Forging bonds by /u/Meldorn

	A calm, stiff breeze weaved amidst the sea of tents within the camp. The temporary abodes of tattered cloth and linen stretched in rows, leaving narrow spine-like pathways in the space between them. The fabric whipped around, restrained only by several meager wooden stakes at the corners. A darkly attired, masked man strode along one such causeway, Walking alone, the tent-backs that flanked him concealed his passage from the prying eyes of passers-by. Soldiers scuttled about on their business and duties, a fusion of anticipation and fear crossing many a face. The coming battle filled the air.
	The dark clothed man knew of the coming struggle, but neither hurried his pace nor let his mind wander to places or fear or doubt. He continued on his way, seemingly unphased by the threats of war and combat.
	"Gerome."
	He turned backwards to face his hailer, a brown haired myrmidon who had just entered the passage between the tents.
	"Fathe—" he caught himself. "Lon'qu. What do you want?"
	Lon'qu's lips slanted in what Gerome could gather to be a smirk of approval. "You almost said it again."
	"I told you not to get used to it. If that is your reason for stopping me, then you're wasting my time."
	"I was going to prepare my equipment, and I oft use this path. It's more...solitary." Lon'qu tried to make small talk, but Gerome simply waited in grudging silence.
	Lon'qu's eyes narrowed and he sighed. "The battle will be joined soon. We had best prepare."
	"I am prepared." Gerome clenched his gauntlets around the shaft of his battleaxe, iron gripping iron. "Don't delay me any longer. I must prepare Minerva."
	Lon'qu paused. "Very well."
	Gerome turned and moved onwards, called after by the brooding swordsman. "Can I count on your blade today?"
	He stopped and quickly rounded. "Live or die. My blade cannot change fate. There is no point in protecting the doomed." With that, he drove onwards towards the stables, axe in hand.
	"So you've said . . . but what if the doomed are your family?"
	Despite his father's protestations, his pace did not slow as he called back over his shoulder. "I fight alone."


	Tightening the straps of his saddle one last time, Gerome again glanced up to survey the battlefield, squinting through his mask. Before him lay an open plain of green, occupied only by a river cutting across its center. A few sparse boulders and trees dotted the landscape. Several hundred meters away, he could make out the shambling frames of the enemy, the faint glow of their red, empty eyes gleaming visibly in the daylight. At the head of the Shepherds was Robin, collectedly calling out final words of instruction and encouragement to the troop before they sallied out to meet the enemy.
	"Our bonds—the ties that we forge—they are our strength. These fallen creatures have none. They bring nothing but death . . . and in return, we will bring them no less. To me, Shepherds!"
	Gerome said nothing as hollers and cheers issued from the soldiers surrounding him. As the fighting force jogged and trotted forward in advance, he spurred Minerva aloft. Cynthia and Sumia sped past him, lances raised, as Minerva gained altitude. They swerved to the right flank of the field.
	Gerome's voice barely carried over the sound of the air currents caused by Minerva's thrashing wings, but her sharply attentive ears caught wind of his command.
	"Let's move. To the left."
	Muscles rippling, Minerva roared in obedience and threw herself towards the left flank, speeding against the enemies stationed there. Holding onto her saddle with one hand, Gerome leaned over her side to survey his targets. Scanning the foe, he spotted a bow and quiver amidst the blinding glint of armor below.
	"Minerva, archer! Dive!" Patting her neck, he leaned close against her as she fell into a heavy slope downwards. He opened his mouth to call out further orders, but the galeforce winds ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  relentlessly pummeled his face as they fell, halting his words before they could emerge. Gritting his teeth, he pressed his thighs deep into Minerva's side, grasping tightly to avoid being thrown from her back as he used both hands to lift his axe. In position, he focused and listened. Upon hearing a faint whistling, he quickly tugged on Minerva's reins, the wyvern forcibly drifting sideways in her descent. As she broke her dive several feet shy of the ground, an arrow flew part her right flank.
	"Not one more bolt out of you! Charge!"
	Gerome was not sure if Risen felt fear, but he mused that this one did, internally quaking as a roaring wyvern and rider bore down upon it. He inwardly smirked. Swooping down, Minerva passed to the right of the target, giving her rider an opportunity to strike. Timing his blow, Gerome drew his arms back and whipped them forward again, cleaving against the air. As his axe hewed the archer's light armor, Gerome heard the sound of leather and iron disintegrating before his blow. As the pair flew past, he tightly gripped his axe to prevent it from sticking in his target. Bone and sinew gave way to steel as he wrenched it free, a guttural, unearthly howl signifying the trueness of his blow. Ascending again, he glanced back to see the form evaporating into a cloud of purple ash and smoke. Without prompting, Minerva dove upon a pair of foes, both wielding swords.
