for new ones and fastened two fresh leather pauldron. To complete his look, he equipped his red leather gloves. Once dressed, he stepped before a crystalline mirror, examining his reflection.

As Clive looked at his disheveled image, he winced slightly, trying to rearrange his hair to regain its usual appearance. His haggard visage made him look older, more weary than usual. He shut his eyes for a fleeting moment before a sharp pain struck him once again, causing him to double over against the table.

Upon reopening his eyes, his reflection startled him. What stared back was not his usual self. The person bore a resemblance to him but appeared older with longer hair and the beginnings of a stubble beard. He recoiled at the sight. The face and striking blue eyes looked hauntingly like him, only more mature. His eyes stayed fixed on the reflection, taking in the strange black brand on the doppelganger's face, a mark that trailed down the cheek. It was the mark of the branded, those who were cursed, seen as lesser beings, and enslaved by most kingdoms - a thought that ignited a fiery rage within him.

Throughout the brief yet unnerving encounter with the mirror, he couldn't ignore the man on the other side. The mirrored eyes bore a painful depth, hinting at a life filled with loneliness and betrayal. As quickly as it appeared, the visage was engulfed in a fleeting flash of flames, leaving behind the man in the mirror who gave him a hopeful sad smile as he too vanished in flames. Clive staggered back, bewildered and wondering why this figure bore such a striking resemblance to himself. Why did it appear to him now? It felt like a bad omen, a foreboding signal of trials to come.

~~~~~~

Emerging from his room, Clive grappled with the weight of the peculiar event. As he began to tread towards the throne room, he spotted Benedikta leaning casually against a wall. She looked refreshed, her hair styled to elegantly frame her face and her attire brand new. Her outfit consisted of form-fitting black leather, like a second skin, complemented by a small cape of the same material draped over her shoulders. White fur lined the cape's edges and neckline. Clive had to admit it suited her, the fur symbolizing a sense of freedom, a departure from her previous shackles.

He waved at her, momentarily dismissing the unsettling experience from earlier. She sauntered over to him, confidence seemingly restored, as she greeted him with a smile.

"Benedikta, you look fantastic!" Clive complimented her genuinely. She was a far cry from the young woman he had rescued on the beach. "You're too kind, Clive," she responded, "Though I can't exactly say the same for you. You look like you've seen a ghost." Her eyes narrowed as she observed his strained features and pallid complexion. "Did something happen while I was away?" she asked, her tone laced with worry.

"No, no, nothing bad, just... had a talk with my mother. It was... difficult," Clive explained, the solemnity in his voice palpable. "But I'm okay now. I just need to see my father. He hinted at wanting to speak with me," he added, his discomfort evident in his tone.

"If you say so…" Her voice trailed off, leaving behind a lingering suspicion. "Why don't I accompany you? As the handmaidens showed me to my new room, one of the guards presented me with this sword." She unsheathed a blade of exquisite design that matched the golden hues lining her outfit's tails. "They said it was a gift from your father. I could accompany you and, in a way, return the favor from before. I'll have you know, I'm quite skilled with a blade." Her tone was ripe with confidence.

Clive couldn't help but chuckle at her proposition. "You do know I'm technically a royal guard myself, right?" he retorted playfully.

"That you may be," she countered, "But who protects the protector?"

"Okay, okay, you win. I would welcome the company, and I trust you." He laughed lightly as they began their journey to the throne room together, his mind preoccupied with his father's cryptic words about an upcoming meeting with a noble bearing grave news.

Chapter Text

As Clive and Benedikta made their way to the throne room, Clive found his mind ensnared by the peculiar events of earlier. The man he saw in the mirror, he was convinced, was himself. The resemblance was uncannily striking. Questions regarding his own sanity began to circulate in his mind as he recalled the disorienting sensations - the shrill screeches that echoed in his skull, the inexplicable vision, the mysterious voice whispering in an unknown language.

Adding to the bizarre series of events was the sight of his older doppelganger in the mirror. He had to admit that the only logical explanation seemed to be a wavering grip on sanity. However, in spite of these odd occurrences, the day hadn't been a total loss. A glimmer of the impossible, of something he'd yearned for over many years, had come to fruition: his mother had shown him a shred of affection, however minuscule.

His apprehensions about her betraying the kingdom had been somewhat alleviated. Yes, she had admitted to communicating with the Empire, but ultimately, she had chosen to cease contact. A heavy sigh escaped him at the memory of their conversation.

He couldn't fathom what he would do if his mother had turned against them. The memory of her hand cradling him, the warmth of familial affection he had missed for so long, made him smile. He held onto a glimmer of hope, hoping to gradually melt his mother's icy exterior.

"You look lost in thought. Be careful not to walk into a wall or something," Benedikta joked lightly, breaking his train of thought. Clive looked up at her, quickly shaking his head to clear his mind. "I'm sorry, what did you say... I was lost in thought," he admitted, slightly embarrassed.

"My point exactly, lost boy," Benedikta retorted, letting out a small chuckle at his expense.

Clive, unaccustomed to such friendly teasing, flushed slightly. "Give me a break; it's been a rough day," he retorted, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"What does your father want to talk about? Or is it some royal secret you're not allowed to share?" Benedikta inquired, her curiosity piqued.

"It's a bit personal. I promise I'll explain everything once things get sorted out," Clive responded softly. His mind began to formulate how he might explain the complex situation to her, about his father sending him to Stillwind to investigate a black knight, and the perplexing fact that his mother had prior knowledge of the Imperial presence in the long-abandoned ruined village.

"Don't feel pressured to share, Clive. I don't need to know everything to watch your back," she reassured him, giving his shoulder a friendly pat as they neared the throne room. Clive responded with a soft smile.

"You almost sound like a stalker with that kind of talk," he teased back, before regaining his composure as the guards swung open the grand doors for them.

As they both entered the grand throne room, Clive took the lead. As they neared his father seated regally upon the throne, he dropped to one knee in a respectful show of deference, Benedikta promptly following his example.

"You summoned me, your grace," Clive said formally, maintaining his kneeling position. "How may I serve you?" The ritual felt odd, particularly when directed towards his own father.

"Alright, enough with the boot-licking. Your mother isn't here," his father replied, a faint teasing tone in his voice. At the mention of his mother, Clive flinched slightly. Despite her initial intentions to betray Rosaria, she had since reconsidered. He had given her his word that he wouldn't reveal her near-treason to his father.

The Archduke's gaze shifted towards Benedikta. "Ah, Miss Harman, you seem to be in better spirits. That sword suits you rather well, I dare say. I wager my son didn't tell you about it, did he?" His tone was light, playfully amused.

"Your grace, your son certainly neglected to mention the sword," she replied, arching an eyebrow in Clive's direction. Clive squirmed under the scrutiny, taken aback by the interaction.

The archduke let out a chuckle. "I figured as much. You see, Clive used to train with that very sword. But he soon outgrew it, saying it was too light and that he needed a larger weapon to wield. That sword belonged to my mother," Elwin shared, his voice swelling with pride.

Benedikta looked taken aback. "I am honored to receive such a blade, your grace," she responded fervently.

The archduke sighed, "Both of you, enough with the formalities," he said, releasing another weary sigh.

"Miss Harman, while I enjoy your presence, might I request to speak with my son alone? He won't be long," the archduke requested politely.

"Of course, your grace. I'll be just outside the throne room should either of you need me," she responded respectfully, not heeding his words of dropping formalities before exiting the room.

"She's quite a loyal one, isn't she? Seems rather protective of you too," Elwin commented, watching Clive.

"She told me that she wants to accompany me, to protect me. It was hard to turn down such an offer," Clive admitted, looking slightly sheepish. "But you wanted to discuss other matters, right father?"

"Cutting straight to the chase, huh, son? Indeed, we've postponed your report on Stillwind long enough, wouldn't you agree?" Elwin leaned forward in his throne, his gaze intense. "What did you find?"

"There was a contingent of Imperials stationed around the ruined village, father. I... I cleared them out. However, there were no signs of a black knight," Clive confessed.

"I feared as much," Elwin sighed heavily. "This worsens our situation. The Blight to the north is swiftly engulfing the northern territories. They will soon be no more than a memory. The Iron Kingdom to the east is intensifying its raids, still in possession of the MotherCrystal Drake's Breath. If that wasn't dreadful enough, now we must contend with a black knight and the Imperials within our own borders." His words echoed heavily in the silent room.

"Without the blessing of the Mothercrystal, we cannot defend our realm from the spread of the Blight or invading forces," Elwin concluded.

"Father, you don't mean to... to invade, do you?" Clive questioned anxiously.

Elwin looked at his son somberly. "At the very least, we must secure Drake's Breath," he replied, his voice heavy with the weight of his words.

Clive felt his heart drop at his father's declaration. They were on the brink of war. As the Blight pressed their northern borders and the Imperials threatened from the west, they now needed to face an enemy from the east and vie for control of the MotherCrystal. His mother's words about Rosaria's weakness haunted his thoughts, and he couldn't shake off a sense of growing dread.

"The Ironblood will not relinquish it without a fight. This will be a bitter fight," Clive voiced out, his tone equally grim.

"We ride for Phoenix Gate tomorrow. There, we will seek guidance from the words of our ancestors, as per tradition," Elwin decreed.

"Am I to accompany you as Joshua's shield?" Clive asked, recalling his responsibility.

"Not initially. You will be needed elsewhere. After our departure, you will escort your mother to Port Isolde to the south. She strangely specifically requested you. She is to meet with our naval commander and my brother to ensure our fleet is ready for war. You are to act as her protector. Ordinarily, I would assign another shield to accompany you, but I believe Miss Harman is more than capable of providing protection," Elwin explained, his words steady and precise.

Taking a moment to let the information sink in, Clive saluted his father, hand over heart. "I am a shield of Rosaria, and I will do my duty, father," he pledged, bowing respectfully.

After leaving the throne room, Clive immediately began searching for Benedikta, his mind racing with the dire tasks ahead. His father's words echoed ominously in his ears, filling him with a deep sense of foreboding for the trials they were to face.

~~~~~~

Clive searched for Benedikta in the front gardens of the castle. Tucked away in one of the corners, he spotted her kneeling next to his younger brother, Joshua, who was beaming with delight. The sight of Benedikta showing Joshua how to weave small flowers into a bracelet was heartwarming. He slowly approached, savoring the peaceful moment.

"Joshua!" Clive called out, with pride as he made his way over. His hands resting on Joshua's small shoulders. "Benedikta, this is my younger brother, Joshua."

"Of course, he'd be your brother, Clive," Benedikta sighed, finding it amusing that she had met another member of his family. "He looks just like your mother, while you resemble your father more."

"Clive!" Joshua exclaimed, looking up at his older brother. His eyes sparkled with joy. "This nice lady was showing me how to make bracelets from flowers. I'll make one for you too!"

With a smile, Clive crouched to meet his younger brother's eye level. "Joshua, this nice 'lady' is Benedikta. She'll be living in the castle with us from now on."

Benedikta hid a smile at Clive's words. It was as though he was allowing her to stay indefinitely.

"He's right, Joshua. I'll be here to keep an eye on your brother and his adventurous antics," she teased, standing tall with a hand on her hip, her other hand resting lightly on her sword's hilt.

Joshua grinned, "Hear that, Clive? She'll be to you what you are to me." He leaned towards Clive, whispering, "And she can look kinda scary to fend off people."

Clive laughed, slightly embarrassed by their friendly banter. "I'm honored to have a new friend. But she doesn't need to put herself in harm's way for me, Joshua," he gently chided.

"Clive," Benedikta interjected sternly, her eyes locking onto his, "I will be accompanying you. I will be fighting alongside you in times of danger. I'm not taking 'no' for an answer."

Clive blushed, still unaccustomed to such unwavering loyalty and kindness. "I... I would be honored to have you by my side. I meant no disrespect. I'm just... concerned for those around me."

The conversation then moved towards the upcoming day. Clive learned from Joshua that their father had already filled him in on his duties as the dominant of the Phoenix. However, Clive would be accompanying their mother to Port Isolde before meeting Joshua at Phoenix Gate.

With a firm voice, Benedikta stated, "Then I will accompany you on your escort mission."

Clive chuckled, "Father figured you'd say that. It's why he didn't assign any other shields for our journey. I do wonder why mother didn't request a larger escort, though."

As the day drew to a close, Benedikta excused herself to rest. She ruffled Joshua's hair, gave Clive a smile, and stated with determination, "Clive, don't you dare leave without me," before sauntering off.

"Promise you'll be careful, and protect Mother too," Joshua pleaded, his innocent eyes full of worry.

Clive gave a light thump on his brother's chest with his fist, a family gesture of reassurance. "You have my word, as family." He then suggested that they both should rest before the big day ahead. Lest their mother fetch Joshua for being outside too long. Joshua agreed. Joshua scampered off towards the castle, Clive turned his attention to the stables. Knowing his mother wouldn't want to travel on foot. His thoughts went to his chocobo, Ambrosia. She would be a fine mount for his mother. He would travel on foot, ready to react to any ambush.

~~~~~~

Clive slowly made his way towards the castle stables, noting the bustling activity around him. The sight of the Branded roaming the grounds triggered a memory; a disturbing vision he'd seen in his room's mirror earlier that day. An older man, bearing a striking resemblance to himself, marred by a branded mark and a look of profound loneliness and betrayal. The hopeful smile he'd given Clive before vanishing in a blaze still lingered in his mind. Shaking his head, Clive tried to push away the disturbing thought.

Reaching the stables, he spotted his faithful white chocobo, Ambrosia. As he stroked her maw, he said softly, "Hey girl, we have a big day tomorrow, I hope you're ready." He enjoyed these peaceful moments with Ambrosia, even if they were few and far between these days.

After spending some time in the stables, Clive decided to head back to the castle, despite the growing sense of unease about the impending events. His mind was plagued with concerns about the various threats looming over Rosaria, his homeland. The burden of protecting his home, his family, weighed heavily on him, inducing a sting of frustration. If only he'd been chosen by the Phoenix, he could've been better equipped to protect everything he cherished.

This train of thought brought on a sudden, sharp pain in his head. Overwhelmed, he found his back hitting the cold, stone wall of the castle corridor, only a few feet away from his room. As he gritted his teeth, fighting the excruciating pain, he heard that familiar, haunting voice in his head. It was only through sheer will that he managed to suppress the pain, leaving him gasping for breath in the aftermath. That's when he noticed a shadow looming over him.

Looking up, he saw his mother standing before him, draped in her customary white and purple dress. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her expression devoid of sympathy. "Your room is only a few steps away, yet you had to cause a scene out here," she remarked icily. "I believe I asked you to consult the castle physician, didn't I? Come with me," she commanded, her voice carrying a hint of anger.

Attempting to minimize his embarrassment, Clive protested, "I...I'm fine, Mother. It's just a headache... they come and go." He didn't want to appear weak, not after his earlier vow to protect Rosaria and his family.

His mother was unmoved. "That wasn't a question," she retorted, her icy gaze returning. She began to stride away, leaving Clive with no choice but to follow.

"Yes, Mother," he replied, falling into step beside her as they walked towards another wing of the castle.

"Your father briefed you about the upcoming events, didn't he?" Annabella questioned, her eyes assessing him. "You're aware of the imminent war with the Iron Kingdom, and our visit to Port Isolde. I expect you to be a reliable escort."

"I made a promise, Mother. I pledged to protect my family. I intend to honor it, no matter what," he replied, his determination visible in his eyes.

His mother simply looked away, her silence echoing as they continued their journey to the castle physician's chambers. Upon entering, she didn't bother knocking, leaving Clive to follow her.

"Y-your Grace, to what do I owe this visit?" A middle-aged woman, the castle's physician, bowed to the Duchess and Clive.

Annabella placed her hand on Clive's shoulder, nudging him forward. "He's been experiencing headaches and likely has injuries from his recent 'excursion'. Ensure he's fit for duty by tomorrow," she commanded coldly, before casting Clive a quick glance and then departing, leaving him alone with the physician.

"Well dearie, that's a first, isn't it?" The woman said cheerfully. "Come sit down and tell me what's been troubling you."

Clive took a seat and said, somewhat awkwardly, "It's nothing really, just some headaches and a few bruises. I didn't have any potions on me."

The physician, undeterred by his nonchalance, responded with a warm smile, "We'll get you fixed up shortly. Here, take this potion, but remember to drink it slowly. It'll have you feeling as good as new soon enough and should also alleviate those headaches."

Clive thanked her before exiting the physician's chamber. His mother was no longer in sight. He sighed, feeling a wave of anxiety about the impending day. As he walked back to his quarters, he let his mind wander, pondering over the events to come.

Upon entering his room, his gaze fell on the mirror that had shown him the disturbing vision earlier. He recoiled at the memory, his heart pounding. Quickly, he threw a spare shirt over it, shrouding its reflective surface. Exhausted both physically and emotionally, he flopped onto his bed, his mind fraught with apprehension about what the next day would bring.

Chapter Text

Clive found himself immersed in a sea of obsidian darkness, a void that seemed to perpetually expand around him. His heart pounded as he stepped forward, each footfall trembling under a burden of mounting fear. Abruptly, a thunderous roar ripped through the silence, accompanied by the eruption of towering flames, painting a horrifying picture of a monstrous silhouette. Behind the flickering flames, two fire-red eyes pierced the darkness, staring unblinkingly at him. Clive struggled to comprehend what he was witnessing.

As he attempted to retreat, an excruciating pain seized his head, compelling him to advance instead. With every step forward, the pain eased slightly, but the monstrous figure that lurked within the pyre roared ominously, almost as if it was daring him to draw nearer. Desperate, Clive summoned his magic, producing a small flame in his hand. However, it seemed insignificant, nearly extinguished by the cataclysmic inferno that surrounded him.

Summoning his courage, Clive overcame his fear, standing tall and venturing deeper into the void. "What are you?" he demanded, his voice barely rising above the crackling fire. "Answer me!" Frustration edged his cries as he hurled fireballs towards the shadowy figure. His attacks, however, were futile, snuffed out instantly against the wall of fire.

Suddenly, the creature fell silent, its inferno-like eyes approaching menacingly. It was monstrous, colossal even, easily rivaling the size of a castle. As it approached the flaming barrier, its roars of fury resumed, the walls of fire shuddering under its wrath of attacks. That's when Clive realized he wasn't trapped within the flames; rather, they served as a protective barrier against this terrifying entity. Overwhelmed, he clutched his head, pleading to be freed from this nightmare.

"Wake up! Wake up! This isn't real, just wake up already!" He pounded his skull, his screams harmonizing with the sounds of roars from the beast. Slumping to his knees, he glared up at the enormous shadow. His normally warm and amiable demeanor was replaced by a dark anger and scorn for the creature. 'How dare this creature cause me such torment!' he thought furiously, meeting the blazing gaze of the monster head-on.

Seemingly enraged by Clive's defiance, the creature assaulted the wall of flames with renewed intensity. Clive thought he saw enormous claws reaching from beyond the fiery barrier when a new threat emerged from behind him. The pounding of what sounded like a chocobo stampede echoed ominously in the darkness, but when Clive mustered the courage to look, he found himself staring at four glowing blue eyes. Two large shadows, each boasting a pair of luminescent pupils as if one was on top of the other, materialized behind him, making the heat from the front seem even more unbearable.

The combined onslaught of fear, anger, and darkness took its toll. Clive's vision blurred as he collapsed onto the dark ground. The last thing he saw was a luminescent streak slicing through the pitch black, hurtling towards the wall of fire. As it collided, his world plunged into darkness.

~~~~~~

Clive awoke with a start, drenched in sweat, clutching his throbbing head. His ragged breaths filled the quiet room, only to be softly hushed by a comforting hand on his back. Startled, he slowly brought his surroundings into focus. At his bedside sat Benedikta, her eyes filled with concern. Over her shoulder, he noticed a figure that made his heart skip a beat — his mother, standing stoically, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable.

“You’re safe, Clive," Benedikta reassured, her voice a soft balm against his terror. "It must've been a nightmare."

Benedikta had been en route to Clive’s room to discuss their upcoming excursion when she heard his screams. Panic tightening her chest, she sprinted towards the alarming sound, prepared to draw her sword. Upon reaching his room, she was taken aback by the sight of Clive’s mother, the Duchess, staring at her writhing son, her usually composed face reflecting a storm of emotions. Noticing the Duchess’s inaction, Benedikta promptly took charge.

