Chapter Text
Fire Emblem Awakening: Destiny's Vessel
Premonition - Invisible Ties
The Dragon's Table: Plegia
The air itself seemed to weep.
Robin stood upon a precipice of blackened stone, the Dragon's Table stretching out before him like the ribcage of some long-dead beast. The sky above was the color of a bruise, deep purples and sickly greens all bleeding into one another, lit from within by pulses of violet lightning that never quite reached the ground. The wind carried the scent of ozone and something else, something older and fouler, like the breath of a tomb that had been sealed for centuries.
Below, the battlefield sprawled in chaos. Armies clashed in a frenzy of steel and spellfire, their cries swallowed by the howling gale. Standards bearing unfamiliar emblems lay trampled in the mud. Bodies dotted the field like fallen leaves after the first frost. And at the center of it all, Robin stood with a sword in one hand and a tome in the other, trying desperately to remember how he had come to be here.
"This is it, Robin! Our final battle!"
The voice cut through the fog of his thoughts—clear, resolute, familiar in a way that made his chest ache with longing for a memory he could not grasp. Robin turned his head, the motion slow and laborious, as though his body was moving through honey. A man stood beside him, young and tall, with hair the color of a dark summer sky and eyes that burned with unshakable determination. He wore a long white and blue cape that whipped violently in the gale, and in his hand, he carried a sword of exquisite craftsmanship, the blade gleaming with an otherworldly light.
"You're one of us, no matter what others or even fate itself may say!"
Oh, my head.
The white-haired man thought this to himself, barely registering the other who was speaking to him. He heard the words, and only just processed them barely through his semi-working mind.
Is he talking to me? He called me Robin. I suppose that's my name.
He had no idea who this blue-haired swordsman was, or where he was. As far as he was concerned, he had only a name and a vague idea of who he was, and absolutely no clue as to why the scene before him looked like it was playing out the end of the world.
The battlefield stretched on, endless and terrible. But it was not the armies below that drew Robin's gaze. It was the darkness gathering at the far end of the plateau, a swirling vortex of shadow and malice that pulsed like a living heart. Within that darkness, a figure stood. Tall. Imposing. Wreathed in energies that crackled and hissed with malevolent intelligence.
"Fools!"
The voice was deep and condescending, dripping with centuries of contempt. It echoed off the stones and seemed to come from everywhere at once, reverberating in Robin's skull like a warning bell. The figure stepped forward, and Robin could see him more clearly now. He was a man in dark robes, his face obscured by a hood, and his hands crackling with purple-black energy that seemed to drink the light from the air around it.
"You cannot turn back the tide of destiny and what's fated to happen! The Fell Dragon Grima will return, and you can't do anything to stop it!"
Robin felt a chill run down his spine at the name. Grima. The word conjured images he could not quite see: flashes of fire, the sounds of screaming, and the sight of a shadow so vast it blotted out the sun. He did not know why the name filled him with such dread. He did not know much of anything, it seemed.
"We'll see about that!"
His companion's voice rang out defiantly as he pointed his rather elaborate-looking sword at the spellcaster. The blue-haired man's stance was wide, confident and the stance of someone who had faced impossible odds before and refused to yield. "Robin, let's do this!"
And then he charged forward, sword drawn high in a stance ready for battle.
Robin found that, in his left hand, he was carrying a thick tome. The leather binding was cracked with age, and strange symbols adorned the cover. The glyphs printed upon it seemed to shift and writhe when he looked at them directly.
A magical book.
He could feel the power thrumming within its pages, a current of raw energy waiting to be shaped and unleashed. He knew magic? The thought felt strange, foreign, and yet his fingers held the book with the easy familiarity of long practice.
Even more strangely, a sword that had a jagged blade and crackled with electricity was currently being held in his right hand. The weapon hummed with barely contained energy, and Robin could feel the static charge raising the hairs on his arm. He knew how to fight with a sword? His grip was steady, his stance balanced. More and more questions began piling up as Robin took in his current situation.
Who am I? Where am I? How did I get here?