	"Steady now."
	Minerva pounded the air with her imposing wings, halting a dozen meters from her prey. As she steadied herself, one of the Risen charged forward to meet her.
	"Minerva, attack the one in the rear! Destroy him!" With a shout, Gerome spurred her on towards her target. Waiting until Minerva passed over the first swordsman, he suddenly leapt from saddle and mount to assail the charging creature. Snarls and otherworldly screams bellowed from behind him as Minerva pounced upon her quarry. Silence again fell, his axe following suit. With supernatural agility, the decaying fiend parried his attack, glancing the full weight of his blow harmlessly to the side with its silver sword. Both blades caught rays of sunlight and sparks as they ricocheted apart. Using the momentum of the deflected slash, Gerome spun around with his axe, allowing the force of the blow to follow itself through into a full circle. Within a second of the first deferred blow, his axe lay embedded in the Risen's chest. There was a short silence that followed, however, and when no purple death issued from the creature, Gerome knew that the fight was not over. With a deathrattling groan, the creature lashed out at him with its blade. Axe still entrenched within the monster, Gerome had nothing to defend himself with. Swinging himself under the axe handle, he pressed against the creature's body, taking cover behind the weapon, firmly embedded in its abdomen. As silver glanced against steel, the blow falling harmlessly against his weapon, Gerome seized his axe and lurched away with all his speed and might. The cleaver shuddered momentarily before being dislodged, leaving an oozing cavity of blood and darkness in its wake. Whipping around to stand guard, he barely blocked the second strike of the creature with the long shaft of his war axe. The two combatants, weapons locked, pushed against each other in a contest of raw might and mettle.
	I am not too proud to give way...
	Gerome withdrew his effort, letting the strength of the monster win out. Leaping to the side, he narrowly dodged the blade as it slipped off his axe and sliced through the air into the grassy soil below. With one swing, he beheaded the defenseless creature, the body collapsing into fibrous dust around him. All that remained was its wielderless sword, which jutted out of the ground.
	With no more enemies left standing in the immediate area, he took a moment to discern the progress of the battle. His comrades had just as quickly dispatched their foes, the zenith of the battle having already passed. As the Shepherds cleaned up the remnant Risen from the field, he quickly retreated, his skills no longer needed. After several minutes of lonely flight, save for Minerva's company, he was returned to the empty camp. After resituating Minerva in the stables, he decided to enjoy the several minutes of solitude he had before the rest of the force returned. The typical post-battle haze that hung over him had begun to lift, and he was suddenly hungry; he glanced up at the sun and realized it was almost midday. He made for the mess tent, using the main road. With the camp vacant, it was just as private as his favorite causeway in-between the tents. After a short walk, he arrived, pushing aside the tent flap and finding it empty. He stepped inside and sat down at a table in the middle of the room, quietly thinking to himself. The thunder of hooves reached his ears as the Shepherds began to return, first the fliers and horsemen, and then the foot soldiers. As he expected, the first to arrive at the mess tent was Stahl, his stomach audibly growling as it often did. He walked past Gerome and made for the table closest to the food line, casting a cheerful "Hello!" towards him as he passed.
	Gerome dipped his head in acknowledgment, but made no sound. He maintained his silence as the others arrived, recognizing those who bothered to greet him. It took roughly half an hour before a quorum of Shepherds had assembled and food began being served. He joined the line despite the unholy smell wafting from the food preparation area. Reminding himself that he had to eat did not help appetize the foul odored soup in his bowl. He returned to his seat. He sat alone for some time, aimlessly stirring the unappealing meal before him. Within his bowl was a stew-like substance, its broth black in color. Small bits of what he presumed to be meat floated in it. He glanced around distractedly, hoping to somehow delay having to taste it. As he surveyed the room, he saw Stahl hastily devouring his portion, keen on getting seconds likely before the others had begun their firsts. Before he could hazard a bite, Gerome's attention was drawn to the entrance as Cherche and Lon'qu walked inside together. His father had a typical blank, hardened expression set upon his face, while his mother wore a contented smile, her arm locked in Lon'qu's as she nearly dragging him along. As they approached, Gerome attempted to look busy, pretending to spoon some of the stew into his mouth. The smell was horrendous. His stomach turned within moments of it entering his nostrils; he couldn't help but speculate who had concocted such a vile brew.