“Are you just going to stand there?" she admonished, closing the distance to Clive’s bed. "He’s your son, for goodness’ sake!” When her words fell on deaf ears, she moved past the stunned woman, shaking Clive awake, which led to the current predicament.

Clive’s breathing gradually steadied as he looked at Benedikta, her hand still gently rubbing his back in an attempt to calm him. He locked eyes with his mother who, seeming momentarily stunned by his ordeal, quickly averted her gaze resuming her look of indifference.

“W-what happened?” he asked weakly, his gaze returning to Benedikta.

“I think you had a nightmare. I rushed in here as soon as I heard the screams. Surprisingly, your mother was already present,” she said, shooting a disapproving glare at the older woman.

“Yeah… I think it was just a bad dream," Clive mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he slowly climbed out of bed. "I apologize for causing worry.” He tried to muster his usual confidence, standing straight in front of his mother. “Good morning, Mother. I'll get ready soon, and then we can start our journey to Port Isolde.”

As if roused from a trance, she made eye contact with her son. “Your father and brother await us in the dining hall. We need to depart soon. Be quick.” she said, her tone returning to its typical coldness before she exited the room. She left with her thoughts consumed by the sight of her son in pain, a nagging feeling she couldn't easily shake off.

“Is she always so detached?” Benedikta asked, straightening up and giving Clive a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

“Believe it or not, she was nicer than usual today,” he sighed heavily. “Would you mind stepping out while I get dressed?”

“Of course. I'm not too thrilled about attending your family breakfast alone, so I’ll wait by the door,” she replied, sauntering out of the room.

Finally alone, Clive grappled with the remnants of his nightmarish vision. Was it even a dream? Or was he slowly losing his sanity? As he changed into a fresh set of clothes, nearly identical to his typical attire, the images of the monstrous shadow with fire eyes behind the wall of flames and the massive blue-eyed entities looming behind him still haunted him. The cold resentment from his dream echoed in his heart, but he shook it off, reminding himself of his duty to Rosaria and his family.

As he stepped out of his room, he found Benedikta casually leaning against the wall, idly examining her fingernails, her face a portrait of practiced indifference.

"I didn't mean to keep you waiting so long," Clive apologized, walking towards her.

"At last! Any longer and I might have braved going in alone, and I can already imagine your mother’s frosty glare," she joked.

"Well, let's not keep them waiting any longer," Clive interjected, attempting to regain some semblance of normalcy.

~~~~~~

They continued on through the sprawling castle towards the dining room. As they went down the corridors, Clive occasionally stole glances through the arched windows, where the vast, majestic ocean unfolded. Recollections of his father's resolute intent to reclaim Drake's Breath - wrestling it from the Iron Kingdom - weighed heavily on him. He heaved a sigh, a quiet expression of his inner turmoil that didn't escape Benediktas astute notice.

"Something on your mind? You've been sighing a lot lately," she inquired, her voice laced with mild concern.

"Your intuition is unnerving at times, you could be a spy," Clive responded lightly, trying to inject some levity. "I've been thinking about some matters, not entirely sure I should be sharing them."

Benedikta gave him a soft, understanding smile. "You don't have to divulge everything, but remember, it can help to share your troubles with someone."

"Can I trust you with a secret?" he asked, a glimmer of hope twinkling in his eyes.

"For you? Always," she affirmed, her voice resolute.

Clive paused, turning to fully face Benedikta. He relayed his concerns about the rapidly spreading Blight in the Northern territories, inching dangerously close to their borders. He confessed his encounters with Imperials, the knights and dragoon he'd slain in Stillwind, before he had found her on the beach. Lastly, he shared his father's zealous plan to retake the MotherCrystal, currently under the control of the Iron Kingdom.

"So… you're preparing for war?" Benedikta deduced, knitting her brows. "And our trip to Port Isolde is tied to this imminent conflict, isn't it?"

Clive nodded. "Father wants Rosaria to take the MotherCrystal to get its blessing. It's our only defense against the Blight and potential invaders. It's going to be a bloody fight... I dread the inevitable loss of life. Thankfully, the Iron Kingdom lacks any Dominants. Their zealous faith in the crystals considers them an abomination, usually they're killed."

Benedikta sighed, a melancholic frown tugging at her lips. "War is never far from times of peace, no matter the reason. It's always a despicable affair. But it seems I'm in this with you for the long haul."

Clive turned to her earnestly, "Benedikta, you don't owe me anything. This is a Rosarian fight. I wouldn't expect you to be part of this war. I'm happy to call you a friend, and I'm sure my father could arrange for you to go anywhere you want in Valisthea."

But Benedikta cut him off, a proud look in her eyes. "You've shown me kindness when no one else has. That kindness is what makes you remarkable, Clive, but it also makes you vulnerable. I'm here to ensure no one exploits it. So, like it or not, you're stuck with me."

A grateful smile graced Clive's face, their connection deepening without the need for words. As they resumed their walk, they entered the bustling dining hall. The sight of Joshua engaged in lively chatter with Clive's father was heartwarming. Clive took his seat next to his mother, and Benedikta followed suit.

The meal progressed with happy banter and laughter, a semblance of normality Clive couldn't help but cherish. The sense of unity and belonging, especially with those close to him, felt enchanting, contrasting starkly with the brewing storm of conflict in his mind.

As they wrapped up the meal, Elwin addressed his sons with a somber expression. "I am proud of both of you. Clive, your mother's safety is your responsibility for this journey. Joshua, I know you'll be our guiding flame in the days to come. Benedikta, I trust you to keep an eye on Clive. He can be quite the handful." Elwin jests lightly. With those parting words, he rose, taking Joshua with him as they prepared to depart for Phoenix Gate.

Clive stood, noticing his mother already poised to leave. She stood there in her regal attire, her eyes drifting towards Benedikta. Her voice sliced through the lingering silence, cold and stern. "I don’t believe I requested your presence for this journey."

"No, you didn't," Benedikta retorted, unfazed, "but someone has to look out for Clive."

Caught in the crossfire of their intense gazes, Clive hurriedly attempted to diffuse the situation. "We should get ready to leave. Mother, Ambrosia is ready at the stables for you."

Annabella raised an eyebrow at her son. "And you? Are you planning to walk all the way to Port Isolde?" Her tone was sharp, her eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

"I can react faster to any threats on foot," Clive reasoned, trying to alleviate her concerns. He noticed a flicker of something in his mother's eyes before she turned away, making her way towards the exit, seemingly unsatisfied with his explanation.

Benedikta, who had been silently observing, chimed in, "I'll join you on foot, Clive. And don't quote me on this, but I think your mother might just be showing some concern for you." She smirked before following Annabella towards the stables located near Rosalith's exit.

Shaking his head at their exchange, Clive trailed after them, bracing himself for the journey.

~~~~~~

At the grand entrance of Rosalith, a formidable array of soldiers and shields are congregating. An impressive battalion is poised to accompany Archduke Elwin and Joshua to Phoenix Gate, whereas Clive is tasked with the duty of escorting his mother to Port Isolde.

Having exchanged parting words with his father and brother, Clive observes his mother delivering stern instructions to her two handmaidens, both of whom are to accompany Joshua. The threat of severe consequences should anything befall Joshua resonates in her voice, adding to the solemnity of their departure. However, her exchange with Joshua is surprisingly brief before they take their leave.

Once again, Clive's mother, Annabella, turns her attention to the stables, deftly mounting Clive's chocobo, Ambrosia. Pulling a rich, purple hood over her head, she begins the journey to the main gate, Clive and Benedikta following in her wake.

As they traverse the city's exit, Benedikta curiously inquires about the large bridge they're crossing. Clive, well-versed in local lore, promptly responds, "This is Bewit Bridge. It has multiple functions, but its primary purpose is to connect Rosalith to Eastern Rosaria. It allows for easier access to the other side of the bay." Pointing towards the azure expanse of the bay and a city nestled at its edge, he continues, "The bay is known as 'The Talons', named for the shape of the bay and the land around it. And the city you see in the distance is our destination, Port Isolde. It’s an expansive city that is second only to Rosalith for the title of Rosaria's biggest city. My Uncle Bryon Rosfield resides there, overseeing his trading company."

Benedikta offers a thoughtful hum in response, her eyes drinking in the surrounding beauty. Its serene charm stands in stark contrast to the perils Clive had previously mentioned in their talk to the dining room. Nevertheless, they press on, crossing the bridge's midpoint, when Clive breaks the silence.

"Even though this route isn’t usually dangerous, we should be mindful of the devil crabs that inhabit the bay’s beaches, and the feisty blue birds native to the area. Most beasts prefer the deeper woods to the southeast, but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious,” Clive warns, eager to fill the silence that had once again enveloped them.

Meanwhile, Clive can't help but study his mother riding atop Ambrosia, her face a familiar mask of indifference. He wonders why she chose him as her escort when in the past she seemed indifferent to his existence. He is, however, determined to take this responsibility seriously.

Hoping to engage his mother in conversation, Clive musters the courage to ask, “Mother, what is it that we are supposed to find in Port Isolde?”

Without turning to face him, Annabella answers, “Your father instructed us to ensure that the ships for Drake’s Breath are adequately equipped and in satisfactory condition.” With her instructions relayed, she returns her attention to the path ahead, the bridge's exit gate now within sight.

Taking the lead, Clive jogs ahead, assuming his role as her Shield with earnest dedication, while Benedikta falls back to cover their rear. Upon reaching the gate, Clive realizes that the usual guard detail is conspicuously absent. He cautiously opens the gate and finds nothing else out of place. The trio resumes their journey, heading south towards Port Isolde along a well-paved path, when Clive senses an odd disturbance. His eyes dart to one of the towering cliffs to see a glint of steel. Alerted to the impending danger, he glances toward his mother who, worryingly, seems oblivious to the threat. Acting swiftly, he tackles her off Ambrosia just as Imperial mages launch a volley of magic attacks their way. He shields her with his own body, taking a painful hit of magic to his back.

Meanwhile, Benedikta springs into action. She bolts forward, sword unsheathed, engaging Imperial knights who emerged seemingly from nowhere.

"Mother, are you alright!?" Clive calls out, his voice strained with pain.

Regaining her composure, Annabella stands. Seeing Clive wince as he tries to rise, she moves to steady him.

"I'm unharmed," she reassures him tersely. They look towards Benedikta, who's locked in battle with an onslaught of Imperials. Like a tempest, she cuts down foe after foe with a trained ease that is awe-inspiring. Roused by her bravery, Clive unsheathes his own sword, launching balls of fire at the advancing Imperials and crossing blades with those daring to come too close.

Amidst the chaos, Benedikta manages to ask, "What are Imperials doing so close to the capital?" Clive can only respond with a shake of his head, just as clueless as she. Their battle continues, each Imperial knight proving more challenging than the last. Exhaustion sets in, slowing both Clive and Benedikta's movements. Clive steals a glance at his mother who remains unscathed, watching the fight unfold with a hawk-like intensity.

Finally, the knights start to falter under the relentless attacks from Clive and Benedikta. As their numbers thin, Benedikta moves further away to face a different group of attackers, while Clive stays close to his mother. However, his exhaustion combined with the continuous use of his flame attacks begin to take their toll. His reflexes falter, and a knight manages to parry his blow, slashing Clive’s arm in the process. The surprise attack forces him to drop his sword, and two knights quickly surround him. He casts a desperate look toward Benedikta, but she is too far to offer immediate aid.

Time seems to freeze as both knights thrust their swords towards him. But instead of the anticipated pain of cold steel piercing him, he hears the agonized screams of the two knights, both of them engulfed in a whirl of flames.

Stunned, Clive looks down at the charred bodies, then to himself, realizing that he hadn't summoned the fire. His gaze travels to his mother, who, to his shock, is clutching a crystal. A jolt of realization hits him - it was his mother who had conjured the protective flames.

Closing the distance between them, Annabella orders, "Drink this. It seems like the worst of the Imperials are dealt with." She places a potion to his lips.

Overwhelmed by the day's events, Clive silently accepts the potion. It instantly alleviates the pain in his arm, and he quickly reclaims his fallen sword just as Benedikta finishes off the last Imperial.

"Thank you, mother. Thank you for saving me," he says, offering her a sincere smile as he leans against her for support. His energy reserves are depleted from the extensive use of the Phoenix flames, a fatigue that a simple potion cannot cure.

Annabella doesn't respond, her gaze locked onto the charred knights in front of her, glaring at them.

Benedikta rejoins them, concern etching her features. "I think that's all of them. Clive, how are you holding up?"

"I’m alright. Mother gave me a potion. I’m just tired," he assures her. "But why were the Imperials here?" He turns towards his mother, hoping she might have answers. She simply shakes her head, confirming that she too was oblivious to the Imperials' motives and actions at this point.

Clive sighs, his gaze drifting towards the distant Port Isolde. He can't help but wonder what else is amiss in the distance. Mentally bracing himself for what's to come.

Chapter Text

As Clive began to gradually recover from his exhaustion after wielding the Phoenix flames, Benedikta was meticulously searching through the remnants of the Imperial forces that had ambushed them. With a cautious foot, she nudged aside the fallen bodies, her eyes combing for any shred of information that could shed light on their unprovoked assault. Despite her determined investigation, no obvious clues emerged.

Meanwhile, Clive found himself casting a wary gaze towards Port Isolde. Leaning against a nearby cliff for support, his mother shadowed him closely. He peered down the winding trail, his eyes settling on the distant stone wall and gate that marked the gateway to Port Isolde. An eerie silence hung in the air, unsettling him.

"Mother, are you certain you don't know anything about what's happening?" Clive ventured tentatively. "I remember you mentioning that you used to communicate with the empire..."

His words drew Annabella's attention. A frown tugged at her features, a hint of displeasure crossing her face.

"Do you genuinely think that I would have arranged an assassination attempt on my own life if I were allied with them?" she retorted, her tone doused with incredulity. "Remember, I was their primary target. If you hadn't intervened, I would already be dead."

Her words echoed in the silence, the reality of their situation setting in. The notion that she could have perished had her son not thrown himself into the fray as her shield was a startling revelation.

With a heavy sigh, Annabella turned her gaze back to her son.

"I'm as clueless as you are. The Imperials were never meant to be this close to Rosalith. Those you clashed with at Stillwind were merely a small reconnaissance team," she murmured, her voice so low it barely reached Clive's ears. She seemed to deliberately keep the volume down, as if to keep their conversation from reaching Benedikta's ears.

Annabella allowed herself a moment to truly observe her son, his form still reeling from the remnants of the sudden attack. His blue eyes continuously scanned their surroundings, alert for any approaching danger. Despite the tension in the air, she found herself leaning against the cliff next to him, her hood casting a shadow over her features.

"Thank you. For earlier," she managed, her words guarded and stiff. Gratitude was unfamiliar territory for her, especially when directed at her own son.

"Of course, mother. I vowed to protect you. Beyond that, we are family. I won't allow anyone to harm you," Clive replied, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he turned his head slightly to meet her gaze.

Her son's sincere words stirred within her a sensation she couldn't quite identify — guilt, regret, or perhaps something else. It was an alien feeling, one she usually shrugged off with practiced ease, but this time she found it surprisingly hard to dismiss. With a soft sigh, she drew Clive closer, allowing him to lean on her shoulder instead of the harsh, rocky cliff. She avoided looking at him, a part of her resisting the reality of her closeness with her son, a difference from years of neglect and detachment.

For his part, Clive was surprised by his mother's sudden show of affection. It was a rare change, something he hadn't seen in years, with only a fleeting moment of warmth on a previous balcony encounter. He treasured it, not knowing when he would witness such kindness again.

"Do you think there are more Imperials in Port Isolde, or possibly in the Lazarus District?" he whispered, his voice carrying uncertainty as he felt his mother's purple hood rustle against the back of his head, indicating her gaze was following his line of sight.

"If that were the case, we'd hear an uproar from the populace. The silence suggests otherwise. It seems likely this was a small contingent, possibly sent to silence me," she conjectured, her tone disturbingly matter-of-fact.

Clive's face fell at her casual statement. His hands balled into fists in a surge of helpless anger. If he had been a second too late, the mage attack would have spelled his mother's end. The thought ignited a seething rage within him.

Annabella observed her son's rigid posture, his whole body taut with tension. Behind the protective veil of her purple cloak, her eyes softened — a minute change she'd never admit to.

"We can't linger in the open forever. I trust you've rested enough?" Despite the stern undertone and a trace of sarcasm, Annabella maintained her supportive stance, continuing to serve as a human shield against the hard, rocky cliff. She showed no intention of moving, choosing to stay put until Clive assured her he was ready to proceed.

Clive nodded in response, gathering his strength. As he steadied himself, a ripple of energy surged through him — a testament to his recovering aether. He braced himself to continue.

~~~~~~

As Benedikta sauntered up to them, she took note of her two traveling companions engaged in serious conversation. A small smile tugged at her lips as she observed Clive appearing more at ease. However, it irked her to intrude on this rare, peaceful moment.

"Unfortunately, I found no notes or other traces that could explain their attack," she began, her voice laden with disappointment. "If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say they were plotting a regicide." Benedikta's eyes fixed on Annabella, and the latter met her gaze, both women's eyes sharp as daggers.

Clive released a tired sigh at the sight of his mother and Benedikta locked in their confrontational glare. He wondered if the two would ever reach a mutual understanding or if such bouts were doomed to be a recurring theme on their journey.

"Mother, Benedikta," he started earnestly, "now is not the time for this. Can we please just...not?"

"Very well. So, what's our next move?" Benedikta asked, effortlessly transitioning the conversation. "Are we still heading to your city?"

Clive bit his lip, visibly anxious. "I can't help but worry about Joshua and father. If we were attacked so close to Rosalith, I fear for their safety."

"Your brother and father are not without protection," Annabella assured, her gaze intent on Clive. "They have a whole contingent of Shields, along with regular soldiers. They're much better guarded than we are."

"That might be, mother, but if this was just a small group of Imperials, a much larger force could be stationed near the Phoenix Gate. The ship inspection can wait. I can reach Phoenix Gate by nightfall if I leave now." Clive's voice resonated with conviction, his blue eyes wide with concern.

"Clive, you're not seriously considering going alone, are you?" Benedikta retorted, her hand resting on her hip and a frown creasing her forehead.

Clive looked somewhat abashed as he admitted, "I thought you and mother would be safer in the castle. Mother isn't a fighter, and I'd feel more at ease knowing she had you by her side." His gaze implored Benedikta for understanding.

Annabella, however, stiffened at his words. "That's foolhardy. Did you not swear to protect me? How can you fulfill that vow if you're off gallivanting on your own, leaving me unguarded?"

"Mother, I don't intend to abandon you," Clive protested. "I could reach Phoenix Gate, while you return to Rosalith on Ambrosia. Benedikta could escort you back. You'll be safer in the castle than out here."

"Hey, don't I get a say in this matter?" Benedikta interjected, an irritated edge to her tone. "I told you, I'll accompany you. So, stop acting like a lone wolf. And for the record, your mother doesn't seem too thrilled about you going off on your own either." She jerked her thumb at Annabella, shooting her a defiant glare.

Annabella crossed her arms and shot them both a glare, her silence heavier than any retort. "You two are a nuisance. I don't need anyone to voice my thoughts for me." She spat at Benedikta, before her steely gaze landed on her son. "You, never think before you act. You always rush headfirst into situations without a care for your own safety. It's rash and uncouth. We'll travel to Phoenix Gate together, and you will follow. Am I clear?"

Benedikta rolled her eyes and patted Clive's shoulder before sauntering away.

Feeling rather meek, Clive nodded. "Understood, Mother. We'll travel together." His voice echoed with the unyielding resolve of a seasoned Shield. "Benedikta will lead, and I'll cover our rear. I can always yell directions if necessary."

With a stern warning not to fall behind, Annabella climbed onto the back of the chocobo, Ambrosia. His mother's gaze bore into him, eliciting a small smile of reassurance from Clive that caused her to look away, her face partially obscured by her hood.

The trio arrived at the entrance of Bewit Bridge, the trail ahead of them leading down to a quaint hamlet. Benedikta surveyed the path, turning back to ask, "I take it we're heading down there?" She had a faint recollection of the port village from her past journey with Clive to Rosalith.

"Yes, we're headed for Auldhyl Docks. From there, we'll travel north towards Eastpool and then west to reach Phoenix Gate," Annabella dictated their route with the air of someone used to giving orders.

"Once we pass Eastpool, keep an eye out for any Imperial assassins lurking around the cliffs. Both of you, maintain vigilance at all times," she ordered, her voice firm.

"Of course, Mother," Clive answered respectfully, his tone adopting the deference suitable for addressing a royal rather than his mother.

Ahead, Benedikta led the trek down, rolling her eyes but acknowledging Annabella with a casual flick of her hand. Her only consolation was Clive's presence; his mother's haughty attitude was almost too much to bear otherwise.

The group passed through the bustling Auldhyl Docks, a stark contrast to the deserted trail they had left behind. Clive's gaze marveled at the multitude of ships, the village being a major supply hub given its strategic location in the middle of the bay.

His eyes swept over the various workers, many of whom were Branded, individuals who could use magic without crystals. A feeling of sadness washed over him as he noticed his mother's blatant avoidance of these people. Her distaste for the Branded was no secret. It was disheartening that a member of his own family would regard them as lesser beings, simply due to the circumstances of their birth. He held out hope, though, that he could one day persuade her to see things his way. But for now, their priority was reaching Phoenix Gate.

As they left the docks, a heavy sensation took hold of Clive's chest. He couldn't place why he felt this sense of foreboding. Everything seemed fine - his mother, Benedikta, even with their occasional rude exchanges. Despite this, the discomfort persisted.

The sensation was akin to a blade passing through his chest without the physical pain. Each step forward seemed to require more effort, the weight slowing him down considerably. He began lagging, the figures of his companions gradually drifting further away. This sensation was vastly different from the sharp, violent emotions he felt during his headaches - it was cold, empty, and somewhat chilling, dark.

He clutched at his chest, desperately trying to calm his racing heart through deep, steady breaths. His pupils dilated as he fell to his knees to the unnerving sensation, unsure of what was to come.