There was no time to find answers. The dark mage was already preparing another spell, and the warrior besides him was already halfway across the battlefield.
Suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, Robin began sprinting as well, following his companion. His legs moved of their own accord, carrying him forward with a speed and grace that surprised him. And as he ran, energy began forming around his left hand. Sparks of brilliant blue-white lightning danced across his fingers like eager hounds waiting to be unleashed. It channeled through the rest of his body, coursing along his veins, and then shot out in a conducted beam of lightning out of the end of his sword.
The bolt screamed through the air, a lance of pure electrical fury aimed directly at the dark mage's chest.
But the spellcaster simply vanished with a puff of dark purple smoke, his mocking cackle echoing off the stone walls. The lightning that Robin had sent at him struck the walls opposite and created a mighty earth-shattering boom, bringing the rocks crashing down in a cascade of dust and debris.
"Where—" Robin started, but the words died in his throat.
The dark mage rematerialized behind them.
Almost as if he had been totally unprompted, Robin still shouted, "Chrom, look out!"
The warning came just in time. The warrior spun on his heel, bringing his sword up in a desperate parry as a blade of pure darkness descended toward his skull. The sound of high-pitched ringing steel echoed through the chamber as the blade caught the strike, holding it at bay by mere inches.
So that was the blue-haired swordsman's name. Chrom.
Once again, Robin had no idea how or why he knew this. The knowledge was simply there, as though it had always been there, buried beneath layers of forgotten memory. He pushed the thought aside. There would be time for questions later provided of course, that they survived the next few minutes.
Chrom struck out with his weapon, attempting to catch their opponent off guard with a swift counterattack. His blade traced a gleaming arc through the air, aimed at the dark mage's exposed torso.
The dark mage simply laughed again and produced, out of thin air, an ethereal sword which had the same dark aura pulsating around the blade. The weapon was not solid, not truly—it was a construct of shadow and malice, forged from the same energy that crackled around its wielder. But it was no less deadly for its intangibility.
This time, Robin jumped forward with the sword, swinging it in a murderous arc. The jagged blade hissed through the air, trailing sparks of lightning in its wake. But the dark mage simply parried the blow and returned the favor with his own rapid slash, the ethereal sword cutting a dark swath through the air.
Robin blocked the sword and, as he did so, brought his arm back to deliver a swift counterattack. His weapon, crackling with that same electricity, screeched through the slightly glowing blade of his adversary. The sound was like nails on glass, high and terrible, and then Robin's sword found its mark.
He scored a major cut on the other man's arm.
The dark mage hissed angrily, a sound of pure, animal fury. He stumbled back, clutching the wound, and Robin saw dark blood seeping between his fingers. The injury was not fatal, but it was enough. Enough to wound the man's pride, if nothing else.
The spellcaster growled and struck out again at Robin, angered by the superficial wound he had caused him. The ethereal sword came down in a brutal overhead chop, aimed at Robin's head. But the white-haired man brought his sword up to block the path of the former's weapon, catching the shadow-blade with a shower of sparks.
For a moment, they were locked together, sword against sword, strength against strength. Robin could see the dark mage's face clearly now, could see the hatred burning in his eyes, the barely contained rage that simmered beneath the surface.
Then, out of patience, the dark mage simply jumped back. The ethereal sword vanished out of his hand, dissolving into wisps of shadow that were carried away on the wind. Instead, he pulled out his own dark tome. This book was bound in what looked to be human skin, covered in symbols that seemed to writhe and twist like living things.
He began sending bolts of energy streaking towards Robin and Chrom, hoping to overwhelm them with the sheer number of dark projectiles soaring through the air. The orbs of shadow hissed and screamed as they flew, each one trailing a tail of purple-black smoke, and letting out a ghastly wail as they passed.
Chrom ducked one, blocked another, and rolled out of the way of a third. His movements were fluid, and practiced, clearly the motions of a man who had spent his entire life learning to fight. He began running towards the dark mage again, his cape streaming behind him like a banner of defiance.
"Robin now!"
Now... what?
