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Chapter Text

Jill- Age 11

"Jill, are you even listening to me?" 

Jill blinked several times, turning to her governess. Lady Morgaine waited patiently, but eventually Jill shook her head. 

Morgaine sighed and sat forward, pulling a needle from Jill's hand. "You made a mistake. Take a look." Morgaine busied herself rethreading the needle as Jill inspected her embroidery. 

It looked... a mess. 

"Oh." 

"Oh is right. His Grace goes through a lot of trouble to ensure you have a proper lady's education. We don't want to waste nor scorn his efforts, do we?" 

"No, Lady Morgaine." 

"Hrmm." Morgaine handed her the needle back. "Do you know how to fix it?" 

Jill's eyes darted all along her work. "I think so..." she set the pin beneath the thread and started to pull it out. She felt the sharp, watchful eyes upon her, and determined not to mess up again, she set her focus harder to her task. 

When she was done, she held up the hoop with her design and handed it to Morgaine, who inspected it thoroughly. 

And smiled. 

"Well done, Jill. You've a knack for this, when you pay attention." 

Jill blushed and took the hoop back just in time for the door to swing open. 

"Morgaine! Have you seen Joshu--" 

Her Grace, Anabella Rosfield stopped in her tracks and glared at Jill. 

Ice tingled down her spine, and Jill instinctively backed up towards Morgaine. 

"Is this time for your lessons?" Anabella asked coldly. Jill could only nod. "Give me that. Let me see it." Without waiting, Anabella snatched the hoop from the girl's hands and held it towards the light. She looked it over for a moment before tossing it back to Jill in disgust. "It's mediocre. How do you expect me to find you a decent match if you can't even manage to embroider something as ridiculous as that? How are your music lessons?" 

"F-fine, Your Grace." 

"Just 'fine'? Then I want you to spend more time practicing. You should at least be able to act the part of a proper lady, even if you don't look it. I suppose there's nothing we can do for that ghastly hair or your washed out eyes, but we can at the very least equip you with some skills before we get rid of you." She turned to Morgaine. "See that it's done. I don't care how long you two work at it. She needs to be better than this. We need some proof that she's not just a savage." 

Jill winced at the word. It was a sharp reminder that she didn't belong here. She was an outsider whose only role in this grand duchy was to keep the peace between two nations. She would never belong. 

"Yes, Your Grace." 

"Now, have you seen Joshua? He is not in his rooms." 

"I have not. I've been with Lady Jill today." 

Anabella scoffed. "You're to watch my child first. Go find him and bring him to me. I'll be in the sunroom." 

"Yes, Your Grace." 

Jill and Morgaine bowed as Anabella left the room, and Morgaine ran a hand through Jill's hair. "Don't let her words get to you, but we will have to be seen doing more soon. Perhaps dancing lessons shall be next. But for now, go on, play. You've earned it." 

"Thank you," Jill said, breathless from the encounter as she hurried from the room. 

Her feet carried her through the familiar halls of Rosalith Castle, making her way towards the courtyard. She nearly crashed into two hallboys as she hurried to feel the breath of the wind on her face. She let her arms out at her sides, and it felt like she was flying, especially when the blue of the sky hit her eyes and she made it into the courtyard where the clangs of wooden swords was as calming to her as the soft caress of the sea breeze she'd once felt in the Northern Territories, her only fond memories of home that still remained with her. She was far too young when she was given to His Grace, Lord Elwin Rosfield as a ward to remember much else. 

Following the shouts of adrenaline-fueled fighting, she found the soldiers practicing and threw herself onto the fence to watch, her arms and her embroidered hoop dangling over the rail.  

"Watch yourself, Clive!" Lord Rodney Murdoch shouted as he swung his sword down at the young boy. Jill watched with wide, excited eyes as Clive dodged out of the way and landed a hit to the back of Murdoch's jerkin with a confident smile. She'd heard the soldiers gossip that he was far advanced for a fourteen year old, excelling with his blessing from the Phoenix, and taking his future as Chosen First Shield of Rosaria far too seriously for one his age. She'd even heard His Grace mention that he'd wished Clive would play more, as children should, but he was far too devoted. 

Jill turned towards the hay bales and saw Joshua watching his brother with the same giddy smile Jill wore. She tore off around the fence to join him, gasping in delight when she noticed the small bundle of puppy fur in his arms. "Torgal!" 