~~~~~~

Duchess Annabella was far from thrilled to find herself in this bustling village, teeming with dock workers. The populace seemed to take note of her presence, most of them offering respectful bows. Her gaze quickly passed over the branded ones among them, making a point of not acknowledging their existence. The sight and feel of all the common people seemed to offend her delicate senses; she covered her nose as if the air was suddenly putrid. Her eyes remained resolutely forward as they trudged through the sea of villagers, her face scrunching in distaste, a stark contrast to the usual composed demeanor she bore. Though her cloak shielded her annoyance, anyone who knew her could see it.

Once they managed to escape the crowds, her expression transitioned to one of neutrality. Checking the rising moon's position in the sky, she noted they were making good progress. They should reach Phoenix Gate by midnight, slightly behind schedule but not an unacceptable delay.

Her mind wandered to Phoenix Gate, where her youngest son Joshua was at. As the current dominant of the Phoenix, he wouldn't put up much of a fight should Imperials attack. His frail health coupled with his inexperience in harnessing the Phoenix's powers effectively left him quite vulnerable. A twinge of irritation bubbled up at the thought of her weak and ill youngest child being the Phoenix's chosen one. The Phoenix should have chosen her eldest, Clive, who showed promise from a young age. If Clive had been the Phoenix, Rosaria would have a more competent Dominant by now. She quickly dismissed these thoughts, reminding herself to stay vigilant for signs of danger.

"Do you always wear that sour expression, or are you making an effort to look like a witch today?" Benedikta chimed in from ahead, her tone purposely sarcastic.

"Why, you insolent brat!" Annabella retorted instinctively towards the younger woman, barely managing to keep her voice down. She realized that Benedikta was deliberately provoking her, probably for her own amusement. The scowl on Annabella's face deepened.

As she regained her composure, she noticed a conspicuous absence of footsteps behind her. Twisting around, she spotted Clive a significant distance away, his hand clutching his chest, and his face contorted in a look of distress. This sight awakened a dormant concern within her, a feeling she'd tried to suppress since this morning when she had seen him writhing in his sleep.

With a swift tug of the reins, she directed Ambrosia back towards him. Benedikta, startled by the sudden movement, quickly followed suit, their echoes of their steps filling the silence of the early night.

As she neared her son, Annabella quickly dismounted and dropped to her knees beside him. She gently shook his shoulder, trying to rouse him from his daze.

"Snap out of it! Talk to me!" She shook him more urgently, a flicker of fear sparking in her usually stoic eyes. The sight of his dilated pupils and vacant expression set her heart racing. She continued shaking him until, finally, he blinked and his gaze met hers.

"M-mother..." Clive weakly croaked, his voice strained.

"I'm right here," she said, a hint of worry seeping into her voice. She rested her hand on his shoulder, her eyes filled with a rare display of concern.

Benedikta arrived at his other side, gently placing her hand on his back.

"Take deep breaths, Clive. Whatever's going on, it seems like you're panicking. Breathe with us, focus on our voices," she instructed, her voice filled with practiced calm as if she'd been in similar situations before.

Clive managed a faint laugh, though the sound was devoid of any joy. "It's as though I'm losing my mind," he admitted, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.

A sudden wave of guilt washed over Annabella. She found herself confronting feelings she'd never thought she would experience for her eldest son. Was she the reason he was suffering like this? Her mind was caught in a turbulent storm, one part of her empathizing with her son, the other striving to suppress it and revert to her typically detached self.

"No, you're not losing your mind, Clive. Whatever is happening, it will pass. Just focus on your breathing. You're doing great," Benedikta reassured him, her words like a soothing balm.

Attempting to articulate his feelings, Clive told them of a heavy darkness that seemed to be encroaching on his heart, weighing him down. However, he left out the terrifying nightmare or vision he'd experienced that morning - of himself trapped in a void, confronted by a beast of fire behind walls of flames. He didn't mention the other entity shrouded in darkness that had appeared behind him, nor did he disclose how the vast entity had lashed out towards the flaming barriers. Instead, with a great effort, he lifted his head and tried to stand.

"I'm sorry for causing you both worry. I-I think I can manage now. If this is anything like the headaches, it will come and go," he grunted, pushing himself upright.

"The headaches? Did the physician not provide potions for that?" Annabella asked, her sharp gaze boring into him with thinly veiled disapproval.

"Yes, Mother. She did. But they don't completely eradicate the pain. They come and go... but it will pass. We should continue on to Phoenix Gate. Thank you, both," Clive responded, his voice steady.

With a nod, Annabella remounted Ambrosia, while Benedikta resumed her position at the front. Clive trailed behind them, his footsteps a quiet echo in the cool night, as they continued their journey towards Eastpool.

~~~~~~

The journey to Eastpool proceeded without event. No attacks, no monstrous creatures, and surprisingly, no heated exchanges between Annabella and Benedikta. Clive found the silence oddly peaceful, a stark contrast to the tense atmosphere that had engulfed them earlier. The tranquility reminded him of a time when his family would take leisurely vacations to Eastpool. Now, however, they were merely passing through, propelled by the undercurrent of impending danger.

Despite knowing that his father was well-protected by a small army of skilled warriors and that the formidable Lord Commander Murdoch was stationed at his father's side, Clive couldn't help but worry. His mind was consumed by the knowledge of the destruction the Imperials could wreak, and the thought of Dragoons being involved only heightened his anxiety. He shivered involuntarily, the memory of a past encounter with a Dragoon still chilling him to the bone.

As they entered Eastpool, the sky was blanketed by the inky darkness of night, and the villagers seemed to have retreated indoors. Clive knew that this was where Lord Commander Murdoch resided with his wife. He had fond memories of visiting as a child, of days filled with joy and laughter. They were glimpses of a past that seemed and were years away now. As they crossed through the village and approached the exit gate that led to Phoenix Gate, the silhouette of smoke plumes against the moonlit sky and the distortion distant noises stirred a sense of foreboding within them.

Dread surged through Clive as his worst fears began to take form. Casting aside all caution, he broke into a sprint, heading straight for the source of the chaos. The Phoenix's flames sprang to life around him, amplifying his speed in a blaze of vibrant orange. Both Benedikta and Annabella, noting the panic in his eyes and the sudden surge of fiery energy, hastened their pace to keep up with him. The grim spectacle of the smoke and flames a beacon in the night. As the trio raced towards Phoenix Gate, they couldn't help but wonder what horror awaited them.

Chapter Text

With a frantic haste, Clive barreled down the long trail towards Phoenix Gate. His lungs seared with each breath, his every step amplified by the power of the Phoenix. He barely registered his body's protest, his exhaustion paling in comparison to the urgency he felt. His family was under threat, and he needed to get there. He had to protect them.

The image of his mother surfaced in his mind, and he stumbled in his tracks. He had acted impulsively, sprinting off without sparing a thought for potential consequences. He had left his mother and Benedikta behind, vulnerable to any Imperials lurking in their path. The instinctive call of his heart urged him to continue rushing to the keep, but his heart also insisted on a more calm approach. His sacred duty as the First Shield of Rosaria was to protect Joshua, his younger brother, but he couldn't ignore his responsibility to his mother.

The internal conflict gnawed at him, fueling an inferno of anger and fear within. Yes, he could charge headlong into the keep and eliminate some Imperials, but what if their forces proved too vast? What if he fell, leaving his family without protection? His mother, he recalled, was very intelligent, always level-headed and able to assess situations, a trait he admired but lacked. Her words echoed in his mind: he was too prone to rushing into things without thinking.

Determined to rectify his mistake, Clive turned on his heels and sprinted back up the trail where he was met by the sight of his mother and Benedikta. Their expressions were stormy, fury practically radiating off them.

"Clive! What in the name of the crystals were you thinking? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Benedikta raged, her face flushed with anger.

Standing behind Benedikta, his mother's eyes smoldered with barely contained rage. "You utter fool. Did you really think that charging headlong into a castle swarming with Imperials was a wise move? You reckless, insufferable child!" Her voice was low and seething, her face retaining its usual cold facade. However, her eyes betrayed a flicker of worry at her son.

"I panicked! Joshua and father are down there, and you expect me to stand by and do nothing?" Clive defended himself, his voice laced with disbelief.

"I expect you to be better. You're being foolish," his mother retorted sternly. "The clash of steel can still be heard. There's still fighting. The shields will provide protection to your father and brother. It's likely they're still alive." Her reprimand served as a cold splash of reality to him. His worries surfacing more.

"But we can't just stand here... I need to be down there," Clive protested, his voice faltering at the idea of not doing his duty.

"We won't stand idly by," his mother scolded him, her voice surprisingly calm. "You will enter the castle, but you'll do it discreetly. A surprise attack while they're preoccupied is our best chance to thin their ranks."

"But mother, what about you?" A wave of worry washed over Clive as he realized his mother wasn't a fighter. His fear washing over him in troves.

"I have a crystal on me; magic will suffice. I will stay back," Annabella stated, moving to stand in front of her son. Her eyes narrowed as if steeling herself for what she was about to say next. "Be quick. And don’t play the hero." Her face softened for a moment, a flicker of sadness clouding her eyes. She took a deep breath before placing her hands on his shoulders and looking him square in the eye. "You can be utterly insufferable, but I can't ignore this gut feeling I have. Do not act foolishly." She admonished him, her usual cold tone laced with an uncharacteristic hint of affection.

"I promise, Mother. I will return safely with Father and Joshua," Clive pledged, attempting to reassure her. Strangely, his mother didn't react at the mention of his father or younger brother. She had always seemed detached from his family, did she only care for his father because of his status, and Joshua for his potential? These doubts started creeping into Clive's mind as he recalled their once happy family dynamics when he was younger. Ever since Joshua was chosen by the Phoenix, and his own rejection, his mother had become detached. So, why was she seemingly concerned for what seems to be only him now? Could their recent time together have changed her?

He shook off these unsettling thoughts, choosing instead to focus on his mother's words and mentally preparing himself for the imminent battle. Clive glanced at Benedikta, who had been unusually silent, then back at his mother, trying to communicate his worries silently to Benedikta.

"Clive, I really, really dislike you right now," Benedikta finally broke her silence, her voice a mix of anger and sadness. "But I understand your concern. Don't worry, I'll watch over your mother. If you don't make it back, though, I swear I'll find you in the afterlife and make you regret it." Despite her harsh words, it was clear that she was worried about him. Despite every instinct screaming at her to accompany him, she knew Clive needed to know his mother was safe to focus properly. And so, against her better judgment, she promised to guard his mother.

"Thank you, Benedikta. I mean it. Knowing that my mother is with you, I can feel more at ease," Clive expressed his gratitude sincerely. Turning his attention back towards Phoenix Gate, he moved with more caution, silently making his way down the trail towards the castle. As he moved out of view, he gave one last look at his mother and friend, their figures a silent beacon of safety and a promise.

~~~~~~

As Clive neared the entrance to Phoenix Gate, he couldn't help but grimace at the sight of fallen Rosarian shields, his comrades. The sight of their lifeless bodies ignited a rage within him, fueling his determination. He had to find his father and brother. He had to protect them. With his mother's advice echoing in his mind, he skulked into the gate, maintaining a low profile, intending to use the chaos of the attack to his advantage.

Upon entering the courtyard, his eyes fell on two Imperial knights on guard. Swiftly formulating a plan, he decided to eliminate one knight at a time to prevent them from calling for reinforcements. This was not a small troop; this was a sizeable legion. An invasion was underway. The thought turned Clive's stomach into knots.

With utmost stealth, he pressed himself against a wall, observing one knight straying from his partner. Drawing on the blessing of the Phoenix, Clive phased himself into flames, rushing towards the closest knight. His blade pierced the knight instantly. He had just ended a life, but he pushed aside his guilt; he had to focus. He could contend with the emotional turmoil later.

As soon as the first knight collapsed, Clive was already phasing towards the other, swiftly striking a weak point in his chest, hoping for a quick, painless end.

Turning his gaze towards the doors leading to the main hall of Phoenix Gate, Clive prepared himself for what lay ahead. Beyond those doors were the barracks where the soldiers would be sleeping. He barged into the room, only to be greeted by a horrifying sight. Flames engulfed the interiors, bodies of his fellow shields lay strewn about, and Imperials loomed over them as if in search of something. Clive's anger overflowed, and he engaged the knights in combat. With his blade slashing and fire magic at his disposal, he swiftly eliminated the eight knights attempting to subdue him. His body ached from exerting his Phoenix powers, but he could worry about that later. He needed to find his family.

Despite his frantic search, there was no sign of his father or brother. The evidence of a struggle and dead Imperials surrounding him filled him with dread. As he processed the reality of the situation, a sharp pain resonated in his head, forcing him to his knees. His vision started to blur.

The echo of approaching footsteps reached his ears, followed by the sight of polished ebony greaves. A large sword stabbed into the ground before him, and Clive's eyes widened in disbelief. The pain in his head intensified as he heard the figure speak.

"Awaken, child of darkness, awaken, child of flames," echoed the figure's voice, raspy and void-like. As the figure's voice resounded, black tendrils clouded his vision, merging with flashes of yellow. A wave of flames erupted from Clive as he writhed in agony. When he finally managed to reopen his eyes, the figure was gone.

Using his sword as support, Clive staggered to his feet. He needed to keep moving. As he rushed towards the exit, he nearly collided with a sword pointed at his chest. His shock was mirrored on the face of the blade's owner - his father, with Joshua standing safely behind him.

"Father! Joshua! You're both safe!" Clive exclaimed, his relief tangible. He quickly lowered his blade as his father pulled him into a hug, Joshua joining the embrace. They parted quickly, urgency driving their actions.

"Father, we need to leave! I have Mother and Benedikta waiting on the outskirts." His words were barely out of his mouth when he heard the approaching footfalls of numerous Imperials. "I'll hold them off. Father, please keep Joshua safe. Mother is waiting near the path to Eastpool. I'll hold them off while you both escape," Clive declared, his voice bearing an authority beyond his years.

"Don't risk your life, son. Do what you can, but promise me you'll meet us out there," his father implored with a weary look. Joshua clung to his older brother's shirt. Clive knelt to hug his younger brother, his heart aching.

"I promise, Father. We'll all make it out of this, as a family," Clive reassured them, his smile wide and hopeful. Little did he know it would be the last time he'd see his father. As his father and brother disappeared into the smoke-filled corridor, Clive steeled himself for the approaching Imperials.

His blade clashed with theirs, evading, parrying, and retaliating with a force he didn't know he possessed. Each use of the Phoenix flames racked his body with pain, but he pressed on, thinning their ranks. Then, a dragoon appeared before him, his spear barely missing Clive as he sidestepped.

"Legionnaires! Circle him, watch his flames!" the dragoon commanded his subordinates.

Clive couldn't help but let out a dark chuckle. All this while he'd been referring to them as knights; they called themselves legionnaires. Despite the life-threatening situation, he might have laughed at his own mistake under different circumstances.

He reengaged the encircling legionnaires, quickly overpowering them with his cyclone of flames. As the dragoon lunged, Clive countered, each of the dragoon's strikes leaving a devastating impact on Clive's arms. He was a formidable adversary. Anger surged through Clive, and he unleashed a ball of flame in front of the dragoon's helmet, taking advantage of the distraction to decapitate him.

Under normal circumstances, such a gruesome sight would have shocked Clive, but he quickly turned back to the path his father and Joshua had taken. His heart skipped a beat when he saw a Phoenix erupting from the ground and towering over the castle walls. Joshua had never assumed this form before; something was seriously wrong.

"Joshua! Joshua!" Clive's shouts echoed around him, desperate for his brother to hear him. As he called out, a sharp pain surged through his head, his vision flashing different colors.