But that question would be answered almost immediately.
His body moved before his mind could catch up. He sheathed his sword in a single, fluid motion and felt the energy from the book in his hand coursing over his entire body. It was like being submerged in lightning, every nerve ending on fire, every muscle screaming with power. It felt like he really was becoming the lightning itself.
Then, with an enormous shout, he shot the biggest beam of lightning that he had conducted so far.
Not at their foe, however.
At Chrom.
Robin's heart seized in his chest. A wave of pure, unadulterated panic washed over him. What was he doing? He was going to kill this man who at least seemed to be his friend. He had so many questions to ask—so many answers he needed—and he would be responsible for the death of the only man who could possibly provide them.
And in addition, he would be stuck with a very angry dark mage to still deal with as well.
But this panic subsided as he saw the beam of lightning shoot straight into Chrom's sword. The blade began to glow and crackle from the overload of energy that Robin had just shot into it. It was not a killing blow but a gift. A transference of power and a sharing of strength.
Chrom advanced with a loud battle cry, a flame in his eyes that even made their enemy startle a little.
The dark mage began to desperately shoot more orbs of dark energy, hoping to stop Chrom's relentless charge. The blue-haired swordsman still did get hit by a couple of these, flinching as the shadow-bolts struck his armor and seared his flesh. But he pressed on regardless, his face a mask of grim determination.
Finally, when he was within striking distance of the dark mage, he let out a final yell of exertion that seemed to resonate all of his strength. The cry was not just a sound but a declaration. More than anything it was a refusal to yield, and a testament to everything he stood for.
He slashed mightily at the other man.
There was a flash. A huge crackle of lightning sounded out through the whole arena of combat as jagged bolts danced throughout the air out of Chrom's sword. The energy from within lit up all the veins within the dark mage like so many branches of a tree and he let out a terrible scream, his body convulsing as the electricity ravaged him from within.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
His cry echoed off the stone walls, bouncing back and forth, and then his body disintegrated and shattered with light. Fragments of shadow scattered to the wind, dissolving into nothingness. The darkness that had surrounded him faded, and the air grew still.
The battle was over.
Robin slumped to the floor. Exhaustion washed over him like a tide, dragging him down into darkness. The energy he had used to transfer all of that power into Chrom's sword had taken everything from him. Every ounce of his strength, and every scrap of will. His limbs felt like lead and likewise, his vision also seemed to swim at the edges.
He heard the sound of boots ringing on hard stone ground and saw worried blue eyes looking into his own. Chrom was kneeling beside him, his face etched with concern. The sword that had just felled their enemy was now sheathed at his hip, and his hands reached out to grip Robin's shoulders.
Chrom lifted Robin to his feet with surprising gentleness, supporting his weight when the latter's legs threatened to buckle beneath him.
"By the gods, Robin, but that was close! Looks like we've won the day. We can rest easy now."
Robin tried to thank the man for his assistance. He tried to fire off a torrent of questions, to demand answers about who he was and where they were and how he had come to be here. He opened his mouth, drew breath, and—
Nothing.
His throat seized. His tongue refused to move. The words that had been so desperate to escape were trapped behind a wall of silence, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not force them past his lips.
Why can't I talk?
Robin thought desperately, and again, he tried to force something, anything, out of his mouth. He had just fought this life-or-death battle with an extremely powerful spellcaster alongside a man who was obviously his friend, but he had no memory of who he was supposed to be. Now, when he needed answers most, his voice had abandoned him.
Then Robin froze.
His vision began to blur. The edges of his sight turned red, as though he was looking through a lens of blood. And then came the pain. A headache so intense suddenly pierced through his skull and he wanted to just scream in agony. It was not like any pain he had ever known. This was something deeper, something primal. It felt like his mind was tearing itself apart, like something was clawing its way out from the depths of his consciousness.
But as before, no sound left his lips.
"Hey."
Chrom's voice sounded from what seemed like a long way away, muffled and distant, as though filtered through water.
"Hey, are you alright? Listen to me, you're going to be alri—"
A strangled cry escaped from Chrom.