"Hi Jill!" Joshua said with a smile. "Clive's doing great." 

Jill set her hoop down and pulled Torgal into her arms for kisses between his ears. "He always does." 

"True." 

Torgal's tail thumped rapidly against Jill's hand. "Her Grace and Lady Morgaine are both looking for you, you know." Jill sat in the hay beside the young heir to the duchy. 

"Mother was supposed to take me to the physicker today, so I decided to hide." 

Jill played with Torgal's ears. "You're going to get Lady Morgaine in trouble. You should get it over with."  

Joshua sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. "You're right. I'll go when Clive's done." 

Jill turned her attention to the mock fight, Clive circling the Lord Commander, wiping sweat off his brow. 

"Tired already, My Lord? No monster will give you reprieve on the battlefield, so why should I give you one now?" 

Clive swung his sword around in his hand and returned to the fight. 

Jill giggled as she watched him. 

She'd sat with him for hours as he tried to learn to spin his sword around. He'd said he wanted to be able to intimidate his foes, but his insistence on asking if he looked fierce enough had her giggling the entire time as he dropped it time and time again until he'd mastered it so perfectly, it became second nature. 

But she knew Clive well. If he was doing that, she knew why he was struggling in this fight. 

Clive preferred larger weapons, ones that had too much weight to spin gracefully as he idled. So she leaned forward onto Torgal and watched more carefully. It was his footwork that was different. 

He was always graceful; raised a marquess, Clive never lacked for the best education, the finest tutors, and the most renown swordsmasters. He'd been trained as diligently in politics and warfare as she had in needlework and piano. Of course, they'd both been taught to dance, to mingle, to meld in with other nobles and learn the language of politics, but in other fields, they were so unalike. 

Still, he was her closest friend, and she'd never found a lack of things to talk about with him. 

He didn't appear to be struggling, but Jill knew better. He stumbled once too often for him, unprepared for his sword not to bear the brunt of the hit as his usual one would. He threw too much weight into his swings. She was used to seeing him far steadier. And that's how he ended up on the ground. 

"We'll end here for today, My Lord," Murdoch said, pulling him up. "You are proficient with your weapon, but what would you do should it be knocked from your hands in a fight? You cannot be skilled at only one thing if you wish to be First Shield. Master of one, expert of all." 

"You're right," Clive said, brushing himself off before setting the sword down. "I will see to it that I learn." 

Joshua jumped off the haybale and ran for Clive, shouting excitedly. Jill tried to keep a hold of Torgal once he started to bark, but he slipped from her grasp and joined Joshua beside Clive. 

Jill watched from the distance, wanting to give Joshua time with Clive before he would leave for the physicker, and it was only once Clive gave him an affectionate hair ruffle and headed her way that she finally felt like everything from the morning was over and she could breathe again. 

He threw himself into Joshua's spot. "What did you think?" 

"Your footwork is sloppy." 

Clive chuckled. "You noticed, huh?" 

"It was barely noticeable. It was only because I spent so much time watching you the other day." 

Clive shot her a smile before his eyes landed on the hoop beside her. "What's that? A tambourine?" 

Jill slid it further behind her. "No. It's nothing. It came out poorly." 

"What is it, though?" 

"Embroidery." 

"Can I see?" 

She shook her head. 

"Why not?" 

"As I just said, it's bad." 

"I'm sure that's not true, Jill." He gave her a face before slowly reaching his hand around her front. She let him, biting her lip nervously. 

"It was meant to be a gift, but it looks awful." 

"Who for?" he asked, looking at it. His eyes lit up. "It's Torgal! You made this? You made Torgal perfectly!" 

"It was for... you. But it's so bad, Clive. Let me fix it first!" 

"No!" Clive said, snatching the hoop away from her. "I love it! There's nothing to fix!" 

"Clive!" 

"I'm not lying! Just like you weren't lying about my footwork!" 

Jill crossed her arms. "Your mother said it was ridiculous, and I wanted to give you something perfect."

"Since when do we listen to my mother?" he scoffed, turning it over in his hands. "I'll have to make you something, too. I can't do any of this, but I'll think of something." 

"You don't have to."

Clive smiled at her. "I want to!" 

Blushing, Jill nodded to his feet. "Only after you fix your feet. You think you're going to be First Shield of Rosaria with sloppy footwork?" She beamed, her joking tone coming through in the way she couldn't bear to do anything but smile as she spoke. 