"No…not now…" Clive pleaded weakly as the pain took over. The last thing he saw before his vision turned to black was a pair of familiar ebony greaves.

~~~~~~

Sometime after Clive ventured into the Phoenix Gate, Benedikta stood beside Annabella, Clive's mother. Her eyes were drawn to the anxious movement of Annabella's hands, the soft glimmer of a crystal nestled within them. The older woman's gaze was fixed on it intently, her lips moving in a soundless mutter. A thick hood concealed her expressions, adding an air of mystery to her actions.

"what are you doing?" Benedikta asked, her voice laced with skepticism. "Shouldn't we find a safer place?"

Annabella looked up at her, the hood casting a shadow over her eyes, enhancing her annoyed glare. "You expect me to run?" She bit out, her voice laced with accusation.

Benedikta blinked in surprise. "No, that's not what I meant. Your son seemed worried about you. You're a Duchess, not a fighter. It seems reckless for you to stay here," she retorted, frustration souring her tone. She had promised Clive to protect his mother, but now she was regretting her decision. She couldn't help but wonder why Annabella hadn't just stayed safe in Rosalith after their failed attempt at Port Isolde.

Looking towards Phoenix Gate with a somber expression, Annabella responded, "It's preposterous. This wouldn't have caused me any strain before. This would've been simple. I suppose my son kept his word and kept my secrets. He always was a boy of his word," she muttered, her voice barely audible over the chaos of the commotion from in the castle.

Confusion clouded Benedikta's face. "What secrets? What was Clive keeping from me?" she asked.

With an emotionless voice, Annabella began to explain, "I knew of these rising tensions between Rosaria and the Iron Kingdom, and I worked with the Empire. This war with the Iron Kingdom was included in my original plan. Elwin would try to take the MotherCrystal back due to the blight and Rosarian tradition would have drawn them here closer to the border, to hear the words of our ancestors. My initial idea was to take Joshua with me to the Empire, as a gift for the Emperor." Her voice hardened as she continued, "My husband was supposed to be disposed of, followed by Clive."

Her eyes narrowed as if this was the first time she had spoken her son's name in years, which was, indeed, true. "But Clive, that foolish child of mine, somehow wormed his way back into my life." Anger flashed in her eyes as she clenched her fist, "That despicable, disgraceful child!" A single tear slipped down her cheek, her anger not directed at her son but at the situation as a whole.

Benedikta's eyes widened in disbelief. "You really are a witch!" she yelled, drawing her blade and pointing it at Annabella's throat. "You would’ve betrayed your family and your home for what? Power?" She was taken aback by the shocking revelation.

"You have no right to speak to me in that tone!" Annabella shot back, her voice icy and stern. "I wouldn't expect someone of common birth to understand."

Ignoring Annabella's insult, Benedikta countered, "No right? It seems I care more for your own son than you ever did!" Annabella flinched at Benedikta's words, and she remained silent as she began to make her way towards the Phoenix Gate.

"Hold on, where are you going? The whole reason you didn't go in was so that Clive wouldn't be distracted trying to protect you!" Benedikta jogged after her, reaching out to roughly grab Annabella's shoulder and spin her around.

"Don't you dare touch me," Annabella spat out, her eyes narrowing in annoyance. "I'm going to meet up with my foolish son." She held the crystal in her hand tightly, knowing she would draw upon it to cast magic for protection.

"That's suicide!" Benedikta argued, her voice laced with anger. "Damn it." She cursed. "I'm coming with you. I promised Clive I would watch over you."

"Marvelous," Annabella replied, her voice heavy with sarcasm. Pointedly ignoring the younger woman.

As they began their descent towards the gate, a blinding flash of light erupted in the distance, followed by an unearthly screeching sound. A blazing figure ascended into the night sky - the fire Eikon that Annabella's youngest son, Joshua, was the dominant of.

"The... Phoenix," Annabella whispered, her eyes widening in awe at the sight.

"You mean Joshua, right? Did he turn into that…Eikon?" Benedikta asked, still mesmerized by the spectacle.

Annabella's face held a complex expression. It wasn't the concern of a mother, but rather that of someone who'd finally found what she'd been waiting for. This irked Benedikta - she had seen Annabella grow somewhat fond of Clive, but it seemed her attitude hadn't changed towards the rest of her family. It seemed whatever Clive had done only made her soften towards him.

Their moment of awe was shattered by a sudden explosion. Both women were thrown backwards as a massive pillar of flame erupted in front of the Phoenix. This flame seemed different, darker and more untamed. Their faces morphed into expressions of disbelief as a horrifying creature, horned and hellish, rose from the flames. Its roar reverberated throughout the night, its terrifying presence overshadowing the Phoenix in both size and sound. A second Eikon of fire had appeared, defying all known logic.

"That's impossible..." Annabella managed to gasp, her voice pained and shaky as she struggled to rise from where the shockwave had thrown her.

"What is that thing?" Benedikta yelled, noticing Annabella's uncharacteristic confusion and fear.

Before they could recover fully, debris from the exploding castle started falling around them. Benedikta scrambled to her feet, trying to pull Annabella up before they were buried. Suddenly, a large section of the castle wall was blown apart, raining stone and rubble between the two, separating them.

Benedikta found herself trapped under the weight of fallen stone, smoke obscuring her vision.

Annabella was also pinned down, but her eyes were filled with a single-minded determination. Her once immaculately styled hair was now disheveled, falling onto her shoulders. Her cloak shielding her eyes as they held a desperate look. Disregarding her usual disdain for appearing less than dignified, she began to crawl towards the Phoenix Gate, her hands scraping against the ground, desperation fueling her every move. She wasn't herself, she seemed possessed by past memories. Struggling to right herself, she carried on.

Above them, the second Eikon of fire launched itself at the Phoenix, its attacks brutal and relentless. She could only hope that Clive was safe. Annabella's mind was a whirl of questions and disbelief, but one thought echoed louder than the others: she had to reach her son, a primal fear awakening inside her.

Chapter Text

The scene was nothing short of hellish. Billowing flames consumed the once magnificent Phoenix Gate, tarnishing its walls with the violent dance of destruction. Towering above the castle walls, the two Eikons clashed, their devastating power rippling through the night. The Phoenix, majestic and afloat, dueled against the monstrous, ground-bound fire Eikon. The latter showed no mercy, every move radiating unrelenting fury and unbridled rage.

While the Eikons fought, Annabella found herself making her way through the chaos around her as she crawled towards the Phoenix Gate. Her mind whirled, struggling to comprehend the impossible spectacle unfolding before her. As she neared the gate, the ground beneath her shuddered violently, an earth-shaking explosion marking the sudden disappearance of the monstrous Eikons.

Astonishment overtook her as she tried to make sense of the presence of a second fire Eikon. It contradicted everything she knew. Her youngest, Joshua, was already the Dominant of the Phoenix - the only known fire Eikon. The existence of two was unheard of.

Despite the absurdity of the situation, she couldn't deny the reality of what was happening. Another fire Eikon had emerged, seemingly in tandem with the Phoenix. Her mind raced to her other son, Clive. His recent, erratic bouts of anger and uncharacteristic sorrow was at front in her mind. Her usually reserved son had grown vocally hostile towards events, a behavior she admittedly had most likely fuelled in him subconsciously for the way she treated him for years. Still, his sudden transformation was perplexing. Fueling her suspicions.

Could it be possible, Annabella wondered, that Clive was the second fire Eikon? The thought was as shocking as it was ludicrous. Clive would never harm his own brother, she knew that much. But the clues were disconcertingly clear: his change in demeanor, his episodes of pain and discomfort, they all seemed to point to him, as only their bloodline held the potential for a fire Eikon she assumed. When did he become host to such a destructive entity? There were no records of this second Eikon, but it shared the same elemental affinity - fire. The rational conclusion was that her eldest son was the Dominant of this horned monstrosity.

Pushing through the chaos, she ventured into the castle, where bodies of both Imperials and Rosarians lay strewn, casualties of the ongoing destruction and previous battle. The roaring flames ravaged the courtyard, but she pressed on, unfazed, eyes scanning for Clive. His absence only heightened her suspicions. With every tremor that rocked the castle, indicating the subterranean battle of the two Eikons, she grew more resolute in her search.

Out of habit, her mind wandered to the incredible power she would be able to possess with two Dominants by her side. Not even the mighty Bahamut could stand against two Eikons of fire. But she quickly dismissed these thoughts. Even if Clive was a Dominant, he seemed dangerously out of control, in stark contrast to the Phoenix's apparent self-awareness, the thought of using her son's as tools felt concerning to her now, almost foreign.

Navigating through the castle's devastated interior walls, her suspicions seemed to solidify with each lifeless body she passed. No trace of her son was found, and it filled her with an uncharacteristic worry. A particular sight stopped her in her tracks – a headless body adorned in the scorched remnants of royal red attire. It was Archduke Elwin, her late husband. She barely spared an eye, deeming him too naive and incompetent to be a ruler in the first place, a marriage to birth an heir who would become the dominant of the Phoenix was why she married him. She pressed on, her eyes not taking a second glance. She wasn't here for him. She was looking for Clive.

As she kept on her search, no body was found. She wasn't prepared as the two fire Eikons erupted from the ground, their enormous sizes and the overwhelming power they radiated struck a sense of powerlessness in her, her heart pounding at the sheer might of them. If Clive was indeed the Dominant of that monstrous Eikon, she was certain he wasn't in control. The Eikon's ferocity was too extreme; Clive would never attack his own family. The fighting was becoming too intense and she had to find shelter from their constant attacks at each other.

She found a safe spot within the ruins of a castle wall, watching the battle unfold with a mixture of dread and fascination. The awe-inspiring strength the Eikons exhibited was captivating. The Phoenix, however, seemed to falter under the relentless assault of the monstrous Eikon. It was a sight that filled her chest with a strange heaviness. Joshua was too young to control or properly understand what was occurring, yet there he was, pitted against what appeared to be his own older brother.

The horned Eikon was overpowering the Phoenix, pinning it to the ground, the heartbreaking screams of the Phoenix echoed through the night air. These chilling cries were even haunting her, a part of her not wanting to hear more. Time seemed to stretch, every moment etched in her memory with unnerving clarity.

The thought of her sons locked in this terrifying battle ignited a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time: worry. She had always viewed her sons as mere tools in the grand scheme of things, but with each bone-jarring impact of the Eikons' clash, she felt her long-held beliefs starting to crumble as they had been slowly with her time with Clive. Her worry for Clive who she's been together with recently grew more at each moment. Part of her always felt worry for her youngest, seeing him more as a son then a trophy, sadly she was too late in her realization for this son.

From her sheltered spot, Annabella swore she heard the youthful voice of Joshua calling out for Clive to save him. The sound, filled with desperation and terror, knotted her stomach with an unfamiliar dread. An observant onlooker would have noticed the hardened Duchess clutching her chest over her heart, a soft whisper of denial escaping her lips.

She watched, wide-eyed and in silent horror, as the horned Eikon hoisted the Phoenix and impaled it through the chest. The ensuing explosion sent a tremor through the ground, forcing her to seek cover amid the crumbling debris. As she hunkered down, the realization of the brutal spectacle she'd just witnessed washed over her. She clutched her chest tighter, feeling a peculiar ache that wasn't entirely physical but filled with excruciating sorrow. The silent scream that escaped her lips was swallowed by the roar of the raging inferno, a poignant testament to the unfolding tragedy.

~~~~~~

She couldn't tell how long she remained unconscious. When she finally came to, she found herself buried under a pile of rubble, with rain falling all around her, putting out the last remnants of the smoldering flames. As she attempted to rise, a sharp stab of pain shot up her leg, causing her to grimace. Still, she forced herself to stand up. She needed to find her son after what had transpired. The echoes of the Phoenix's cries still haunted her. Its absence, along with the mysterious horned Eikon of flame, filled her mind with apprehension, particularly for her eldest son as she knew saw what had already occurred to Joshua, the regret and sorrow building in her. Limping through the ravaged ruins, her gaze sought out Clive anxiously. Hoping he had at least survived the ordeal.

A sizable crater in the distance, likely the result of the colossal clash of the two Eikons, caught her attention. She trudged towards it, each step amplifying her rising sense of dread. Realizing this was where they exploded as the horned Eikon overpowered the Phoenix.

As she neared the crater, her heart seized at the sight of a flash of a white shirt under a demolished section of the castle wall just before it. She was a woman who typically held her emotions in check, but what she saw next filled her with an undeniable horror. Staggering towards the sight, her mind was fraught with fear. As she neared, her fears were confirmed. It was her son, Clive.

Battered and wounded, he was thankfully still breathing. An unexpected wave of relief washed over her, a feeling that surprised her. It was not long ago she had plotted to rid herself of her husband and eldest son. Yet now, seeing her child in such a terrible state felt like a cruel punishment.

Kneeling beside him, she gently attempted to rouse him from his unconscious state, but to no avail. Clive weakly muttered a single word in his semi-conscious state.

"Joshua…” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to stir in her a long-dormant instinct to protect him.

Realizing she needed to get her son to safety amidst the chaos, she wrapped her arms around Clive's torso, intending to drag him away from the danger. Her royal upbringing had not prepared her for such physical exertion. Clive's body was heavy and unresponsive, each attempt to move him draining her strength. Though young, his physique was challenging to drag, but she persisted, driven by a mother's desperation to save her son.

The progress was agonizingly slow, yet she moved steadily. All seemed well until the metallic clink of approaching boots sent a wave of panic through her. Swiftly, she dragged Clive into a nearby ditch, his soft whimpering echoing in her ears. She continued to pull him along, grimacing as Imperial soldiers neared the spot where she'd found Clive. The thought of what could have happened had she arrived a moment later left her feeling sicker than she cared to admit.

Her focus was broken as Clive began to regain consciousness. He weakly raised his hand towards the place where he had been lying, his face contorted in a mix of anger and disbelief. She followed his gaze and was taken aback by what she saw.

A figure in black armor, a knight, stood tall amidst the chaos. The armor was not Imperial, but she had heard rumors of this figure. Her old Imperial contact had warned her against impeding this knight's search, mentioning that the knight was a danger and not necessarily aligned with the Empire. As she locked eyes with the armored figure, she had the uncanny feeling that it was aware of their presence.

The knight, however, made no move towards them. It stood still as if studying them from a distance. Thankfully, whatever luck guided her that day seemed to favor them. She gave a hard tug and hauled her son further away from the imposing figure. As she did so, she noticed Clive looking up at her with weak, half-lidded eyes. He seemed to register that it was she who was dragging him away from the chaos. A look of relief or resignation, it was hard to distinguish in his state, washed over his face before his eyes fluttered closed and he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Feeling a pang of fear and desperation in her chest, she tightened her grip around her son's torso and dragged him into the deeper shadows past the ruined Phoenix Gate into the outskirts, out of sight. The ground was muddy and slippery due to the rain, but she didn't stop, motivated by the need to get to safety with him.

All around them, the remains of the once grand Phoenix Gate lay in ruins, the aftermath of the epic battle between the two Eikons. The eerily silence of the area aside from the Imperials, filled with the scent of rain and charred debris, seemed a haunting testament to the terrifying power that had been unleashed. The shouts of the remaining Imperials were distant echoes in the backdrop of this ending to the chaos.

The heavy drops of rain steadily falling on her were a cold and sharp contrast to the fiery destruction she had just witnessed. Her once refined royal attire was now soaked and grimy, but she paid it no mind. Every ounce of her attention was directed towards her unconscious son and their survival.

Despite the dire circumstances, Annabella found herself staring back at the knight once more. She squinted her eyes to get a better look at the figure, a far distance away. They still stood in the same spot, unmoving, their attention seemingly elsewhere yet still looking at them. A chill ran down her spine as she observed the knight, whose motives and allegiance remained a mystery to her.

However, it was her son that mattered to her more than some curiosity. The realization hit her harder than she expected. As the rain continued to pour, she gripped Clive a bit tighter and continued her laborious trek through the outskirts of Phoenix Gate, hoping to find some semblance of safety further away. She didn't know how long she dragged him for, but she knew she had to get him somewhere safe, no matter the cost. And with that thought, Annabella kept dragging along Clive, leaving the eerily silent Phoenix Gate and the mysterious black knight behind.

~~~~~~

She wasn't entirely sure about the extent of his injuries, but if her theory that he was somehow the dominant of that monster was correct, then his recovery would be a slow, painstaking process. His body would be exhausted. With bated breath, she continued onward, the sky closing further up as rain saturated everything around her. The oppressive darkness of the storm clouds and the rain's distorted veil provided an unexpected blessing, concealing their forms. She was acutely aware that she stood no chance against a contingent of soldiers if they were to discover them. She had already dragged her son an unfathomable distance. The devastated silhouette of the Phoenix gate lay hidden within the distance. The relentless rain showed no signs of abating, and exhaustion crept over her. She wasn't accustomed to such rigorous physical labor. She grew tired, her own body aching from the large distance she covered with her son. Spotting a sturdy, towering tree to her side, she summoned all her remaining strength and managed to haul Clive a few more feet, leaning his limp body against the trunk before collapsing next to him.

The whole ordeal had plunged her into a state of disillusionment. Her youngest son was gone... a loss that felt like a part of herself had been cruelly ripped away. It was true that she had viewed Joshua as a means to ascend further in power, but he was still her pride. The purpose of her lineage and bloodline had always been to raise an heir who was the dominant of the Phoenix, and she had achieved this. However, she quickly chastised herself for allowing her old tendencies to surface again, as if reducing her late son to nothing more than a trophy.

Her mind became a whirlwind of confusion and despair. The thought of her youngest son being no more and her eldest potentially the culprit made her chest feel heavy. Clive, killing his own brother of his own accord, seemed highly improbable. Such an act was wholly against his nature. If the Eikon was truly out of control and Clive wasn't in command, she knew the guilt would gnaw at him relentlessly regardless. She cast her gaze down at her son. His breathing was shallow, her disdain for him from the past years dissipated significantly. But old feelings, she recognized, were difficult to alter overnight even as she tried.

Tenderly, Annabella reached over, lifting her son's slumped head and resting it against her shoulder. She gently ran her hand through his damp hair, considering their next move. Despite being rejected by the Phoenix, her son, who was both old enough and highly respected, could assume the title of Archduke following his father’s death. He was widely admired among his fellow shields, and even the people. More so than she at least, due to her nature. But she suspected the Imperials would mount a push towards the capital. Feeling her son shiver against her, he mumbled something unintelligible. Her fingers continued their soothing rhythm through his hair, trying to quiet his restlessness. Her mind tried to see how she could possibly help Clive with his injuries, a return to Rosalith was simply not a feasible feat at the moment, and she was well out of potions to help him.

As they nestled under the sheltering tree, her thoughts wandered to the woman Clive had traveled with - Benedikta. She harbored a lingering distaste for the woman, her blatant disrespect still fresh in Annabella's memory. However, she reluctantly admitted that Benedikta's assistance would be invaluable in their current predicament, especially given Clive's immobility. A humorless laugh escaped her lips as she looked up at the stormy sky. Her, a Duchess, caked in dirt and sweat, blending in with the common folk. The thought made her scoff. She turned her gaze back to her son, his head nestled against her shoulder. She considered that depending on his knowledge of the recent events, it might be better to deceive him about what transpired back at the Phoenix Gate. As though her thoughts had the power to rouse him, she felt her son stir beside her. Her gaze was instinctively drawn to his eyelids as they gradually lifted to reveal his blue eyes full of anguish.

~~~~~~

Clive was lost, enveloped in an impenetrable darkness. The chilling realization that he had been thrust back into the dream—or perhaps the nightmare—that he had experienced before crept into his mind. He strained to piece together the fragmented memories of the events that had transpired, and a surge of panic welled up within him as he remembered what happened to his brother. He let out a curse, haunted by the vivid image of the horned devil, its grotesque visage etched indelibly into his psyche. Then, the memory of the enigmatic black knight within the Phoenix Gate returned, along with their cryptic words about awakening, causing his mind to throb with renewed intensity. And finally, the sight of the same knight standing alongside the Imperials. His memories blurred and distorted, but he remembered his mother dragging him to safety. The thought of her risking her life for him sent a pang of guilt and gratitude through his chest. Was she safe now? Where was she? And why wasn't Benedikta with her? His mind was a storm of unanswered questions.

In the vast expanse of darkness that enveloped Clive, a single flame flickered, a lonely beacon in the abyss. Drawn to it, he approached and extended his hand. The flame felt familiar, as if it was an extension of his very being. As his fingers brushed against it, the flame seemed to perform a playful dance around his left arm before abruptly extinguishing itself into him. A sudden awareness of a presence nearby seized him, and he peered past the extinguished flame to find the horned devil's shape lingering in front.

At the sight of this monstrous figure, Clive’s anger bubbled up into a fierce rage. This abomination had hurt his brother, and had caused his death. It bore the same appearance as the beast from his previous nightmare. But this time, there were no flames to keep it at bay. The monster started to close the distance between them, each of its steps sending chills down Clive’s spine. Still, he held his ground, refusing to show fear before this abomination. The ground seemed to shudder with each of its steps.

The monster emerged from the darkness in its entirety: its scorched, bipedal body, a trail of snow-white hair cascading down its neck, a long tail swishing behind it. Clive raised his gaze to meet its fiery eyes, their baleful glow filled with a malevolent amusement. Despite the intimidation, Clive didn’t look away, his bright blue eyes boldly challenging the monster’s flaming gaze.

“You monster! I’ll kill you! I swear, I'll fucking kill you!” Clive's voice was a raw mix of pain and wrath. The beast seemed unfazed by his threat, merely observing him with its eyes. His thoughts spun back to the black knight—could they have been the dominant? But how could there be two Eikons of fire? His mind struggled to comprehend the implications.

As Clive’s anger intensified, he felt a strange hollowness within his chest, an echo of the emptiness he’d felt after leaving the Audhyl docks. The sensation was icy, devoid of any comfort, dark. Yet, he refused to show any signs of weakness before this devil. With every step he took forward, the dread in his chest grew, the pain in his head amplified. Yet, he wouldn't bow to this monster, even if all this was only happening in his mind. Even if he felt himself teetering on the edge of sanity.

The thought of this devil, this monster, waiting for him was revolting. He would destroy this creature, annihilate it completely, he pledged to himself. In a fit of fury, he reached for his blade. To his surprise, he found one there in the darkness, though it wasn't his own weapon. This blade was a manifestation of the surrounding darkness, mirroring the bleak environment, its form only visible by the eerie glow of the monster's flames. He clenched the hilt tightly, feeling an uncanny familiarity with the weapon—as if the blade was tailored just for him. As he pondered his next move, a looming sense of dread and darkness behind him intensified. Two large shadows fell over him, two sets of eyes mirroring his own blue hue. Then, just as suddenly as the vision had begun, everything faded away.

Clive stirred to consciousness slowly, his entire body aching as he realized he was resting against a comforting presence. He felt a soothing hand gently running through his hair, a rare warmth that gave him a moment of peace. But the serenity was short-lived. With a jolt, he came to a terrible realization, causing a bolt of pain to ricochet through his body.

"Joshua!" Clive's voice came out as a panicked shriek, his eyes wide with horror as he tried to rise. A firm hand curled around his shoulder, pulling him back down to lean against the figure. His breathing came out in shuddering waves as his gaze darted about, taking in their unfamiliar surroundings. His gaze eventually landed on his mother, and he realized he was nestled against her shoulder.