	Kjelle must be on cooking duty today...
	Gerome took a bite, cringing as he chewed through the gamey meat; his attempt to act nonchalant failing as he nearly choked—it was bear. Near the entrance of the tent, he could see Frederick dumping the contents of his bowl into Sumia's, explaining to his wife that "she needed to keep up her strength."
	As his parents passed, he sensed Cherche pause. Lon'qu continued walking, getting in line to fill their bowls with stew. Painfully aware of each other's presence, they both waited in silence for several awkward moments before Cherche spoke. "Gerome, might I have a word?"
	The option of stealth being out of the question, he replied coldly, not turning to face her. "If you must."
	"May I sit?"
	He grunted in response. "Do as you wish."
	Circling the table, she sat in front of him. "Must you give us the cold shoulder, Gerome? Our intention is simply to get to know our son."
	"I passed through time and left my world behind to make a difference, not to make friends. But as far as I have seen, we can only defy fate for a time. It will find its mark, even on you. I will not suffer it again."
	His mother frowned. "You fear losing us again, and yet you would do nothing to avert that fate?"
	Her question was met with stony silence.
	Lon'qu returned presently with their bowls of stew, which they ate without complaint. Having been lost in thought, Cherche cocked her head and questioned him again.
	"Why did you join the Shepherds?"
	Seeing that he could not easily extricate himself from the conversation, he answered reluctantly. "I had hoped to accomplish with a group what I could not alone. But I was a fool. At our full strength, the best we can do is delay the inevitable. Even if we could make a difference, I still would have no need for friends. The fewer friends I have now, the fewer dead friends I'll have later." He paused to breathe, becoming worked up. "Furthermore, any interactions I have risk altering the future. I see no advantage in what you seek."
	Lon'qu interjected suddenly, his rough, low voice being barely audible amidst the noise of the mess hall.
	"You said yourself that your blade will make no difference. That fate cannot be challenged. Why then do you fight?"
	Gerome was caught off guard by the question.
	Nodding in agreement, Cherche added to her husband's thought. "Gerome, if you don't believe you can change fate intentionally, why do you worry about altering it by accident?"
	Gerome shot up, his mask inadequately hiding his flustered anger. "This conversation is over." While he was tempted to call Minerva to his side for a quick escape, he thought it better to leave the mess tent in tact. He stalked out of the tent, his parents staring after him in somber silence.
	The worst part was that he didn't have a reason. He was convinced that he could not change fate, while simultaneously being afraid he might do so. Even through his silence and mask, his parents had seen straight through him, disarming him without a single blow; he would not allow his words to betray him again.
	It is better to stay silent, perhaps.


	Gerome pulled his lance from the fallen brigand in front of him, the man's eyes still agape with shock and fright. The ground was littered with barbarian corpses, their shirtless bodies scarred and bloodied by the combat. Gerome's lance was sullied with their blood; he thrust it into the ground, the grass cleaning it of any stain. Quickly retrieving it, he scanned the surrounding plains for any new foes to dispatch. As far as he could tell, none still stood to oppose them. When he was about to retire from the battlefield, a deafening screech sounded from the forest at the edge of the field. Apparently attracted by the din of the previous skirmish, dozens of Risen streamed from the dark forest, leaving trails of purple cinders behind them. Panicked calls to regroup filled the air as the Shepherds hastily struggled to draw ranks again. Still more Risen poured from the forest. For the first time, Gerome counted wyverns among their ranks, three in total. Contrasting their appearance of animalistic stupidity, the Risen seemed exceptionally organized. The Shepherds' line had finally come together; it rushed forward to meet the enemy. Gerome, being strongest in the sky, targeted the wyvern riders. Nudging Minerva with his heels, they sped off towards the battlefront. Hoping to stay out of sight until the appointed time to strike, Gerome urged her upwards, achieving an uncomfortably high altitude; the clouds served as excellent camouflage, however. After a minute of flying, they found themselves directly over their three wyvern-riding foes.