"Yes, My Lady, you're absolutely correct" Clive said with a bow, offering her his hand. She took it and hopped off the hay bale. He led her into the training yard and handed her one of the wooden swords. "Care to be my opponent to practice?"

Jill grabbed the blade with both hands, bending her knees like she were ready to swing at a ball coming her way. "Ready!" 

"Alright, come at me, Jill!" 

Jill... had no fighting experience. She was to be a proper lady, and ladies didn't fight. But this wasn't her first time helping Clive. In fact, he let her help him train as often as possible, though she knew he was getting little to nothing out of his time with her. But she ran at him with determination set on her brow and swung the sword as hard as she could, knowing he'd dodge it. He did, and she stumbled past him, feeling his hand catch her arm and pull her back. She turned and slammed the sword down, which he also blocked with a showy cocked eyebrow, taunting her. 

She lunged, he moved. She sliced, he blocked. She tried to slam the wooden sword downwards, but he stopped it, knocked it from her hands, and then trapped her between him and his weapon, pressing the wood to her throat. 

"You suck, Jill." 

She huffed out a laugh and leaned backwards into him, throwing her head back onto his shoulder. "I'm tired. How are you not?" 

Clive chuckled in her ear, letting her rest on him. "Because I train for this." 

"How badly did I do?" 

"Do you want the gentleman's answer, or the truth?" 

She stood straight and glared at him. "What did I do so wrong?" 

"Take your stance again." he said, setting his sword aside. She went back into her two handed crouch and watched him smile. "Alright, first off, one hand." He tapped her left hand and she dropped it. Second, you're using your arms too much. You'll tire. You want the swings to come from your whole body." He grabbed her shoulders and her hand and guided her through a lunge, urging her forward. He tapped her foot forward, and she started to giggle before trying it again on her own. "Better." 

"Truly?" 

His smile was soft as he looked at her. "Truly." 

"Clive Rosfield!" Jill's spine snapped straight at the voice, and she instinctively dropped the wooden sword. Clive moved in front of her as Anabella rushed towards them. Her eyes were fiery on the wooden weapon. "What were you just doing?" 

"We were just playing, Mother." 

Jill winced as the harsh sound of a palm connecting with skin resounded through the training yard. Clive reached behind him and grabbed Jill as he recovered silently and waited for his mother to elaborate. 

Torgal bounded out in front of them, growling as protectively as his little body could muster. 

Anabella glanced at Torgal. "Get that filthy mutt out of here! Clive, if you put a weapon in that girl's hand, she'll turn on us all. She's from that savage warlord province; put nothing past her. She'll grow up to be a killer." 

Clive scoffed. "It's just Jill." 

It earned him another hard slap. 

Anabella's sharp eyes turned to Jill as Torgal barked. "Come out here, you little coward." Jill stepped out from behind Clive with begrudging shuffling steps. "If I ever catch you wielding a weapon again, you won't have hands to use it, is that understood?" 

"Yes, Your Grace." 

Anabella shook her head in frustration and stormed back inside where they could see Joshua waiting for her.

When she'd gone, Clive turned to Jill. "I'm sorry. You know she won't really hurt you. My father won't let her. I won't let her." 

"I'm sorry you got hurt for me, Clive." Jill reached down to grab the sword to put away, but her hand hovered hesitantly over it. 

"Don't worry," Clive said, grabbing it for her. "I'm just sorry she's so cruel to you." 

"Don't worry," Jill repeated, pushing her hair back, grabbing Torgal instead, nuzzling her face comfortingly into his fur. The words rang true for Jill, words she'd lived by since the day she left home, words she repeated every time she felt alone, words she trusted when she had to hear the insults regarding her birth: "I can bear it." 

Chapter Text

Clive- Age 15

"Happy birthday, Clive," Joshua all but screamed. 

Clive sat up quickly, catching his brother as he launched himself into Clive's arms. 

"Happy birthday," Jill said, much calmer as she walked into the room and sat on the edge of his bed. 

And Torgal ran as well, though his small legs struggled to get himself up top the blankets. Jill gave him a boost, and Torgal launched for Clive, licking his face with excited yelps. 

"Alright, boy, alright, let me wake up first," he said, pushing Torgal down and rubbing his belly to satisfy him. "Thank you both." 