"Mother! Joshua... he was..." Before Clive could finish, he felt his mother's hold tighten, a silent reassurance that she was already aware of his brother's fate.

"I know, Clive. I saw what happened," she responded, her voice unusually gentle. Her measured words were drawn out, chosen with care as her hand continued to caress his hair soothingly.

"What about Father and Benedikta? Please tell me they're at least okay," Clive pleaded, desperate for some reassuring news.

"Your father is gone, too—most likely an Imperial attack. I lost that woman during the chaos. She wasn't around while I was getting you to safety," she explained. Her tone was reserved, showing no signs of grief.

"Father, too…" Clive's voice was a bare whisper, choked with emotion as he buried his face against her. "I hope that at least Benedikta made it out safely," his voice was muffled against the fabric of her dress, hiding his sorrow at the thought of also losing his friend.

"That woman is resourceful, at least. I’m sure she’s fine," Annabella replied, her tone indifferent.

"Mother… what was that Eikon? I thought the Phoenix was the only Eikon of fire. How could there be a second one? That... that monster murdered Joshua," Clive's voice was tinged with anguish.

Annabella paused, contemplating her response. She knew that the second Eikon had somehow emerged from her own son, but the thought of admitting that he may have inadvertently killed his brother was too much to bear, she knew it would break him. In her uncertainty, she chose to deflect.

"There's only supposed to be one Eikon per element. It appeared suddenly in front of your brother when he took the form of the Phoenix. I'm not sure of anything else," she stated, her hold on Clive tightening slightly.

"I saw a knight… inside the castle. He said something to me. I... I can't remember exactly. He was there at the end when you were dragging me away. Mother, I need answers. I need to find that knight," Clive pleaded, his sadness shifting into a growing frustration.

Annabella's gaze drifted over the rain-soaked landscape as she considered her response.

"You will do no such thing. Can you even stand on your own?" she queried, avoiding his plea.

"I... I think I can walk short distances, but my body feels drained. Where are we going?" He asked, feeling disoriented.

"We’ll head south, past Eastpool," she declared, resolute.

"What about home? If Father is truly gone, then they need a leader," Clive implored, seeking her understanding.

"You're as insufferable as ever. So be it. We’ll head back to Rosalith. But be prepared to fight. The Empire had a substantial number of troops for just a simple assassination. They might plan to take the capital. We’ll approach Rosalith, but we won't enter unless there is no Imperial presence. Do you Understand?" Annabella glared at her son, her grip still firm yet comforting.

"I understand mother. I just want everyone to be safe. I'm hopeful that we may even run into Benedikta along the way," Clive whispered, a painful undertone threading his voice. He attempted to rise, using a nearby tree for support, only to hear his mother's sharp rebuke.

"What do you think you're doing?" she questioned harshly, but rose to her feet to aid her son in standing.

"I can't be a burden anymore. You saved me. I can't risk you being in danger while we wait longer for my injuries to heal," Clive admitted softly, concern for his mother outweighing his own discomfort.

As Clive attempted to hobble down the path leading southeast, his body wavered and stumbled. They made slow progress, the rhythm of their journey marred by Clive's labored breathing and pained steps. Observing her son's struggle, Annabella narrowed her eyes. Without warning, she hooked her arm around his waist, slinging his arm over her, taking on as much of his weight as possible to help him navigate the trail more easily.

Their trek led them through an open green field. When suddenly, many low, threatening growls filled the air, causing Clive to instantly position himself protectively in front of his mother. A pack of worgen appeared, ordinarily a minor threat but daunting given Clive's injured and weakened state. Instinctively, he began to call upon the blessing of the Phoenix, his hand sparking with the familiar heat of fire with whatever aether he had left. Memories of his younger brother Joshua swelled in his mind, fuelling his determination and causing the pain of his loss to echo through him.

"Don't you dare," his mother snapped sharply, her tone catching him off guard. "You fool, you'll only worsen your condition." She scolded him, concern lining her usually stern features. Extracting her arm from around her son's waist, Annabella retrieved her crystal from her pocket. Recognizing her intent, Clive watched in silent wonder as his mother channeled magic through the crystal, causing flames to erupt and dance around the pack of worgen. The fire engulfed them, turning their bodies to blackened silhouettes.

Observing his mother, Clive was hit with the realization of what she could accomplish. A smile crossed his face as he watched her defend them with a command of fire that mirrored his own.

"You would make a skilled mage in battle, mother," Clive commented softly, happiness swelling in his chest at the thought of her protecting him.

"I wouldn't lower myself to such menial tasks," she scoffed, dismissing the idea of her having to fight. However, as she turned her head, her face obscured by her purple hood, a small smile graced her lips. It had been a long time since she had received genuine praise that wasn't tied to her position as royalty or petty pandering of those beneath her. The compliment, coming from her son, a brave and formidable warrior despite his age, warmed her. The thought of fighting alongside him, supporting him in battle, didn't seem as appalling as she had thought and voiced.

Quickly, she set her features back into a neutral expression, repositioning Clive's arm over her shoulder and resuming their journey towards Rosalith, their steps echoing in the rain as they traveled together.

Chapter Text

Rain splattered against the destroyed ruins of Phoenix Gate, its relentless torrents quenching the once fierce flames. On the outskirts of the castle, a young woman lay semi-conscious, coughing harshly as she awoke. Debris shrouded her figure - the rubble of the castle scattered around her.

Benedikta was covered by stones, she laboriously crawled her way out from under the debris. She gulped down fresh air like a drowning person breaking the water's surface. She struggled to her feet, panic etching her features as she absorbed the disheartening scene. The Phoenix Gate lay in ruins, a mere fragment of how it was when she arrived with Clive and his mother. The Phoenix and the mysterious second Eikon, once locked in an intense struggle, were nowhere to be found. Instead, the castle was now overrun by Imperials. A large legions worth of them.

A shroud of rain and darkened clouds rendered the time of day indistinguishable. With a grim realization of how much time may have passed, Benedikta's mind turned to Clive’s mother, who had been with her before the falling ruins separated them. She rushed over to the spot where she last saw her, only to find a torn piece of purple fabric that unmistakably belonged to Clive's mother. Benedikta couldn't say she exactly liked her, with her attitude and cruel remarks, but she knew Clive would be devastated if something happened to his mother.

Sighing heavily at the uncertainty of Clive and his mother's whereabouts, Benedikta set off toward the wrecked castle. The sight of Imperials swarming around the ruins made her heart constrict. She prayed to whatever entity would listen that Clive and his family had managed to escape, she's already lost so much. She refused to lose anyone else. Navigating through the debris that scattered around the castle walls, she found a path that led her over the destroyed sections. With nimble agility, she climbed the rubble and found herself standing atop the remnants of the Phoenix Gate's wall. From this elevated position, she had an advantageous view of the devastation and changes in the surrounding castle and land.

Beyond the courtyard, a monstrous crater marred the ground, a chilling testament to the destructive might of the Eikons that fought. Benedikta's worry for Clive's younger brother heightened at the sight. Shaking off the encroaching dread, she reminded herself to stay focused on her search. She couldn't let her emotions distract her now.

Moving silently along the wall, she noticed the Imperials maintaining a wary distance from a knight garbed in imposing black armor. The knight's mere presence seemed to intimidate the already apprehensive Imperials. Puzzled, Benedikta wondered why they were so cautious of an ally. Peering over the wall for a closer look at the black knight, she gasped in surprise as the knight spun abruptly in her direction.

"Damn it…" Benedikta cursed under her breath as she instinctively retreated, fully expecting the knight to alert the others. However, when no alarm was raised, she risked another glance over the wall. To her astonishment, the knight had vanished. Anxiety gnawed at her. How had the knight disappeared so quickly? Where did the knight go?

Urged by her survival instincts, she started moving again, her gaze sweeping over the disaster-stricken courtyard. Bodies lay scattered around, but thankfully, none that she recognized as her friend. A glimmer of hope ignited within her as she quickened her pace, the rain masking her footsteps. Her hand rested instinctively on the hilt of her sword, ready for any potential threats as she kept running down the wall to reach the other side of the castle.

At the other end of the Phoenix Gate's walls, she surveyed the expansive crater below, a grim reminder of the horrifying power wielded by the Eikons. Clive's brother was but a child, forced to combat a monstrous foe. The thought stirred a heavy sadness within her, a cruel reality of their world. One that she bore great hatred for how it treated those innocent.

Lost in her somber musings, she was snapped back to reality by the sound of metallic footsteps. Spinning around, her sword drawn and her face etched with determination and anger, she found herself facing the towering black knight from earlier. His colossal figure cast an intimidating shadow, his dark armor glistening ominously in the scant light. His helmet bore two large horns, a stark contrast to the intricate gold designs adorning his spiked armor and blue cape. A chilling aura radiated from him, making Benedikta's breath hitch in her throat, her earlier bravado wavering.

The black knight's piercing, blue ethereal eyes shone through the helm, scrutinizing her with an unsettling intensity. Her sword arm trembled slightly as the knight stepped forward, the tip of her blade pressed against his cuirass.

"What… what the hell are you?" Benedikta stammered, her eyes wide with alarm as the imposing knight loomed even closer. As the knight raised a gloved hand and pointed behind her, Benedikta recoiled at the seemingly inhuman motion.

The knight observed her with a hint of curiosity. Suddenly, their gaze locked onto hers.

"The ones you seek are long gone." The knight's voice was empty, devoid of any discernable emotion, as if echoing from the depths of an abyss. "Child of wind, find those you seek." The voice seemed to reverberate inside her mind, the words hanging in the air like a phantom, this thing did not appear human. Benedikta stepped back, her mind reeling as she processed the knight's cryptic message.

"Are you trying to help me?" Her voice wavered, much to her annoyance. She had been bracing for a fight, not for assistance from an apparent enemy who struck fear in her by their mere presence.

Without a word, the knight lowered their hand, granting her one last glance before turning away. As the knight retreated, the intensifying rain shrouded him, and he vanished once more into the shadows of the wall. Benedikta clutched her head, feeling completely disoriented. The knight's actions suggested that Clive was in the direction he had pointed. But could she trust an enemy? And why had he referred to her as a 'child of wind'? The enigma overwhelmed her.