	"Stop," he commanded Minerva. If wyverns could smile, which Gerome of course believed they could, she grinned from horn to horn when he gave her the order. No matter how old Minerva got, she always found great thrill in free falling through the air. Obediently, she stopped moving her wings and dropped soundlessly towards her prey. Gerome faced his spear downwards as they dropped. Taking the first rider completely unawares, Gerome saw that his lance had completely penetrated both rider and beast, effectively skewering them together. Unable to retrieve his weapon from such a thrust, he let go to escape being pulled down with the now-dead weight. Minerva instinctively began flapping her wings again, howling in triumph at her master's kill. Drawing his axe, Gerome spotted the other two wyvern riders beginning to charge him. Daring not defend against two airborne foes with nothing but a short-axe, he commanded Minerva to dive down towards their allies with all speed. Both of their pursuers followed. The pursuit quickly led to the ground where Gerome called out a command, wyverns hot on his heels.
	"Pull up and turn around!"
	Minerva instantly slanted upwards and whipped around with one smooth motion of her wings, giving Gerome opportunity to strike as his opponents careened towards the ground. As he struck at the enemy wyverns, still helpless in the midst of their dives, he caused them to recoil from his blade. They lost their balance, wavering precariously above the ground. While they were stunned, Minerva dashed between them. Slicing twice, forming an "X" pattern with his axe, Gerome cut down the two Risen. To his surprise, once their riders had fallen, the wyverns seemed to have no interest in violence. The hollow darkness of their eyes suddenly brightened and their pupils turned from bloodshot to white again. Happily, the freed creatures roared and flapped into the distance. Gerome took a moment to watch them go, as did Minerva, before returning to check on the state of the battle. They slowly drifted down to the ground to get a better look. Heaving a sigh of exertion, Gerome scanned the horizon with his narrow vision, impeded by his mask. Near the axis of the battle, his father was locked in combat with a Risen that looked like it had been a Great Knight in a previous life. Lon'qu struck with precision and strength, his body and blade dancing around the heavily armored horseman. His attack was relentless. Though his blade made contact many times, the beast's armor held fast. It struck back with its lance, jabbing downwards at a nigh impossible target. The myrmidon dashed behind the horse, aiming to strike the creature from the rear. As he pulled back his blade to stab, the horse suddenly kicked backwards, its heavy hoof connecting with Lon'qu's chest. He was instantly tossed backwards, his guard down as he struggled to get up.
	"Father!" Gerome shouted and spurred Minerva forward, speeding towards his defenseless kin. "Gods, not today . . . I'll not endure it again!"
	As the Risen sprung forward, lance poised to strike, a flash of blue passed by the horseman and arrived at Lon'qu's side. Gerome shouted helplessly as the lance flashed forward.
	"I'll keep you safe!"
	 There was a grinding clash of metal against metal heard across the battlefield. Gerome searched for the source of the voice amidst the tumult. Crouched over Lon'qu's fallen form was Lucina, her drawn rapier holding back the lance from its target. Having blocked the initial strike, she continued to parry the blows of the Risen as Lon'qu rose slowly, his breath sputtering. With great effort, he rose to his feet and humbly backed away from danger. Gerome could see that Lucina was no better equipped to face a lance-wielder than Lon'qu had been, her rapier lacking the reach to properly attack. He urged Minerva to fly faster. Seeing Gerome's fast approach, Lucina adopted a defensive stance and kept the creature's attention on her, trying to fend it off until he arrived. He and Minerva silently drew into striking distance, making no noise to betray their presence, save for the rhythmic beating of her wings. Approaching from behind, he drew back his axe and swung a heavy blow. The hit connected, knocking the Risen from its horse. Dismounting quickly, Gerome trotted to his fallen foe and dispatched it with one strike to the head. Exhausted both physically and from panic, he took several moments to collect himself. Once he had caught his breath, he turned to Lucina, who was still standing nearby. Though she wore a mask no more in combat, she was still garbed in her outfit that was reminiscent of the Hero King. She smiled as he approached.
	"You have my thanks, Lucina. I would not have made it in time." He dipped his head in respect.
	"I don't deserve your gratitude, Gerome. I count you and your father as friends. Any of us would have done the same." There was a long pause before she turned back towards Lon'qu, who was still breathing heavily and trying not to clutch his chest. "I should check on him."
	Gerome nodded in response and rejoined Minerva. The skirmish was winding to a close and allies swarmed all around. A girl carrying a heavy healing staff ran past, joining Lucina by Lon'qu's side. His father tried to extricate himself away from the two women, but lacked the strength to cry out or recoil. He gritted his teeth and endured as his wounds were attended to.
	Lucina's words rang in Gerome's head as he mounted and flew away.
	Any of us would have done the same.
	He hung his head, as if his mask was not adequate to conceal his shame. He had the chance to do the protect a comrade, an ally, a kinsman . . . and he had not. He had refused to do the same.