"Of course!" Joshua said, throwing himself down on the pillow beside his brother. "Today's going to be such a fun day! Jill and I are going to--" 

"Joshua!" Jill chided. "Don't ruin it!" 

"Right, sorry!" He turned back to Clive. "We're not planning anything." 

Jill rolled her eyes and held her hand out for Joshua to take. "We wanted to be the first to say it. But we have some things to prepare, right Joshua?" 

"Mhmm!" 

"Happy birthday, Clive. We'll see you in a bit," Jill said with a wave, summoning Torgal to follow her with a double quick kiss to the air. He liked the sound, and hopped off the bed, running after them. 

Clive ran his hands over his face. Fifteen. It felt like he was a lifetime older. The impending weight of the tournament to become Joshua's shield, the training to get to the same level as the older men, the expectations that were placed on his shoulder as a royal son, despite not being heir. Yes, Clive felt older than fifteen today. 

"My Lord? Are you ready to dress?" a valet asked at the door. 

"Yes. Thank you." 

"Happiest of birthdays, My Lord." 

Clive smiled. "Thank you." 

Once he'd changed and the valet began making his bed, Clive grabbed something off his desk and shoved it into his rucksack before heading outside. He made it into the main hall before a strong arm was wrapped around his neck, pulling him backwards with a happy laugh. 

"Clive, my boy! Can I still call you that?" 

"Uncle Byron!" Clive laughed, trying to keep his balance. "When did you get here?" 

"Last night! Couldn't miss this week, could I? You've got quite a busy one, eh? Nervous for the tournament?" 

"No," Clive lied, and Byron ruffled his hair. Clive sighed. "Alright, a little." 

"You'll be alright. Don't you worry!" 

"I have to train today. I know everyone will tell me no, but I have to." 

"That's admirable, Clive, but even the best knight must rest." 

"The best knight must train. And apparently Joshua and Jill have something for me later, so I must train now." 

Clive took a step, but Byron grabbed his arm and spun him around. "You're going the wrong way. Don't you want to know what I got you for your birthday?" 

Clive's brow went up. "I didn't presume you got me anything." 

"Your mother tried to stop me, but she should know... I can never be stopped." 

Chuckling, Clive followed Byron out the back towards the stables before his uncle stood aside and gestured to a large, majestic, white chocobo. "She's all yours, Clive." 

Clive's eyes bugged out, and he ran for the chocobo, running his hand along her neck excitedly. "Are you serious, Uncle? Truly? This is for me?" 

"Only if you give her a name." 

Fingers flowed through the soft feathers, up and down as she watched him, squacking happily. 

"Ambrosia." 

"Ambrosia? You're sure? She won't like you changing it on her." 

"I'm sure." Clive smiled up at the bird. "Hello, Ambrosia. You're a good girl, aren't you?" 

"Take her out for a ride!" Byron laughed eagerly, far too excited by his own gift. 

"Can I?" 

"She's yours." 

Hastily, Clive hoisted himself up onto the majestic bird, long acquainted and skilled in the art of riding, but never with a mount of his own. "Ride, Ambrosia!" 

The chocobo squawked and took off, running like the wind was beneath her feet. Clive whooped, wind brushing through his hair, trying to adjust his eyes to the sting of dirt and the cool of the air. 

The pitter patter of claws against the cobblestone paths and the dirt roads made Clive smile, throwing his head back and closing his eyes to take it all in. This was his. 

Casting a glance over his shoulder, he could see not only his uncle, dressed in his usual blues, but the bright reds of Rosario beside him, and Clive turned the chocobo around and headed back, eager to greet his father.

Hastily dismounting, he jumped off Ambrosia and beamed. "Father, did you know?" 

"I did. Do you like her?" 

"I love her!" 

"I did not know," a new voice joined. Clive swallowed as he saw his mother striding towards them. "What is this beast doing here?" 

Byron laughed, moving subtly closer to Clive. "Now, Anabella, is that anything to call your favorite brother by law?" 

"I gave permission for Byron to bring the creature," Elwin said, crossing his arms. "For Clive's birthday." 

Anabella's eyes widened marginally, but she hid her surprise well, unlike Clive, who's shoulders sagged and head dropped slightly. Byron gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. 

"What if he falls off while being as foolish as he was just now and dies? Joshua would not have a shield." 

"I didn't realize you had such faith in the boy winning the tournament." 