Leaving the puzzling encounter behind, she descended from the wall, landing on the outskirts of the Phoenix Gate. Though unfamiliar with the area, she could trace her steps back. If Clive and his family had indeed headed in this direction, it was likely they were bound for Bewit Bridge, and ultimately, Rosalith. Taking one last look at the devastated castle, she steeled herself against the harsh weather and started her trek back. Her destination set in her mind, her goal to reunite with her friend to make sure he was safe solidified.

~~~~~~

Clive and his mother, Annabella, were making a painstakingly slow journey as they spotted the village of Eastpool over the trail. The weight of her son was a burden Annabella had to bear, as Clive was struggling to maintain his own stability. To alleviate some of the pressure, Clive would occasionally attempt to walk alone, but each time he did, a stern glare from his mother would deter him. The rain was still descending in steady streams; the worst of the storm had passed, but their clothes were becoming increasingly drenched. Much to Annabella's annoyance, she was a Duchess. Not some commoner getting soaked outside and covered in grime.

Every now and then, Annabella would pause to lean Clive against any support she could find—be it a tree, rock formation, or cliff face. With each passing moment, Clive could feel his strength gradually returning, but he was at a loss to explain his weakness. It felt as though all of his aether had been drastically drained. His inability to understand why he felt this way frustrated him.

Eventually, they found themselves leaning against the wooden entrance gate to Eastpool. Annabella made an attempt to push the gate open, but it was quite heavy. Clive watched with an amused chuckle as his mother struggled with it, as she scowled at him. Now more steady on his feet, he joined his mother, helping her push the massive gate open, a smirk playing on his face as she rolled her eyes at him in an annoyed manner.

However, once the gate was fully ajar, Clive’s playful demeanor dissolved. At the heart of the town, he spotted a group of Imperials, who seemed to be combing through houses and corralling all the townsfolk. His heart dropped at the sight of villagers being marched down in single file. The destination of this reluctant march was unclear. He got the impression the Imperials were doing a systematic processing, showing no overt signs of cruelty, merely adhering to orders. Clive watched as the Imperials left the village with the townspeople.

Clive had resigned himself to the fact that he might have to kill again. But these Imperials were different—they were not assaulting civilians. The last thing he wanted was to incite a conflict that could endanger the innocent townsfolk in the middle of it. So he took a deep breath, clenching his fist to try to restrain himself from helping.

Feeling a tug on his arm, Clive turned to see his mother pointing towards a nearby crop field, an opening they could use to cut across the village.

“Stop gazing and hurry up. Do you remember the Murdoch's Manor? That's where we're heading. It seems like the Imperials have rounded everyone up already,” Annabella hissed. With a stern gaze, she added, “And don't you dare think about doing something foolish.”

“I won't, Mother. I remember where the manor is. But what are we going there for?” Clive asked, curious why they would risk being stuck indoors with Imperials not too far away.

“Your father used to leave clothes behind during our visits here. I'm sure I’ve left some, too. The Lord Commander's wife is not the type to discard things that are not hers,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“You mean... we're risking all of this... just for clothes?” Clive asked, his expression one of utter bewilderment.

“I will not continue our journey covered in filth. You can either accompany me, or stay here. I'm sure the Imperials wouldn't mind,” she retorted, her tone laced with dry sarcasm.

Although unsure whether his mother was serious or just taunting him, Clive merely nodded in agreement. They stealthily maneuvered their way through the crop field, their passage somewhat concealed by the overcast sky and drizzling rain. Eventually, they arrived at the front of the manor and made their slow entry through the front door. As expected, the manor was deserted. Exhausted, Clive slumped into one of the cushioned chairs, resting his head on a table, while his mother disappeared into the depths of the house.

At some point, Clive dozed off, only to be roused by a pile of clothing dropping onto the table in front of him. Startled, he looked up to see his mother, now dressed in a rather unfamiliar attire from her previous purple and white dress. She wore black leather pants and boots, along with matching vambraces that extended up her arms. Her top was a black and red coat that reminded Clive of one Benedikta was wearing, albeit this one was more stylized, as if intended for a royal on an expedition. To complete the look, she donned a black cloak with the hood down, her hair styled back in its usual fashion.

Clive had never seen his mother in this attire, and he surmised that this must be what she wore during her younger years with his father when she would accompany him to the North, as the terrain was too harsh for dresses. Looking at the clothes in front of him, he noted the similar design to what his mother was wearing, further validating his theory.

“Go get cleaned up. Those clothes belonged to your father when he was younger. They might be a bit loose, but they'll have to do,” Annabella instructed nonchalantly, before disappearing into the kitchen. Clive watched her leave as he heard rummaging from inside.

Picking up his father's old clothes, Clive retired to one of the rooms to change. As he shed his worn-out attire, he noticed the bruises marring his body. Shaking his head in acceptance, he began to dress in the new clothes. They were similar to his mother’s outfit, a combination of durable black material and dark leather with an underlying chainmail, fitting better than he had anticipated. He completed his look with a matching hooded cloak. A joke about their matching attire lingered in his mind, but he refrained, knowing his mother would not appreciate the humor.

As he emerged from the room, he was greeted by the aroma of food. It appeared that his mother had found some ingredients and was preparing a meal. To his surprise, she was actually able to cook. The meal, a humble yet comforting stew of potatoes and meat, was ready to be served. As he entered the dining room, his mother silently pushed a plate towards him, barely acknowledging him.

“Eat,” she commanded tersely. He obliged, grateful for the meal as he had been running on an empty stomach. The familiar flavors of the stew stirred a memory within him, but he couldn't pinpoint when he had last tasted it. As he ate, he caught his mother stealing a quick glance at him before she averted her gaze. Then it hit him—this was the meal she had promised was waiting for him in the castle kitchens, the one he ate. It felt like a distant memory, even though it hadn't been that long ago. The realization dawned on him that it had been his mother, not the castle staff, who had prepared that meal for him. The thought brought a smile to his face. He wonders how long his mother was gradually warming up to him, she never showed it until a few days ago.

Annabella lifted her gaze to her son, noting the broad grin on his face. His eyes were fixed on his meal, a warmth in them that suggested it was stirring up some memories for him.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Annabella asked, her tone sounding indifferent, yet her eyes never left him.

Clive snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of his mother's voice.

"Pardon me, Mother. What was that?" he asked, his voice laced with an apologetic tone.

"I asked why you're gazing at your food as if you're a lost child." The words came out harsher than she intended, but she made no attempt to soften them with an apology.

"Oh… I was just remembering... it was you who made this for me at home, wasn't it Mother?" Clive questioned softly, unsure of how his mother would react.

Annabella let out a scoff, her eyes swiftly turning away from him. "Just hurry up and eat. The Imperials are bound to return." A facade of annoyance seemed to mask her feelings on the matter. She swiftly finished her own meal, rising to return to the room she had been in earlier. When she emerged, she held a blade securely in her grip, which she handed to Clive.

Clive accepted the sword, his hand still holding a bite of his meal midway to his mouth.

"That sword belonged to your father," Annabella stated, watching her son's eyes light up in admiration of the blade. His smile widened at the thought of owning something that had belonged to his now late father. Despite herself, Annabella found her gaze lingering on Clive, a sense of attachment stirring within her. With a silent sigh, she composed her features back into their usual stern set and made her way to the exit. Clutching her crystal in her hand, as if ready at any moment to utilize it.

"Get ready. We're leaving," she commanded, tossing her hood on as she moved. Clive followed suit, pulling his own hood on. His face was now obscured as they stepped out of the house, but his face was filled with determination as he followed her out towards the village.

Chapter Text

As Clive stepped out of the Murdoch manor alongside his mother, he took in the scene before him. The sky remained dark from the storm clouds, with only the occasional spatter of rain. A creeping fog had begun to envelop the village, rendering it eerily silent. His energy having returned, Clive chose to match his mother's stride, appreciative of the newfound strength that allowed him to walk unaided. Although the exertion of magic still left him magically drained, he took solace in the fact that he could at least wield his blade if a fight ensued.

Beneath the hooded cloak he wore, his fingers unconsciously toyed with his hair. The normally neat styled strands were starting to break free from their usual shape, turning unruly around his head. He was grateful for the clothing his mother had found for him – the hood provided a welcome barrier against the intermittent drizzle, which could potentially resume at any time. Looking ahead, he saw his mother leading the way, her own hood that matched his caught his attention, he still found it amusing despite everything on how they matched in a sense. His eyes were then drawn to the crystal she held in her hand, its presence reassuring. His earlier anxiety about his incapacity to use magic was swiftly replaced with the knowledge that his mother could cast spells if the situation demanded, despite her claims of loathing 'lowly' activities like combat.

This realization brought a comforting sense of safety. With the Imperials undoubtedly pursuing his mother, and himself by association, it seemed the only logical explanation for why they were rounding up villagers and displacing them en masse. The thought of the helpless villagers filled him with sadness and an urge to assist them in any possible way. He pondered how he could fulfill his role as a shield of Rosaria if he couldn't even protect his own people. The very notion made his stomach churn. He glanced sideways at his mother, searching for a way to broach the subject. Despite her traditional indifference towards their citizens, he harbored a glimmer of hope that he could persuade her to aid in this crisis.

With resolution in his eyes, Clive turned his gaze towards his mother's hood-shrouded face. "Mother, the villagers... Even though the Imperials aren't physically harming them, this is not right. They're being uprooted from their homes and for what purpose?" Clive's voice echoed genuine concern for his people, his determination to aid them steadfast. "I can't stand by idly, oblivious to their fate. I possess the power to help them, I need to help them," Clive begged, hoping his mother would comprehend his sentiment.

Annabella's expression hardened into a frown, her patience seemingly dwindling in the face of her son's want to help everyone. "And what is your plan then? Do you propose to annihilate the Imperials escorting those villagers? What then, Clive? You'll merely provoke them, instigating the dispatch of an even larger more ruthless force," Annabella reprimanded her son, her disapproving hardened gaze boring into him. "You need to think before you act. Cease this folly," she admonished, shifting her gaze forward as they continued their journey through the fog that covered Eastpool.

Clive was stung by his mother's words; their piercing truth was hard to ignore. Despite the harshness of her delivery, he recognized her reasoning. He didn't relish in taking life's of enemies, especially if they were innocent, a concept he was reluctant to entertain. However, the looming threat of what they might potentially do was gnawing at him, inflaming his temper momentarily before he calmed himself down, contemplating the remainder of his mother's admonition.

She had a point. Even if he did manage to defeat the Imperials and facilitate the villagers' return, the Empire would likely retaliate with a larger, more oppressive force. If they discovered the corpses of their fallen soldiers, their hostility would increase exponentially, potentially spiraling into a bloodbath. This horrific vision disturbed him even more than his earlier concerns. Instinctively, he clasped his head, a habit he had developed during bouts of intense pain. He chastised himself internally for his habitual missteps and failures when all he yearned to do was help. He realized, with a pang of guilt, that had he been alone, he would have recklessly implemented his ill-conceived plan, heedless of the unforeseen consequences. Murmuring a stream of self-deprecating obscenities under his breath, he berated himself relentlessly.

His mother observed him clutching his head and murmuring inaudibly. Though she didn't halt her stride, her senses were alert. Could he be experiencing another episode like before? In the past, unaware of his dominant abilities, she had dismissed his struggles as mere self-struggles. However, now armed with the knowledge of why he was experiencing these episodes of pain, she feared this could precipitate another terrifying emergence of the fiery Eikon. A rampaging, towering inferno would hardly be subtle and would likely leave Clive in a stupor, his body a burdensome shell. Determined by her want in her unwillingness to haul his half-dead body around again, she mentally prepared herself for the worst, despite knowing that she would inevitably do so, much to her own annoyance. Upon closer inspection, she realized that her son wasn't in pain but was actually just chastising himself. The realization that her stern words had caused this was a minor relief compared to the alternative, though she still felt a pang of guilt.

Eventually, Clive regained his composure, shaking off his inner thoughts and returning his focus to their surroundings. He and his mother continued their southeastern trek along the road taken by the Imperials. The path diverged into a fork, branching off westward and eastward. Clive peered westward, the direction the Imperials had led the villagers, his eyes heavy with regret. His mother's voice, stern and unequivocal, jolted him from his somber trance.

"No. You wanted to return to Rosalith. That's where we're heading," she announced decisively, even as Clive's gaze lingered westward.

"I understand, mother, but it hurts," he confided, the words barely a whisper. "Knowing I could help but choosing not to... it's torment. If something were to happen that I could have prevented, then I would bear the consequences." His reply was solemn, heavy with the weight of responsibility.

Annabella listened to her son, familiar with his innate inclination to help everyone. This stirred a current of annoyance within her. With a sigh of resignation, she nudged him towards the eastward route, gently propelling him in front and ensuring he continued in the right direction. Clive offered no resistance, though his thoughts remained entwined with the fate of the villagers he was leaving behind.

On either side of them, green hills blanketed in fog set a somber tone for their journey. Strange, distant voices echoed through the fog ahead, causing Clive and Annabella to become increasingly alert. They proceeded with caution, the fog concealing their path ahead. Clive instinctively rested his hand on the hilt of his blade, while Annabella clutched her crystal. The foreign language shouted through the fog was oddly familiar, yet Clive couldn't place its origin. Sensing his mother's heightened tension, he halted when she placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Crusaders…" Annabella hissed, her gaze piercing through the enveloping fog.

At her ominous declaration, Clive drew his sword. The Iron Kingdom being in Rosaria now of all times was unthinkable. The implications of their incursion, deep beyond the capital, chilled him to the bone.

"First Imperials and now Crusaders!" Clive spat out, his tone uncharacteristically venomous, not like his usual self. His agitation was mounting, fueled by a mix of emotions: anger, fear, and an overwhelming sense of failure to protect his homeland. This whirlwind of sentiments spurred him on, disregarding his own safety and propelling him forward into the fog, his fury and an indeterminate darkness driving him blindly.

"Stop!" Annabella attempted to yell at her son, a noticeable change in his demeanor triggering her concern. But Clive, caught in his own determination, didn't heed her call as he charged headlong into the fog. Chasing after him, Annabella muttered curses under her breath, both at the reckless nature of her son and the dire situation they suddenly found themselves in.

As Clive ventured deeper into the mist, the imposing silhouettes of the crusaders came into view. Men larger than average, they were decked in a barbaric ensemble of black stitched leather, fur, and crude metal armor. Their helmets, some adorned with threatening horns and others wrapped in leather, hid their faces and added to their menacing demeanor. Without hesitation, Clive engaged the nearest crusader, his blade sinking into the crusader's shoulder. The crusader bellowed a guttural cry of pain in his own tongue, and swung his ax towards Clive who expertly dodged the strike. Using the crusader's momentum against him, Clive tripped him to the ground and swiftly drove his blade into the man's throat without his earlier remorse.

The sudden demise of their comrade roused the remaining large force of crusaders into a frenzy. With guttural roars, they charged at Clive, their attacks seemed brutal and uncivilized. These were not average soldiers. Their style of fighting was brutal and erratic, much like berserkers, utilizing their axes and fists in a deadly mix of savage swings and grappling. As Clive stood his ground, parrying and countering their assaults, he was momentarily thrown off balance by the flat of an ax smacking into him. He narrowly avoided a descending ax by rolling out of its way, but a boot from another crusader sent a sharp jolt of pain into his ribs, stealing his breath away.

Suddenly, fire like spears whizzed past him, lodging into the crusaders, causing them to scatter and momentarily pause as some fell down in pain. Clive's heart pounded in his chest as he recognized the magic: it was his mother, now drawn into the dangerous fray. A wash of regret flooded him. He'd allowed his rash actions to endanger her, when he should've stayed and snuck around with his mother. He knew she could wield magic, but he also knew she was not accustomed to the thick of battle.

With renewed determination, Clive called upon his own magic. The wings of the Phoenix erupted before him, sending an uppercut that floored the crusader attacking him. The sudden usage of his magical abilities sent a wave of exhaustion through him. Nonetheless, the magic had served its purpose, ending the threat of the crusader he had struck.

The other crusaders, now composed and unfazed by their losses, continued their relentless assault. Clive braced himself. He was a Shield of Rosaria, he told himself. He wouldn’t let these invaders overcome him. As his blade clashed against another crusader's ax, he noticed his mother casting another flame spell. The distraction allowed him to push his blade upwards into the distracted crusader’s chest, effectively ending another enemy.

With the immediate threat gone, Clive stepped back, positioning himself in front of his mother. They could handle this, he reassured himself. He would keep the crusaders at bay, while his mother could burn them from a distance with her spells. As each crusader approached, Clive intercepted them while his mother rained fiery destruction upon them. The thick fog that filled the area played in their favor, limiting the enemies' field of vision. This enabled Clive to confuse and ambush them with the flames of the Phoenix, appearing to be in multiple places at once, while his mother barraged them from afar. Slowly but surely, their coordinated efforts whittled down the remaining group of crusaders to a smaller number.

Annabella, while managing to keep her distance, was starting to feel the effects of the magic she was conjuring. Although her crystal served as a medium for magic - unlike those who were bearers or branded and could call upon magic naturally - the toll it took on her body was considerable. She found herself having to reposition often, moving out of harm's way as her son engaged new enemies. She knew these were not a mere small raiding party of crusaders. This was a full-fledged regiment.

The tense dance of battle raged on for several long, adrenaline-fueled minutes. Annabella's breathing became ragged, a byproduct of the intense, unfamiliar fighting. Despite her distance from the physical conflict, she noticed Clive wasn't faring much better. He was taking the brunt of the physical attacks, dispatching enemy after enemy with a fiery rage in his eyes. Soon, only one more crusader was left standing. Mustering all her remaining strength, Annabella barely managed to raise her hand ready to conjure another flame spell.

In a final act of defiance, the last standing crusader flung his ax at Clive. The ax grazed Clive's abdomen, drawing blood. Overcome by rage, the weaponless crusader charged Clive, who was still reeling from the ax strike. The crusader tackled Clive to the ground, raining blows onto his face. Clive's vision blurred as he began to black out, the numbness enveloping him and dimming the world around him. Just as his consciousness started to fade, the barrage of hits ceased. Looking up, he saw his mother standing over him, an ax in her hand that she had sunk deep into the crusader's throat. She kicked the crusader off her son as their lifeless body fell a short distance away.

Breathing heavily, Annabella kneeled beside her son, her eyes quickly scanning his injuries. Upon seeing the bleeding wound on his side, a brief flash of fear crossed her face before she regained her composure. She ripped a portion of his cloak to use as a makeshift bandage, quickly wrapping it around his injured abdomen. A closer look revealed the wound to be deeper than she initially thought. She cringed slightly at the sight. Seeing her son in such pain filled her with a sense of urgency. She removed the bandage before she lifted his shirt to reveal the deep gash. She raised her crystal to his side and muttered a sincere apology, a rare display of empathy from her.

"I'm sorry." As she spoke, the crystal ignited with a flame that instantly cauterized the wound, staunching the flow of blood. Clive's screams echoed around them as he clung to his mother, writhing in agony as the fire seared his flesh. After what felt like an eternity, the pain finally subsided. He slumped against Annabella, managing to stay conscious despite the torment. Annabella withdrew her crystal, and to her own surprise, she wrapped her left arm around Clive, comforting him. She exhaled a deep breath she hadn’t realized she'd been holding.

Reflecting on the battle, she found herself wondering how different their circumstances would have been had she sided with the Empire. She wouldn’t have been hunted, and wouldn’t have to face these dangers. Yet, the thought of betraying her own felt alien to her now. If she had sided with the Empire, it would have likely resulted in the death of her son. The mere thought made her grip on Clive tighten.

In her arms, Clive stirred, his gaze meeting hers. His eyes were no longer filled with the anger and rage he had displayed during the fight. Instead, they bore genuine relief.

"That really hurt, mother," he teased, trying to lighten the mood through humor despite his words painfully coming out. Annabella merely scoffed and looked away, which drew a chuckle from Clive. He felt a sense of accomplishment at getting a reaction out of her. The gradual chipping away at his mother's hardened exterior, her seemingly stern demeanor seemed to be softening, marked by occasional bouts of irritation and uncharacteristic moments of warmth towards him. It was a stark contrast to her previous indifference, where she'd disregard his presence, her eyes often harboring a veil of disgust. This subtle transformation in his mother brought a smile to Clive's face.

"Are you able to stand?" Annabella's voice, now softer than its usual cold tone, drifted to his ears. Clive nodded in response. Strangely, the aftermath of the brutal battle seemed far more bearable than the ordeal he had experienced at Phoenix Gate, making him wonder just why that was. Gathering his strength, he rose to his feet. The sight that greeted him as the fog began to lift was nothing short of gruesome, causing a sickening knot to form in his stomach. The road was littered with the bodies of fallen Crusaders, their injuries bearing the signature of flame and blade. These men were invaders, no doubt, but the necessary carnage inflicted upon them didn't sit well with Clive.

"If you're able to stand, then you can walk. Let's move on," Annabella stated, her hand resting lightly on Clive's shoulder. She gently guided him to walk in front of her. Once he was in front, her usually stern and composed expression crumbled, revealing the sheer exhaustion she felt. The high-energy fight had drained her considerably. Even though she had avoided close combat, the adrenaline rush coupled with her extensive magic use had taken its toll. Accustomed to a life of luxury, she found her body struggling to recover. With a sigh of relief at the fight being over, she noticed her son's hood had slipped off, revealing his tousled hair. Gently she reached out and pulled his hood back over his head, wanting to avoid any unnecessary attention from curious common folks who could endanger their presence.

The presence of Crusaders advancing beyond Audhyl Docks towards Eastpool set off warnings in Annabella's head. The Iron Kingdom had likely seized control of Rosalith, taking advantage of the absence of its leader and the departure of its strongest fighters to Phoenix Gate. It made strategic sense. She couldn't shake off her suspicion that there might have been a traitor in Rosalith, leaking information to the Iron Kingdom. Despite the dreary thoughts, Clive was determined to return to the capital, so she followed suit.

As Annabella mulled over the implications of the Iron Kingdom holding Rosalith, a wave of uncertainty washed over her. If East Rosaria had fallen to the Iron Kingdom, and West Rosaria to the Empire of Sanbreque, their options would be severely limited. With two kingdoms occupying Rosaria they'd have nowhere to hide. Anxiously, she adjusted her hood to cover more of her face, hiding her face from her son in case he looked back.

A part of her couldn't help but ponder once again how much simpler life would have been if she had chosen to align with the Empire like she planned. Yet, that would mean giving up her son, a prospect she now found horrid. Despite her attempts to convince herself otherwise, she had to grudgingly admit that life without her only remaining son was not an option. With this resolution, she pressed on with Clive, making their way towards Audhyl Docks, and then to Bewit Bridge.

~~~~~~

Benedikta had always found an eerie discomfort in the hushed silence that consumed once bustling villages and cities when they were deserted. The sight served as a grim reminder of her past, of her own home from countless years prior when every soul had been whisked away abruptly. A surge of anger filled her as she trudged through the ghostly town of Eastpool. During her previous journey through this place with Clive and his mother, it was vibrant with life. Now, it stood lifeless and abandoned. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. As she persisted in her journey, the dense fog around her slowly started to clear. She remembered that the way to Bewit Bridge was to the east. An uneasy hope clung to her that the knight's directions weren't leading her into a trap, that her former companions were indeed in the suggested direction. With a deep sigh, she continued forward.

Upon reaching a crossroads, she noticed faint boot prints etched in the soft mud, a remnant of recent rainfall. A multitude of footprints extended towards the west, like a large group migrating away. In stark contrast, the path towards Rosalith to the east bore only three sets of footprints. Two of them were in close proximity, suggesting joint travel. The sight ignited a spark of hope within Benedikta. However, the third set of prints, larger and deeper as if made by someone clad in heavy armor, made her worry. She chose not to dwell on the possible implications of Clive being followed and, with renewed urgency, dashed off in the eastern direction.