His eyes widened suddenly in both shock and pain. His body went rigid, every muscle locking in place, and his mouth fell open in a silent scream.
Robin looked down at his hands.
More of that electricity was crackling around them—not the controlled, purposeful energy he had wielded moments ago, but something wilder. Something darker. The sparks were not the brilliant blue-white of before. They were red. Crimson. The color of fresh-spilled blood.
And only a short ways away from his hand, a jagged bolt of lightning struck straight through Chrom's chest.
NO!
Robin thought desperately. I didn't mean to! How did I?—
He tried to pull back. He tried to stop the energy, to contain it, to do anything to reverse what he had just done. But his body was no longer his to command. The power flowed through him like a river in flood, unstoppable and uncaring.
Despite this, however, Chrom simply looked at Robin not with blame in his eyes or condemnation, but understanding. The blue-haired swordsman's gaze was steady, unwavering, even as the light began to fade from his eyes. He looked at Robin the way a brother might look at a brother, with a love that transcended circumstance.
"This… This wasn't your fault… Promise me… Promise me you'll escape…"
And with the last of his energy spent forgiving the actions of his friend, he collapsed. Dead.
The body hit the ground with a sound that Robin knew he would never forget. A dull, heavy thud that despite the terrible din of the raging battle still going on behind him, he knew that this would echo in his soul forever
"NOOO!"
This time, a terrible scream of regret did escape from Robin's lips. He collapsed to his knees next to Chrom's limp body, his hands reaching out but unable to touch, unable to do anything but mourn. The red lightning had vanished, but the damage was done. The man who had called him friend, who had trusted him, who had believed in him, lay dead by his hand.
Why?
Robin thought to himself desperately. Why do I feel like this? I barely know who this man is, and I feel like I've just betrayed my own brother!
The grief was overwhelming. It clawed at his chest, tore at his heart, left him gasping for air. He had known Chrom for mere minutes, and yet the bond between them felt older than time itself. Felt like something that had been forged in the fires of a thousand battles, tempered by a thousand shared victories.
Who are you?
He wanted to ask. Who am I? How do I know you? Why does this hurt so much?
But Chrom could not answer.
Suddenly, that same deep resonating cackle from before sounded. Not just from one area, but from all around him. That laughter rang out, filling every corner of the Dragon's Table, echoing off the stone walls and the shattered pillars. Mocking. Cruel. Showing absolutely no mercy or sympathy for what had just happened.
Robin tried to cover his ears, hoping to any gods which might exist in the world that the laughter could just simply stop. His hands pressed against the sides of his head, desperate to shut out the sound. But as if to mock his efforts, it simply grew louder and more hysterical in turn, and he could actually feel it shaking him to the core, the vibrations seemed to run through his bones and rattled his teeth.
Soon, Robin fell onto the floor, desperately trying to escape this feeling. Terrifyingly, he could now feel his own body perpetuating that laughter. The sound echoed all around him and now also from his own mouth, completely out of his control. He curled into a ball, his hands still clamped over his ears, his eyes squeezed shut. He just wanted it to stop. He didn't care if he died here and now. Anything to escape from that awful sound.
And then, a voice somehow clear enough to penetrate that horrible laughter spoke. Not from anywhere in the room, but in Robin's mind. The voice was chilling and terrifying, cold as the deepest winter, ancient as the oldest grave. But what was worse was the words it said.
"It has been completed. You've played your part, now I will return and wreak death and destruction upon the world!"
A second chorus of evil laughter began to sound out as well but this one was deeper, and more resonant. Almost as though it came from the throat of something far larger than a man. Robin screamed in agony from all of this. It was too much for him to handle. His mind was fracturing, splintering under the weight of the laughter and the voice and the horrible, horrible truth that he had somehow been used to fulfil a terrible plan.
Then he heard what sounded like a dragon's roar, but not a majestic sounding one. This sounded like something from the very depths of hell itself. This was a sound that spoke of hunger, of malice, of an eternity of destruction.
Then he saw a horrific face and glowing red eyes.
Then…