	"Lucina? I need to speak with you." Gerome had been restless ever since their battle that afternoon, and he had finally tracked Lucina down, barely recognizing her in the growing darkness.
	"What is it, Gerome?" Her smile was warm as she turned to face him, contrasting the chilly air that surrounded them.
	"It's about those of us who traveled from the future. What is our purpose here?"
	She paused slightly, a hint of confusion showing. "I certainly hope you knew that before you agreed to come with us." Seeing that he was clearly unsatisfied with her answer, she continued. "We all have our reasons, but I am here to avert our future from coming to pass. No one should have to endure what our world has."
	Gerome shook his head. "You yourself have said that time always favors its original course. Take your efforts to save the exalt as an example."
	"That is true. I don't know if I can change the past or the future, but I choose to challenge my fate."
	"Is that why you tried to save my father?"
	She replied without hesitation, smiling. "I helped your father because he was a friend who needed aid, and I was there to furnish it."
	Gerome nodded. "Unless I had seen it with my own eyes, I would still count you a fool for believing that fate is changeable. But I cannot deny what I have seen. I believed that nothing could alter our destiny, and did not bother trying to do so." His eyes fell downcast in remorse and he gritted his teeth. "My father—he asked me to fight with him last battle . . . to watch his back. I refused. If not for you and our journey to this time, he would have died where he lay. Perhaps fate can be averted—at least for a time. You have my thanks."
	"You're most welco—," she began to respond, but was quickly cut off as he continued.
	"However, while saving a life is understandable, that does not explain why you call him a friend," Gerome challenged.
	She eyed him quizzically. "Is he not our friend and comrade?"
	"It matters not what he is to us. This is not our time, Lucina. We have no place here. Why should we build bonds that we will have to break as soon as we are born in this time?"
	She cringed at his words, turning her face away.
	Gerome pressed on, too enveloped in his speech to notice her reaction. "Would you have us steal our own futures away? I expected you, among all of us, to understand that...this world's Lucina has already been born, and the rest of us will soon follow. The closer we become to the people of this time, the harder it will be to pull away...as we must." Gerome finished his rant and turned to face Lucina. To his surprise, her eyes were filled with tears.
	"I—I know. It isn't our place to be here, Gerome." Her lips quivered as she spoke. "But our task is not yet done here. I would like to enjoy their company while we can."
	Though taken aback by such a rare showing of emotion, he cautiously replied. "Surely we can protect them without building relationships and meddling with this time. Every interaction risks changing something. You know this, so why do you insis—"
	Lucina tightly grabbed his hand as he spoke, cutting his words short as he slightly recoiled.
	"The bonds we have in this army are strong, Gerome. Without them, I fear we cannot win this fight. A time may come when we have to break them..." She released his hand and stepped back, her eyes distant. "...but not now." With a tear-stained smile, she briskly walked away into the night before Gerome could collect his thoughts. He was left alone in the bitter cold to brew over his thoughts.


	At the eve of the next battle, Gerome found himself by Lucina's side. He flew to her as they approached the Longfort, the defenders upon the thick walls under heavy duress from Risen attackers. The ice laden air stung any exposed skin, leaving the part of his face that was uncovered by his mask reddened and numb. With a shout from Chrom, the procession was halted and all ears were turned toward the front of the line.
	"Shepherds! Regna Ferox has come to our defense in our time of need before, and now the time has come to return the favor. Let's give these Feroxi soldiers some breathing room!" Chrom reared his horse and lifted Falchion aloft, raising a cry of vigor from the assembled force.
	Gerome gazed down the snow-filled road, the Longfort looming in front of them. Risen forces were piled at its gates; the air was filled with arrows and inhuman roars as the Feroxi border guards beat back their assailants. Several days before, Ferox had called for aid. Their armies were already stretched thin from the conflict with Valm, and now they faced assault from the Risen along their southern border as well.
	Lucina, who had been fixated on the enemy before them, noticed his presence. A faint smile crossed her chapped lips as she spoke.
	"I thought you fought alone. Did you change your mind?"
	"No. I owe you a debt, and I intend to repay it here."
	Lucina sighed, trying not to sound exasperated. "You owe me nothing Gerome—though I won't object to your company. It is reward enough, if you truly insist on such unnecessary payment."
	Though it was impossible to tell because of his cold-reddened cheeks, his face flushed at her words; While embarrassing, they warmed his heart.