After running for what felt like an eternity, Benedikta stumbled upon a sight that caused her heart to seize in fear: a road strewn with lifeless bodies. As she approached to investigate, recognition set in. These men were Crusaders, she realized, their attire and weapons all too familiar. A wave of dread washed over her as she wondered what horrors awaited her in Rosalith. Yet, as she took in the scene further, a small smile managed to creep onto her face. The grim sight, while horrifying, was eerily familiar. Only one person she knew fought with both a sword and flames. Clive had definitely been here, she realized. Her smile turned into relief, the familiar trail of two sets of footprints still together, and a more recent third set, indicating she was on the right path. The relief was, however, short-lived, as her earlier concerns resurfaced about the extra set of footprints. With these thoughts racing through her mind, Benedikta once again broke into a sprint, following the road towards the hope of reuniting with her friend.

~~~~~~

In Clive's opinion, he and his mother were making excellent progress. Audhyl Docks was now visible in the distance, but his heart sank as he noticed the expanse of the bay, teeming with large ships. The waters were dotted with dozens of these menacing vessels, no doubt belonging to the Iron Kingdom. A mixl of fear and anger stirred within him. Despite his natural instinct to rush forward as was his duty to defend Rosaria as a shield, he was painfully aware of the futility of standing against an entire army. He turned slowly towards his mother, whose face didn't register a flicker of surprise at the sight. This unexpected reaction caught him off guard.

"Mother…did you know..?" Clive began, his voice laced with uncertainty.

Annabella addressed her son with a flat, resolute tone. "If you're suggesting that I had a hand in this, then you're mistaken. I harbored suspicions when we faced those savages earlier. It would be a logical move to seize the capital in the absence of its ruler and most skilled protectors."

She halted beside Clive, her gaze sweeping over the overwhelming number of ships crowding the bay. She knew they couldn't proceed any further; there was no point. This place wasn't their home anymore. She understood that, but Clive was still struggling to come to terms with the reality of their situation, a look of disbelief etched on his face.

Just as she was about to console him, Clive's body stiffened, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword before he spun around. Startled, Annabella quickly followed suit, her eyes widening at the sight that had triggered her son's alarm.

Clive's body was rigid with tension. Standing before them was the Black Knight, a figure his fathered had suspicions about, a threat his mother had warned him about, and the figure he believed to be responsible for his younger brother's death. His mother seemed to be frozen in fear, but Clive felt no fear, only a burning rage. The knight towered over them, larger than any of the Crusaders they had encountered, clad in black armor with intricate golden trim and a large blue cape. The most striking feature was the large horns protruding sideways from their helmet, creating a truly terrifying visage. With a roar of fury, Clive lunged forward, his sword clashing with the knight's. His face was a mask of fury, his piercing blue eyes locked with the knight's ethereal blue ones as their blades clashed in a fierce deadlock.

Chapter Text

The symphony of steel clashing filled the air as Clive battled the Black Knight. Every ounce of Clive's being was suffused with an incandescent rage that mirrored the hot sparks flying from the friction between their blades. He threw his full weight against the knight's curved blade, grinding metal against metal. The knight, however, met Clive's fury with a casual strength that was chilling in its indifference. With just one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, the knight began to push Clive back.

"Disappointing," the knight drawled, a note of nonchalance marring their otherwise inhuman voice, as they effortlessly overpowered Clive. In response, Clive unleashed his anger through a fiery left hook. A veil of flame enveloped his hand, yet the fiery assault did little more than make the knight's armor glow an eerie red. Unfazed, the knight launched Clive backward, sending him crashing into his mother, Annabella.

Trying to intercept her son, Annabella only managed to be knocked down with him. As they hit the ground, the shock of the collision jolted her out of her trance of fear. She lay there for a moment, observing Clive with concern as he vented his frustration by punching the ground, his fist leaving a small crater before he leaped towards the knight, trailing a cloak of flames.

As she regained her footing, Annabella watched her son launch a barrage of furious strikes at the knight, each blow parried with a grace and ease that only served to fuel Clive's frustration. Fear for her son gnawed at her. This enemy was unlike anything they had faced before. Its presence seemed to exude an overwhelming darkness, affecting Clive in a way she couldn't understand.

Having spent her life away from battles, Annabella felt out of her depth. She had to help Clive, but her past experiences with Magic, which had worked against mere legionnaires and crusaders, seemed utterly ineffective against this knight. As she watched Clive's flames dance harmlessly around the knight's figure, she cursed under her breath, racking her brain for a solution.

Meanwhile, Clive continued his relentless assault, his frustration building with each unsuccessful strike.

"Who are you!" Clive demanded, his voice echoing off the stone walls surrounding them. "Why won't you just die!" He roared, his mind clouded with unbridled rage.

Unmoved, the knight deflected each of Clive's strikes with a grace that belied the violence of the act. However, as Clive attacked again, the knight swiftly counter-attacked. With an agility that seemed otherworldly, the knight grabbed Clive by the throat, making him drop his sword. Clive gasped for breath, his hands scrabbling at the gauntlet squeezing his throat.

Suddenly, a familiar figure charged into view. It was Annabella, her eyes hardened in determination and her hand holding a glowing crystal. In a swift motion, she conjured a spear of flame and hurled it at the knight, hoping to distract him and free her son. The knight, however, casually deflected the magic projectile with his blade, not even bothering to look.

"No! Don't! Leave her alone!" Clive screamed, writhing in pain and horror as the knight turned his attention towards Annabella. With a swift swing of his blade, the knight sent an arc of energy slashing towards her. Clive could only watch in horror as his mother was flung backward, her body crashing into the ground, her feeble attempts to rise ending with her face colliding with the rough ground.

"Mother! You…you bastard!" Clive screamed, tears blurring his vision. "I'll tear you to pieces, I swear I'll end you!" His voice filled the air, a promise of vengeance and violence. The knight merely looked at him, his iron grip unyielding around Clive's throat.

"Show me the caged monstrosity within," the knight taunted, their voice seeming to echo inside Clive's mind. This final provocation pushed Clive over the edge. His entire body was engulfed in a fiery aura, his hair blazing like a crown of flames. His blue eyes began to echo the hauntingly ethereal hue of the knight's own. His left arm morphed into a hardened, thorn-like form, flames crackling menacingly around it.

"You call upon Ifrit at last," the knight observed, seemingly unfazed by Clive's transformation. Clive, however, didn't hear the knight's words. His mind was a storm of rage, but he had control over his actions. His body erupted with the fury of a thousand suns, the resulting shockwave forcing the knight to let go of his throat.

Launching himself back at the knight, Clive now commanded a deadly combination of physical attacks and incendiary magic. Each of his strikes was followed by a fiery afterimage, a testament to the raw power he was now wielding. Forced to abandon his previous nonchalance, the knight fought back with renewed vigor. Their collision set off a barrage of powerful blows, creating an awe-inspiring spectacle of swords and flames.

Though Clive could feel the intense impact of each blade slicing through the air towards him, his body seemed to be protected by the very flames consuming him. He was in pain, but he was not yet defeated. Fuelled by his anger, Clive was far from backing down. His wrath would not be extinguished until he defeated this knight.

As his frustration mounted, flames overtook his body, his blue eyes igniting into a fiery red. Clive clutched his head, feeling a strange sensation of slipping away, as if he were becoming possessed. With a roar that seemed less than human, he launched himself toward the knight, his body cloaked in flames, with blazing wisps spiraling around him as he hurtled forward. This combination of aggression and fire seemed to have some impact. The knight, caught off guard, began to retreat. Clive lashed out with powerful strikes, a few of them finding their mark. Yet, he could feel his energy waning, as if his fiery power was on the brink of extinguishment. The knight, seizing the opportunity, swung their blade vertically, knocking Clive back.

In the following moments, the knight seemed to hunker down, assuming a low stance with their blade gleaming a cool blue behind them. It was an odd posture, almost as if they were preparing to draw their sword from a sheath, despite the large distance between them and Clive. Suddenly, with a swift and fierce movement, the knight Drew its blade.

Clive didn't understand what was happening. All he perceived was the explosion of intense pain that engulfed his body. Afterimages of blades appeared in his vision, as if materializing from thin air. His fiery form began to dwindle, and he collapsed to the ground, his knees scraping the gravel as he attempted to brace himself with his arms. Blood began to seep from his numerous wounds, pooling beneath him. He opened his mouth to cry out, but all he managed was a choked cough, splattering blood onto the ground. Fear and desperation welled up within him. His gaze fell upon his mother's lifeless form, and a new terror seized him. He didn't know what had happened to her, but he needed to ensure she was safe. With great effort, he attempted to crawl toward her, extending his hand in a desperate plea for proximity. But his effort was brutally halted when the knight impaled his outstretched hand to the ground with their blade.

Clive's face twisted in agony, his eyes welling up with tears.

"Why…why can't I save anyone…" Clive's voice broke, his words barely more than a whisper. The cruel reality of his situation was crushing. His heart was shattered, his resolve obliterated. His previous rage was gone, replaced with a hollow emptiness. He continued to struggle in vain to free himself, only to be kicked onto his back by the knight. As the knight retrieved their blade from Clive's hand, they held it to his throat. Their ethereal blue eyes locked onto Clive's, seemingly scanning him.

"You live." The voice, which echoed as if from an abyss, returned, sounding as though it were resonating within Clive's own mind. "Our connection remains then." The knight's words reverberated in Clive's mind, prompting intense confusion. If he weren't in such agony, he would have demanded an explanation. At this point, he began to question the knight's humanity. With a swift motion, the knight sheathed its blade, its eyes glowing an intense blue. As Clive observed this, he felt a strange internal pulse. Suddenly, the knight stepped back, continuing to stare at Clive, who clutched his chest as a new wave of pain surged through his body.

This internal torment felt as if blades were slicing through him, yet no new injuries appeared. He was plunged into a pit of darkness, a single word in his mind, 'Odin'. Clive wanted to scream in agony, but his cries were silent. The knight's glowing blue eyes remained locked onto him, seeming to judge him. Then, just as suddenly as the pain had come, the knight began to fade, darkness enveloping their form until all that remained were the blue eyes, which then vanished as well. Clive questioned what he had just fought. Surely, it wasn't human. He looked down at his own body and was stunned to see that his wounds had vanished. His blood-soaked clothes were now clean, and the skin underneath was unmarred. A sense of disbelief washed over him. Was he losing his sanity? That couldn't be. His mother had tried to fight the knight and was injured. It must've been real. His mother... At the thought of her, he quickly launched himself into a sprint, ignoring his body's protestations, and raced toward her lifeless form.

His heart pounded, and his fear grew as he neared her. Dropping to his knees, he tried to rouse her, calling for her in desperate cries.

"Mother! Please, Mother, wake up!" Clive pleaded, shaking her lightly in an effort to rouse her. He gently turned her over so she was facing upwards, his fear escalating when she remained unresponsive. Frantically, he examined her for wounds but found none. Yet, she still lay unmoving. His throat tightened, choked with fear and overwhelming grief. "Mother…please, wake up…" He could feel tears welling up, spilling over and splashing down onto her unmoving form. Cradling her head in his lap, he sobbed quietly, "Please... don't leave me... wake up…please, don't leave me alone, Mother…" His heart felt hollow, his fears overwhelming him. His mind was a whirlwind of chaos. "I can't be alone...please, don't leave me alone…I'll be better…I'll be stronger, I'll make you proud... Just, please, don't go!" Clive sobbed, burying his face in her hair. He was desperate to understand why she wouldn't wake up. The thought of losing his family again was unbearable, and his earlier failures at Phoenix Gate only amplified his feelings of despair. However, as he cried, he felt a warm hand touch his face. Startled, he looked down to see his mother's eyes slowly open. A radiant smile spread across Clive's face, and he hugged her tightly, his tears of sorrow replaced with tears of joy.

"You're really okay; you're still here," Clive murmured, his relief palpable. His earlier fears seemed to evaporate. As he calmed down from his prior panic, he felt his mother slowly sit up and return his embrace.

"Hush. Your crying is insufferable," his mother whispered, her gaze drifting off to the distance where the knight had been. She had tried to help Clive earlier before an unknown force had blasted her away, knocking her unconscious. When she had come to, her son's devastated expression had convinced her he thought she was gravely injured. She released him from her embrace with a quiet sigh.

"What happened to that...thing?" Annabella queried, looking around and finding no sign of the knight.

"I'm not entirely sure, Mother," Clive admitted, struggling to make sense of the recent events. "I thought I was going to die. The knight was choking me, and when you tried to intervene, they hurt you. Something inside me snapped, and I was engulfed in flames. I felt my anger take over. I should be dead. I was bleeding from serious wounds… but they're gone. There's no trace, no pain…" He concluded his explanation, a solemn look on his face.

Annabella pondered her son's words. He must have awakened the powers of the Eikon, although he seemed unaware of it. She knew a discussion about this was inevitable, but she wasn't looking forward to it.

"For now, we're safe, and that's what matters," Annabella reassured her son. "Whatever that knight was… they seem to have vanished, at least for the time being." She tried to stand, offering a hand to her son. Wiping his face quickly, Clive grasped her hand, both of them using each other for support.

"We're both still alive, so stop the waterworks," Annabella sternly chided, although her eyes held a soft warmth that contradicted her stern words. "We should move on. You wanted to see Rosalith, didn't you? We should at least make it to Bewit Bridge." She dusted herself off, hoping to keep Clive occupied and distracted from his recent traumatic experience. His claim of being engulfed in flames worried her. Was that the Eikon awakening? She was unsure, and the recent appearance of the mysterious knight complicated things further.

"We'll pass through Audhyl Docks, but if there are crusaders there, it's best we stay away," Annabella instructed, pulling up her hood. She noticed Clive drifting into his thoughts and sighed, reaching over to raise his hood for him. This seemed to shake Clive out of his reverie, and he coughed slightly, embarrassed by his inattentiveness. Together, they made their way towards the docks slowly.

Annabella led the way towards the docks. The atmosphere was uncannily quiet, a stark contrast to the usual bustle that accompanied the scores of ships in the bay. The Iron Kingdom was generally anything but subtle, making the silence all the more unsettling. Signaling to her son, Annabella guided them to take a detour around the docks. As they moved further, a putrid stench assaulted their senses. It was a scent Clive recognized all too well—the scent of death. Despite his mother's protests, Clive made his way back towards the entrance. Using the wall of a nearby building for support, Annabella watched as her son hobbled over to the mangled bodies of the villagers. The sight of people he just recently saw now cruelly slain fueled his rising anger, his fist colliding with the wooden wall of a small house.

Following her son, Annabella took in the sight of the deceased villagers. Her eyes, however, remained indifferent, particularly when she noticed the bearers becoming even more uncaring. As she surveyed the scene, her eyes fell on Clive. Seeing his distress, she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"We must keep moving, Clive. There's nothing we can do for them now," she advised, prodding him forward. Clive lowered his head but continued to walk. The journey through the massacre was grim for him, his gaze involuntarily drawn to the bodies strewn across the ground.

"Don't look," Annabella advised again. They managed to exit the docks and started heading towards Bewit Bridge, only to stop short. There was conflict brewing up ahead. A large group of Imperials was marching towards the capital from Port Isolde, stationed at the bridge. Had there been an additional contingent of Imperials besides the group that initially attacked them when they left for Phoenix Gate? The question plagued Clive.

As Clive's thoughts whirled in disarray, he was struck with a profound sense of desolation, as though the destruction of his home and family had been predestined. He felt lost in his sorrow. Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps and his name being called shook him from his despair.

"Clive!" The familiar voice was a welcome sound. A broad smile stretched across his face as he turned and was enveloped in a hug from his friend Benedikta, whom he'd been worried about all this time.

"Benedikta, you're safe!" Clive exclaimed, returning her hug eagerly. "Everything was in chaos; I'm glad you managed to escape. I never lost hope." His relief was palpable; his close friend and mother were safe.

"It'll take more than some rubble and Imperials to take me down," Benedikta retorted with a smirk. Her gaze then landed on Annabella, who acknowledged her with a slight nod. "You both got new clothes; I feel a little left out here," she joked, releasing Clive from their embrace.

"These were my father's old clothes, and my mother's attire from when she used to travel with him to the North. We passed through Eastpool, where we used to vacation with a family friend, and the clothes were there," Clive explained, his relief still evident at Benedikta's safe escape.

"They suit you, Clive," she teased. Glancing towards the bridge, she noted the large force of Imperials marching across. "I take it you're not returning home?"

"We came to see Rosalith; now that we've seen it, we're heading South," Annabella interjected, her voice firm yet resolute.

Clive only nodded sullenly at his mother's words. "We'll return one day, right, Mother?" he asked hopefully.

"Perhaps one day," she replied sternly. Turning to Benedikta, she instructed, "Since you're here, help support Clive on one side." Benedikta nodded, beginning to wonder when Annabella had become more open towards her son. Together, they assisted Clive, making their way southwards.

Chapter Text

As the trio began their journey towards the southern forests, the verdant canopy that could be seen from Hawker's Cry, Benedikta initiated a conversation with Clive and his mother, Annabella.

"It's a relief to see that both of you made it out safely, but where's Joshua? And your father, Clive?" Benedikta asked. As the words left her lips, she felt Clive stiffen beside her. Suddenly, the implications of her inquiry, coupled with the noticeable absence of Joshua and their father, struck her like a bolt of lightning. She berated herself silently; Clive wouldn't leave his family behind unless something catastrophic had occurred. Her mind flashed back to the monstrous, devilish fire Eikon that had manifested before the Phoenix. Her heart plummeted. While her acquaintance with Joshua was quite superficial, she knew well the depth of affection Clive had for his younger brother. The image of Joshua, a gentle and innocent boy, perhaps in harm's way or worse, tugged at her heartstrings.

Annabella's response to Benedikta's question was a severe glare that commanded silence. It was different from her usual stern looks; this one was filled with an undercurrent of disgust. She clearly disapproved of Benedikta daring to broach such a sensitive topic. Before Benedikta could formulate a response, Clive's voice cut through the tension, barely more than a hushed whisper.

"They're gone…that…that monster killed Joshua…" He choked out, voice laden with grief. "Father was killed by Imperials…" His words gradually faded into an almost inaudible murmur. A grim procession of thoughts crowded his mind, all revolving around the family he had failed to protect and the helpless vulnerability he had felt. The face of the beast that had torn their lives apart was chillingly familiar to him in a way he couldn't yet explain.

As Clive leaned heavily on his mother and Benedikta for support, their silent trek continued. His thoughts kept drifting back to his encounter with the black knight. This figure, who seemed less human with every passing moment, had seemed to be toying with him during their confrontation. He remembered expecting and he knew he sustained fatal wounds, yet they were nonexistent as if they had been mere illusions. He couldn't shake off the notion that he had been tested, by this thing...he was certain that the black knight wasn't human. The knight felt dark, as if they wafted around them in waves. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and fears, as he struggled to keep pace with his mother and Benedikta. He stumbled, mind preoccupied with the memory of the fire that had enveloped him during the battle and the strange power he had wielded. The blessings of the Phoenix had never endowed him with such abilities before. This strength felt inherent, not something borrowed, but it also felt eerily wrong. The knight had urged him to unleash this latent power, referring to it as 'Ifrit'. This recognition struck a chord of dread in him. The knight knew something...something inside of him that allowed him to harness a strange unsurmountable level of power.

The power that coursed through him echoed the qualities of the Phoenix, the Eikon of fire. They were almost a shadow of it, they felt darker than the Pheonix, they felt closer... The horrifying realization left him breathless.

With a newfound understanding of the monster that had killed Joshua, that had torn his family apart, Clive wrenched himself free from Benedikta and Annabella's grasp, stumbling towards the grassy edge of the road. He fell to his knees, the world spinning around him. The realizations came crashing down upon him; the monstrous power he had used, the same destructive force that had slain his brother, was within him. His vision blurred and narrowed as his heart pounded wildly in his chest. Silent tears streamed down his face, his eyes wide with raw emotion.

Caught off guard, Annabella and Benedikta watched in alarm as Clive forcefully extricated himself from their grasp before stumbling over to the side of the road. His haggard form collapsed onto the grassy terrain, stirring a cloud of dust around him.

"Clive!" Both women cried out in unison, desperate to understand what was afflicting him. But Clive remained unresponsive, his form beginning to tremble uncontrollably. With a gasp of surprise, they took tentative steps forward, only to be brought to a sudden halt by Clive's tormented screams that pierced the serene tranquility of the landscape. As Annabella observed her son's tear-streaked face contorting in agony, she began to suspect what had transpired. Clive was intelligent, he must have pieced together the connection between the power he had wielded earlier in his fight with the black knight and the horrifying events at Phoenix Gate.

Without wasting a moment, Benedikta quickened her pace, determined to understand what was wrong. However, as she neared Clive, a wall of flames erupted between them, effectively barricading her and Annabella from reaching him. She was utterly confused. This was so unlike Clive. Something had driven him into this state of panic, causing him to shield himself with a wall of flames. Glancing at Annabella for some semblance of understanding, she was surprised to see the older woman seemingly unfazed by the spectacle, as though she had expected this turn of events.

"What's going on with him!" Benedikta screamed over the roar of the flames, her plea directed at Annabella. However, Annabella seemed oblivious to her questions as she began to walk fearlessly towards the flames.

Amidst the chaos, Clive was in torment. The realization of the atrocities committed by the monster – the same monster he harbored, the one he himself had become – was unbearable. His hands shook uncontrollably as he felt the insidious presence of the beast within him. The nightmares that had plagued him now seemed less like mere dreams and more like subconscious revelations. He crumbled under the weight of the shocking revelation that he had somehow become a vessel for a second Eikon of fire. The idea that he had let loose and allowed this monster... Ifrit to take control was too much to handle. The guilt of betraying his younger brother's trust and the pain of his tragic loss gnawed at his sanity.

In the throes of his despair, Clive reached for the shortsword secured at his belt, a smaller blade that came with the outfit his mother gave him earlier, also belonging to his father. His fingers trembled at the touch, his world felt desolate. He had taken so much, caused so much pain, and he feared the destruction he might still cause. This uncontrollable power inside him had claimed the life of his own brother. He understood that the world would be safer without a monster like him. Clive's attention was finally drawn to the fierce flames he had unwittingly conjured earlier. As he prepared himself, he caught sight of his reflection on the sword's blade. The familiar face from his castle room's mirror gazed back at him, a bearer with a branded mark, a mirror image of himself with subtle differences – the facial hair and a mark on his face that he himself lacked. The reflection flickered between his own distraught image and the mysterious man's defeated expression, looking back at him.

Raising the sword by the blade, Clive winced as the tip of the blade grazed his palm, a thin line of blood welling up. His tears fell onto the cold steel, mingling with the blood. As the reflected image in the blade mirrored his own despair, he was snapped out of his trance by the distant sound of his name being called.

Harnessing her own fire in her hand with her crystal, Annabella managed to counteract the blazing ring encircling her son. With just enough control, she opened a path through the flickering flames. She dashed towards Clive, whose shortsword was perilously pressed against his own throat. The terrifying sight sent a pang through her heart as she registered the horrifying implication of his intentions.

"Clive! Stop at once!" Annabella screamed in desperation. As she neared him, she swatted the blade out of his trembling hand. Exhausted, she dropped to her knees and pulled her son into a tight embrace, feeling him slump against her. The blade, had Clive seen it, would have reflected a man wearing a smile of relief instead of the earlier look of despair as he faded away, seemingly satisfied with this new outcome.

"Mother… I… I… I murdered Joshua… I was that monster," Clive managed to stammer out through his overwhelming grief. "That… that thing… that Eikon… It came from me," he wailed, consumed by guilt and self-loathing.

Annabella's stern expression softened as she gently stroked his hair. "Just like you said, Clive. That Eikon came from you. But remember, you were not in control," she whispered softly, attempting to console him. "Our family carries the Phoenix, not any other Eikon, certainly not a second Eikon of fire. There was no way for you to know. Your brother is gone, but ending your own life won't bring him back. Joshua wouldn't have wanted this for you." As she spoke, her thoughts strayed to her youngest son, Joshua. She regretted having seen him primarily as a source to raise herself above others, the dominant of the Phoenix being her offspring. Now, having lost him, she longed for him as a mother would, and this realization stung her deeply.

Gradually, the flames surrounding Clive began to disperse, leaving behind his shaking and broken form. Though his physical crisis had subsided, his emotional turmoil was far from over. He couldn't forgive himself for the irreparable damage he had inflicted upon his family, never. No matter what words he told himself or heard, what he did was unforgivable.

"Clive!" Benedikta's voice cut through the remaining wisps of flame as she managed to reach them. Kneeling beside Clive and Annabella, she took in Clive's anguished expression and cautiously reached out to comfort him. "What happened?" she asked, glancing anxiously at Annabella for an answer. But Annabella remained silent, her stern gaze focused solely on her son.

Benedikta gave Clive's hand a gentle squeeze, silently urging him to open up to her. "Clive, whatever it is, we're here for you," she reassured him, oblivious to the awful truth Clive had just confronted.

Mustering his strength, Clive met Benedikta's gaze. His eyes, red and veiny from his earlier outburst, were filled with a profound sadness. "I killed my own brother…" he whispered, his voice heavy with sorrow.

"Clive… what are you talking about?" Benedikta responded, her voice barely audible, her mind reeling from his shocking confession.

"That monster… that Eikon that killed Joshua… it… it was me," Clive confessed, his voice barely a whisper.

"But how…? Your brother was already the dominant of the fire Eikon."

"I don't know… But I did those terrible things…"

Benedikta let out a heavy sigh, at a loss for words. The spirited boy she'd met, who had saved her was lost in his grief. It left a hollow feeling in her, but she had faith that Clive wasn't in control when the tragedy occurred. It was a bizarre accident - his emotional turmoil had likely triggered the manifestation of this mysterious Eikon.

As they all knelt together on the ground, Annabella began to gently coax Clive from his despondent, curled-up posture against her. He complied, his gaze distant and lost. His tears had dried, but the pain of his self-inflicted guilt remained. Annabella cast anxious glances at her son, her eyes revealing her concern despite her best efforts to conceal it.

"We must press on, Clive. You can't afford to grieve at this moment. We need to keep moving," Annabella urged her son. Offering consolation and displaying compassion was unfamiliar territory for her, yet, for the sake of her son, she attempted it nonetheless. Clive, albeit reluctantly, agreed.

Now fully upright, Clive nodded in silent assent. The dreadful realization of the power within him, of the horrific deed he had perpetrated, was a burden he knew he must bear. His mother was right; they couldn't afford to stall in the current crisis. A war was brewing, and any hesitation on his part would endanger both his mother and his friend, Benedikta. Clive's thoughts drifted back to his earlier, desperate attempt to escape the guilt. Gingerly, he picked up his shortsword, glancing solemnly at the cold steel before sheathing it at his hip.

With a deep, heavy sigh, he turned towards Benedikta. "I'm sorry for worrying you," he apologized, his voice barely above a whisper. He then shifted his gaze to his mother, adding, "Both of you, I'm sorry."

His mother offered no response, despite her demeanor earlier she still struggled expressing herself. Benedikta, however, gently placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"There's no need to apologize, Clive. Whatever is happening, we'll figure it out together. As much as I hate to admit it, your mother is right. We need to keep moving; it's not safe here," Benedikta responded, trying to strike a balance between acknowledging his grief and emphasizing their urgent need to press on.