	"I will be your shadow in the air. Direct me and Minerva as you will." He bowed his head in fealty. "We will strike down any who dare oppose you."
	 She nodded determinedly, drawing her Falchion from its sheath. "Try to keep up." Charging ahead, she joined the rest of the force in their advance. As he followed her lead, he found himself amongst the main body of the force. The presence of so many soldiers surrounding him, though they were allies, made him uncomfortable. With little room to maneuver, he followed close behind Lucina, hoping she would break away from the rest of the army. As the road opened up into a clearing, the noise of battle grew closer in their ears. Their enemies came into sight at last; the force was composed of several heavily armored generals, a few cavaliers, and a band of archers. For the first time, Gerome saw Risen wielding magic tomes. New enemies had been appearing with every encounter, wielding increasingly deadly weapons. The undead valkyries, mounted on horseback, shot bolts of fire and lightning against the towering wall. As the magic struck the Fort, large chunks of stone and mortar shattered and fell to the ground. The Shepherds sized up their enemy quickly, and sent word to the convoy about which weapons they would need. Within minutes, dozens of Ylissean soldiers arrived bearing spears, hammers, and bows. One such soldier ran up to Gerome, handing him a hammer. He hefted it with one hand, testing its weight. It was surprisingly light for its size, at least to someone with his strength. Once the whole company was properly outfitted, they charged into battle. Despite the snow beneath her boots, Lucina dashed forward with surprising speed. As the two of them pulled ahead of the main force, the soft crunching of snow beneath her feet was all that could be heard amidst the sounds of battle ahead.
	The Risen were unaware of them.
	Before Lucina and Gerome, a pair of generals were heaving lances at the Feroxi defenders. They turned upon hearing Minerva in flight, but it was too late.
	Lucina's sword glowed with blue, fiery moonlight as she approached her target. Before the armor-encumbered foe could react, she had impaled it through the abdomen. It let out a screech, which was suddenly cut off as it crumbled into dust.
	Gerome and the second general's emotionless gazes met. Neither moved for a moment, as Minerva was hovering just out of range. Gerome grunted in contempt and raised his weapon.
	 "This is farewell!"
	Minerva dove, shooting forward at a dizzying pace. Gerome's hammer fell. Making contact with the helmet of the Risen, the hammer evoked a sickening noise as armor crunched and folded beneath its mighty blow. Seconds later, no trace of his foe remained, a heap of blackened snow and several footprints being the only evidence to its existence.
	Gerome scanned his surroundings, trying to gauge the battlefield with his limited vision. He wished he could simply rip off his mask, but he quickly pushed away the thought. No longer distracted by combat, he suddenly realized that Lucina was no longer at his side. Looking around, he saw her engaged with a swordmaster a dozen yards away. She was no doubt holding her own, but the scuffle had attracted the attention of several nearby Valkyries. Gerome could see their tomes glowing as they chanted broken words; spectral words began to hover around them as they prepared their magic.
	"Minerva! It's time to repay our debt."
	She dove towards Lucina without any further prompting.
	Gerome didn't bother calling out a warning—there was no time for that. As the reached Lucina, a crackling bolt of thunder was already in midair. Leaping from Minerva's back, he kicked her away to safety, prompting a roar of despair as she attempted to right herself and return to her master. Gerome fell in-between Lucina and the bolt. He raised his hammer, though he doubted it would absorb much of the attack, and braced himself.
	Electricity coursed through his body, paralyzing him with shock and pain. He fell into the snow, his onyx armor sizzling against the cold surface of the ground. As his vision faded in and out, he saw Lucina's lips form his name, though he heard nothing. With renewed vigor, she sliced off the sword hand of her opponent and ran him through. Not bothering to make sure her foe was dead, she dashed towards him and slid to her knees by his side.
	His hearing slowly began to return, and he winced as his ears began ringing violently. Lucina was still mouthing his name as she leaned above him; it sounded far away as she repeated it. He vaguely felt her grab his shoulders, trying to shake him, but she quickly recoiled as his armor singed her hands. Too exhausted to keep his head up, it fell to the side into the snow. A distant roar echoed in his ears as he perceived Minerva charging his attackers, ignoring the bolts that whizzed by her as she ripped them apart.
	His lips parted as the world began to fade.
	"My debt...is repaid." He coughed and sputtered. "You have to live...You have to change things. Don't let my parents join me...this time..."
	With that, his senses faded. The last thing he heard was a promise.
	"I will, Gerome. I'll change fate for you...for us all."