~~~~~~

Their journey through the forest was enveloped in an eerie silence, with Annabella assisting Clive, lending him her shoulder for support, while Benedikta took the lead, vigilantly scanning their surroundings for any potential dangers. The northern Blight had been pushing a wide variety of beasts and monsters farther south, causing these once peaceful woods to become treacherous. The sporadic howls of worgen hunting in packs echoed through the trees, adding to the unsettling quiet that hung heavily in the air. The dense foliage above cast the forest into an almost impenetrable darkness.

In response, Annabella manipulated her crystal to conjure a flame in her hand, casting a feeble, flickering light ahead of them. Although the illumination was modest, it was enough to outline their immediate path. The vastness of the forest remained cloaked in shadow.

"Which direction are we heading?" Benedikta inquired, glancing back at Annabella.

"Anywhere but here. We could go east to the Empire; they'll be too preoccupied with Rosaria to notice us slipping in. Alternatively, we could head south towards the Dhalmakian Republic, though I suspect the Crusaders might be engaging them," Annabella proposed, maintaining a dignified bearing.

"So, we're caught between a rock and a hard place, then. Just our luck," Benedikta retorted, her voice laced with exasperation.

As they trudged deeper into the forest, a fluttering sound suddenly pierced the silence, catching them off guard. All three tensed instantly. Clive, no longer leaning on his mother for support, reached for his blade. Benedikta had already drawn hers, and Annabella stood ready with her crystal aglow.

A chattering sound drew Benedikta's attention, and she spun around, her blade raised in anticipation. A round, shadowy creature, almost bat-like, shot out from the forest's black veil, slamming against her sword. The beast was grotesque, its spherical body accentuated by minuscule limbs and a garish row of teeth. A long, uncanny tongue hung from its mouth. The creature circled them, seemingly mocking their readiness with its glowing, singular eye, while its pointed tail swished menacingly. Disturbingly, its form kept phasing in and out of existence.

Clive gritted his teeth. "An Ahriman," he seethed. The name seemed to resonate with Annabella and Benedikta, each nodding in recognition. While none of them had faced such a creature before as it was unheard of, tales of its insidious appearance were well-known.

"Steer clear of its magic, avoid getting caught in its magic ring," Annabella commanded, taking on the role of the group's tactician. "Aim for its eye to impair its attacks."

Clive and Benedikta exchanged determined glances, each advancing on the creature as its singular eye flared ominously.

"Scatter!" Annabella shouted a warning as the creature's eye began to brighten, a signal of an impending energy blast. As the beam erupted towards them, Annabella launched a fiery sphere towards the Ahriman, striking its large eye just after it had discharged its energy. The creature's beam detonated harmlessly beside Benedikta, the ground scorched but the warrior unscathed.

Angered by Annabella's successful attack, the Ahriman retaliated with increased ferocity, lunging and snapping its jaws in attempts to bite them. Clive managed to ward off one such attack, his blade locked in the creature's iron grip. Spotting an opening, Benedikta lunged forward, her blade slicing through one of the Ahriman's spindly limbs. Its pain-filled howl echoed through the forest as Clive, taking advantage of the distraction, conjured a fiery fist and landed a solid blow to its eye.

Temporarily forced back, the Ahriman writhed, its eye oozing a foul substance. Suddenly, large fire-like wisps began to form a threatening circle around them.

"Move out of the circle!" Annabella ordered, her voice ringing with urgency. She ran, pulling her son along as she veered away from the enlarging circle of magic. Benedikta was hot on their heels, lunging just in time to escape the barrier. The circle of wisps rapidly expanded, detonating into a pillar of ether-filled spikes jutting from the earth tinted in red.

"This creature is formidable. It seems weak and injured now. Mother, could you distract it with your spells while Benedikta and I attempt to flank it?" Clive proposed, seeking his mother's agreement.

Annabella responded with a narrow-eyed glance but nodded her approval. "I'll draw this repugnant creature's attention away, but refrain from any reckless actions," she retorted, a note of anger seeping into her tone, well aware of her son's tendency towards rash decisions In battle.

Clive swallowed nervously at her admonishment, but he nodded in acknowledgement. As he and Benedikta began their approach from opposite sides, Annabella showered the creature with a barrage of flames. The Ahriman emitted a painful screech as the fire seared its form. Circles of intense red magic formed on the ground beneath the charging duo, mirroring the creature's previous attack, with earth spikes seeking to impale them in large amounts. With a nimble leap, both Clive and Benedikta managed to avoid the spiky onslaught and plunged their respective blades into the creature's vulnerable eye. The Ahriman writhed momentarily before collapsing lifelessly onto the ground, it's body letting out a nightmarish howl.

After a moment of tense silence, the trio exchanged nods of certainty. Despite the grueling circumstances, they had proven to be an effective team.

"Is everyone okay?" Clive inquired, hastily examining Benedikta and his mother for any injuries.

"I'm fine, Clive. You should focus more on yourself," Benedikta replied, a smile playing on her lips as she rolled her shoulders.

"Disgusting void spawn," Annabella muttered, dusting herself off as if to rid herself of any traces of the creature, her usual noble demeanor reemerging. Clive and Benedikta watched her with a mix of awe and amusement; Benedikta because she couldn't fathom the priority Clive’s mother placed on her appearance after such a battle, and Clive because he found it fascinating to imagine his mother being able to fight even without prior experience.

Lost in thought, Clive began to conceive ways to enhance his mother's use of her crystal. His mind buzzed with ideas before his eyes lit up with inspiration, a new idea sparking to life. He never knew his mother was versed in magic, but considering her expeditions to the north with his father, he figured it would've helped to have some knowledge. She needed something to defend herself while in combat when she couldn't rely on magic, but why not mix the two forms together?

"Mother, if you wouldn't mind, I have a suggestion," he announced, struggling on his feet with a proud grin. "May I see your crystal?"

Unamused, Annabella passed her blue crystal to her son's outstretched hand.

"What are you doing?" she queried as he reached for his shorter sword at his hip, the one he held before during his outrage at himself.

"Well, Benedikta and I are quite agile, but you tend to remain stationary in most of our engagements," Clive began to explain, his left arm spontaneously igniting with the golden flames of the Phoenix. "You lack a proper defense if an enemy gets too close." As he spoke, he pushed his aether into the crystal, causing it to glow red, reminiscent of Drake's Breath.

To the astonishment of both Annabella and Benedikta, the flames surrounding the crystal darkened, the crystal deepening to a rich scarlet reminiscent of Drake's Breath the MotherCrystal of flame. Strain creased Clive's brow as he continued to manipulate the crystal with his aether, the latter no longer Phoenix flames but those of the inner Eikon inside of him. Despite the clear struggle, Clive persisted, shaping the crystal into a spherical form with the flames and dividing it into two halves. Finally, he inserted one half of the now spherical crystal into the hilt of his sword, the aether flame fusing it seamlessly into the metal. He released a sigh of relief, presenting the modified sword and remaining half of the crystal to his mother.

Tentatively, Annabella accepted the sword and the detached crystal piece. Although not a fighter, she felt a strange comfort in the weapon's weight. An understanding of her son's actions dawned on her; he had reshaped the crystal with his aether, then imbued it into his short sword. She experimentally channeled her magic through the embedded crystal, a burst of flame leaping from the sword. She then channeled through the smaller crystal, creating another flame in her free hand. Although it required more energy, the sword acted as a catalyst, enabling her to channel her magic through it, or use the smaller crystal for greater mobility when needed.

Looking at her son, she guessed that he had somehow bestowed a similar blessing on her crystal to that which he had received from Joshua. She turned away from him and Benedikta, a small smile gracing her lips. Hidden from their view, she was genuinely touched by her son's thoughtfulness.

Chapter Text

Voices and screams enveloped Clive, a mixture of disparate tones before the sounds became clear. "…ern…Wyvern!" A piercing scream jolted Clive from his daze. Disoriented, he scanned his surroundings—mountains and crags with scarce greenery were all he could see. His gaze settled on a fire crackling before him. Nearby, three men sat around the campfire, the flames casting a glow on their faces and armor, revealing branded marks that unmistakably belonged to The Empire of Sanbreque. Clive's heart raced as confusion clouded his vision, his mind grappling to piece together the scene. Moments ago, he was simply walking with his mother, Annabella, and his friend Benedikta. Now, he found himself among what he presumed to be imperial soldiers. As he struggled to focus, darkness claimed his sight once more, and silence enveloped his senses.

Clive 'reawakened' to find himself standing alone in an abyss, reminiscent of past dreams—or were they visions? The distinction still eluded him. A shadowy figure materialized before him in the engulfing blackness. Their cloaked form was indistinct, blending into the darkness. Clive edged closer, straining to discern their features. Just as he nearly made out their face, a wall of flames burst forth from the figure. The cloaked figure adopted an aggressive stance, revealing a spiked arm through their garment. Their towering and robust frame exuded strength and unyielding resolve.

"You… you're…" Clive stammered, but before he could finish, the figure surged forward in a flurry of flames. Clive barely managed to raise his arms in defense before the impact hurled him backward into the void. From his prone position, he caught sight of the assailant—a man with medium-length black hair and a branded mark on his left cheek. The man's familiar, glowing blue eyes bore into Clive's own.

Struggling to stand, his body reeling from the collision, Clive watched as the figure drew a blade and drove it into the ground. Their eyes locked, and a faint smile flickered across the older man's face before he erupted in a burst of flames, his frame glowing.

Clive frantically attempted to summon any semblance of fire—the Phoenix, the elusive eikon beast from earlier—but felt nothing but an empty, icy void within. The man approached, the heat intensifying.

"Stand firm, be unbreakable," the figure intoned with a voice eerily similar to Clive's own. "Draw upon your power to defend yourself," he commanded, charging towards Clive.

Muttering, Clive willed power to manifest from the abyss. Yet, nothing answered—no warmth, no rage, just engulfing darkness. His mind yearned for the comfort of his family and home, not the desolation of this endless void. As the man raised his blade, Clive's desperation summoned not flames, but his father's blade—the only weapon he possessed. Their swords clashed, sparking with the heat of the man's fiery aura.

"Fate stands to be broken!" the man exclaimed as their blades locked, then swiftly kicked Clive away. Clive, fed up, rose again. "Who are you?" he gasped, dreading the answer. The man's sad smile preceded his swift and powerful strikes, which Clive parried with growing difficulty.

"I used to ask myself that question… 'Who am I?' I still can't find the answer. I am a shadow, a fragment of your conscience, a means to an end—a man who lost his way. The choice is yours," the man declared solemnly. "I'm what you should never become."

A blow struck Clive in the chest, sending him crashing to his hands and knees. The figure crouched beside him, placing a hand on Clive's shoulder. "Defy fate," he whispered, just as the void began to dissolve into light, swallowing everything in a blinding brilliance.

~~~~~~

Pacing through the dark forest, Hawk’s cry could be seen in the distance, its silhouette barely visible to the north from the clearing where the trio found themselves. As they progressed, the forest gradually lightened; the dense foliage thinned, allowing the now overcast sun to cast diffused rays through the gloom of the sky. Clive stood still for a moment, shaking his head. The vision he had experienced felt surreal...the man or entity in it seemed like a part of him, sounded like him. The unsettling feeling was hard to shake off as he quickened his pace, not wanting his distraction to be noticed by his companions. He soon caught up to his mother with hurried steps. Despite everything, his regal mother walked with a poised elegance, each step a deliberate and graceful act.

Walking beside his mother, Clive felt a hesitance within him. Benedikta, took the lead with her blade drawn, her vigilance a silent testament to the forest's unsettling stillness. Clive's mind threatened to veer into dark thoughts, but he pushed them aside and finally spoke. "Mother, how… how are you holding up?" he asked, gesturing vaguely to express their current predicament.

"How am I holding up?" Annabella repeated the question, her voice tinged with irritation. "How do you think I'm holding up?" Her tone was laced with unnecessary venom. "My feet ache, I'm covered in dirt, and now, my foolish child, you seem to be a magnet for danger at every turn. How do you think I'm doing?" she answered with biting sarcasm.

Clive looked away sheepishly before responding, "I'm not that prone to danger, Mother…"

"Really now? Not prone to danger? You're as oblivious as your father was at your age," Annabella scoffed, raising her hand to her forehead as if to soothe a headache, pushing aside a strand of her blonde hair.

The mention of his father struck Clive with a pang of sorrow. The hollow feeling in his chest grew as he tried to compose himself. He had to remind himself that, while he lost a father and a brother, his mother had lost a husband and a son. He felt foolish for even asking her how she was holding up—she had endured just as much, if not more, in such a short time. And yet, she hadn't shown much outward grief or sadness over their shared loss. Clive couldn't help but question the nature of his parents' relationship. Reflecting on it, he realized that his mother had not outwardly mourned his father's death. The more he thought about it, the more their marriage seemed an arrangement of duty rather than one of love. She didn't seem as shattered as one might expect a widow to be. Was tragedy always their family's destiny?

'No... I can't think like that... Mother is still here, I still have my family...' Clive reassured himself silently, clinging to the presence of his family that remained. He pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind, resolving to focus on the path ahead.

At her son's silence, Annabella took note of the sullen expression on his face. His usually boyish features appeared increasingly gaunt, casting a shadow over the youthful visage she was so accustomed to. The sight stirred a bitter sensation in her chest, a feeling that would have been utterly misplaced in her former self. She realized that her earlier remarks about her late husband might have reopened fresh wounds for her son. Seeking to break the uncomfortable silence, she ventured a half-hearted attempt at humor. “I suppose things could be worse; it could be snowing.” To her surprise, Clive's shocked expression gave way to laughter, soft and fleeting, but it was enough to bring an odd sense of comfort to her heart.

Regaining his composure after the brief moment of mirth, Clive spoke up. “Mother, did you just make a joke? I can’t recall you ever making light of anything before.” He looked up at her with a soft smile.

“You’re utterly insufferable,” Annabella deadpanned, reacting to her son's playful accusation. After a heavy sigh, she warned, “Don’t let your guard down,” to which Clive straightened immediately, as if on reflex to a familiar, stern tone from the past.

“Of course, Mother. A shield is always ready!” he declared with pride, though his blue eyes betrayed a sense of remorse as he recalled his previous duties. He had a responsibility, and he was determined to uphold it.

“If you two are done enjoying yourselves,” Benedikta interjected with a note of concern, “we seem to be at a fork in the path.” She gestured ahead to where the trail split into two. “So, Your Highness, which way shall we go?” She addressed Annabella, her tone dripping with sarcasm, prompting an exasperated sound from Clive at the clashing attitudes of his friend and mother. Benedikta caught Clive’s gaze with a grin, clearly relishing in the light antagonism.

Faced with a choice between south and east, Annabella surveyed their surroundings. Despite feeling as uncertain as her son and Benedikta, she wouldn’t let it show. The subtle look of reliance from Clive perhaps swayed her to adopt the role of a leader. “The empire is preoccupied with Rosaria and the Iron Bloods. They’ll be at each other's throats for a while. I doubt they’ll continue searching for us once the dust settles. The path from Rosaria to the Empire of Sanbreque is littered with villages. We can head east and find a place to lie low for the time being,” she declared with conviction, half-expecting a voice of dissent, but both Clive and Benedikta nodded in agreement.

As they prepared to move, Benedikta sidled up to Clive, whispering just low enough for Annabella not to hear. “I just think your mother doesn’t want to deal with the heat and sand messing up her clothes and hair,” she teased lightly, eliciting a muffled laugh from Clive before she took the lead once again, her blade—a legacy from Clive's grandmother—twirling confidently in her hand.

Annabella, catching a whisper of their conversation, shot a sneering glance at Benedikta before her eyes met Clive’s. His attempt to stifle a laugh softened her glare, seeing him in better spirits was a small consolation. As irritating as Benedikta's antics were, Annabella recognized that the young woman's intentions were to lift her son's spirits, even if it meant the woman angering her with her foolish antics.

With a light prod to urge him forward, Annabella joined Clive as they resumed their journey. The path was strewn with low brush and critters, eliciting a look of disdain from Annabella as they kept walking.

Despite the strangeness of their circumstances, Clive couldn’t help feeling a certain contentment. Being surrounded by his mother and friend, feeling safe and wanted, was comforting. However, the distant howls of worgen pierced the air, a stark reminder for Clive to remain vigilant. The suffocating sensation of danger lurked nearby, but he reminded himself that he was a warrior, a fighter who must never succumb to fear.

As they traveled, an hour passed uneventfully, save for his mother's occasional complaints about her attire becoming wrinkled or soiled—remarks that brought a smirk to Clive's face. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Shadows flitted in his peripheral vision, culminating in a pair of familiar blue eyes peering at him from behind the forest's boulders. Not the blue of the apparition from his vision, but that of a living adversary. Instinctively, Clive adopted a defensive posture, prompting Annabella and Benedikta to draw their blades, their eyes questioning him silently.

“Clive, what is it you see?” Benedikta inquired, stepping closer to her friend who stood fixedly, staring at what seemed to be mere rocks. Annabella positioned herself behind Clive, her blade and catalyst at the ready. The shadow Clive saw flickered into the form of the black knight from his earlier encounter and then vanished. He realized that his companions had not seen the figure at all.

“It’s nothing… I’m sorry, I think the journey is starting to affect me,” Clive said, a hint of embarrassment coloring his tone. Annabella’s gaze sharpened as she noticed the telltale twitch of her son’s finger—a small sign of his dishonesty she’d come to recognize over the years. Benedikta, seemingly convinced, suggested they set up camp near a cluster of large trees that offered shelter.

Leaning against one of the trees, Clive watched Benedikta head off in search of food, yearning for the comfort of his mother's cooking from what now feels like a distant memory. Annabella joined him, her shoulder brushing his as she leaned against the same tree. “You lied,” she stated plainly, catching Clive off guard.

“I apologize, Mother. I thought I saw something. I didn’t want to cause any worry,” he confessed, the sadness in his admission evident. Annabella exhaled a soft sigh. “There’s no need to lie to me. If something is troubling you, you can tell me,” she asserted, her gaze drifting back to the boulders Clive had been fixated on earlier.

Feeling the warmth of his mother's presence, Clive allowed himself to rest his shoulder against hers, a gesture that had become increasingly familiar. Annabella couldn’t suppress a smile as she brushed her hair aside, finding comfort in the tree's sturdy support and the reassuring contact with her son. Their moment of peace was punctuated by Benedikta’s muted cursing as she attempted to catch their dinner, causing Clive to chuckle. Annabella allowed herself to close her eyes, finding joy in the sound of her son's laughter, a rare and treasured respite from the tensions of their plight.

Annabella felt the comforting warmth of her son as he relaxed completely against her. His eyelids fluttered closed, a testament to the safety he found in his mother's closeness. Time seemed to slow as Annabella lifted her eyes, catching sight of Benedikta's return from what must've been half an hour of her chasing small creatures around. In her hands, upon her return were two small, lifeless creatures, likely intended for their evening meal.

A soft chuckle escaped Benedikta as she observed Clive, seemingly asleep on Annabella's shoulder. Annabella shot her a pointed look, her silent glare a command for silence. "Calm down, your highness," Benedikta teased, her voice laced with antagonist humor. "Clive's not actually asleep. He just tensed up after sensing your discomfort when you spotted me. Honestly, your glares could give any witch from those horror tales a run for their Gil."

Annabella could only scoff towards Benedikta as Clive subtly shifted away from her, absentmindedly scratching his head—a clear indication that Benedikta's observation hit the mark. Meanwhile, Benedikta had already begun the task of skinning the small animals. "Who's going to start the fire? Nothing extravagant, just enough to cook these," she inquired, gesturing to the now skinned game.

As Clive assembled a small circle of stones and sticks, Annabella knelt beside him. With a focused gesture, she called upon her catalyst, summoning a modest flame into the heart of the makeshift pit. Benedikta wasted no time, skillfully spearing the meat with sticks to roast it over the gentle fire.

The forest's light dimmed as dusk set in, the signal for the trio to rest. Annabella viewed the primitive meal with a mix of disdain and resignation but joined in, acknowledging the necessity. Next she would have to find how they would alternate shifts during the night. She exhales softly before eating and listening to her son and Benedikta talk.