"I ride well, Mother," Clive tried. "I won't fall, not even if I'm swung at in battle." 

"That's such a childish thing to say. And to think you're fourteen summers!" 

"Fifteen summers," Byron muttered. 

"He's well-trained, Anabella," Elwin insisted. "Trained in riding, and trained in swordplay. Clive and Joshua will be fine." 

"Forget it," she hissed, looking around. "Where is Joshua anyway?" 

"I don't know." 

Her gaze fixed on Clive, and he shrugged. 

"Is that how you will be when you are his shield? Unawares of where your brother is?" 

Elwin "Joshua's shield, Anabella, not his keeper." 

"Does it matter? If he can't find his brother, he cannot keep him safe." 

"I'll help you find--" Elwin began.

But Byron grabbed his arm and pushed his brother aside. "I'll help you, Anabella. Elwin has a gift of his own for Clive, so I'll accompany you." 

She scoffed fiercely, and Byron only smiled wider. He turned back to Clive and Elwin and winked before following the storming footsteps of the duchess. 

Elwin clasped Clive's shoulder. "Your uncle isn't wrong. Come with me, Clive. I do have something for you." 

Gesturing to the stablehands to take Ambrosia, Elwin led them back inside to the main hall, where he pulled a long sword from behind the throne. “I had this made for you. Murdoch helped me figure out your preferred weight and balance. A ruby sits at the center as a warden of fire. I thought perhaps you might like to use it in the tournament, or if not, we could christen it in a hunt for orcs or goblins next week. Both have been coming far too close to the capital, so you’d be doing us all a favor.” He finally held it out. “Take it. It’s yours.” 

Clive reached out tentatively, examining the blade. It was perfection in his hands, an extension of his own arm. The weight was balanced to just his liking, the movement swift through the air. It was utter perfection. 

Placing it down gently, he grabbed his father tightly. "Thank you." 

"Of course, Clive. You deserve it. Now, go see if Rodney will train you with it. I'll be down to the training yard in a bit." 

"Yes, Father. This is... an honor." 

"You are my son. The honor is all mine, Clive. Now go on."

Clive nodded and hurried outside to where Lord Commander Murdoch waited for him with a smile. "His Grace gave you your gift?" 

"Yes! It's incredible. And I heard you helped him. Thank you!" 

“You deserve it. But only if you train. We don’t have any lazy Shields of Rosaria!” 

“I’ll train today, if you’ll have me!” 

Murdoch hesitated. “Don’t His Grace and Lady Jill have something for you?” 

“They’re setting it up… whatever it is.” 

And so, Murdoch ran Clive through several rounds of drills with his new sword before Jill ran out to him. 

“Is it time, Lady Jill?” Murdoch asked eagerly.

“No. Her Grace found Joshua and has requested him. I was sent away.” Jill’s face was sullen as she leaned over the fence. “But what have you there, Clive?” 

“It’s new. Father got it for me,” he said, hurrying over to show her. He held it in his hands, knowing her hesitation to touch weapons still lingered even still. 

She ran a finger over the red gem before letting her hand drop. “It’s beautiful.” 

“You could help me train while we wait for Joshua?” 

She smiled kindly and shrugged. 

“Oh, not all training is with a sword. Come in here… if the Lord Commander allows?” 

“It’s your day, My Lord.” 

Pacifying smile turning genuine, Jill hurried inside, heedless of the dirt that sprayed onto her shoes like other ladies would mind. He knew her; so long as she was with him or Joshua and not the other ladies she had to put on a face for, she could be herself. 

“Alright, Jill: what exercise would I benefit from?” 

She stroked her chin as she thought, and turned to Murdoch. He mouthed something before Jill’s eyes lit up. “Sit ups.” 

Clive shot Murdoch a dirty look. Sit up were among his least favorite exercises. 

But he did them until Jill told him to stop before she called out another exercise that Murdoch fed to her, met by another glare. And again, Clive did them until he was told to stop. 

“Push ups!” Jill said eagerly, excited to be part of the training. But Clive flew threw them. “They’re too easy for you,” she lamented with a pout. 

“They’re are easy.” 

“You certainly make them look so.” Jill got onto her hands and knees and tried, managing one before falling into the dirt. “Not easy, Clive.”

He did a few more, showing off, and suddenly, Clive felt weight placed onto his back, sending him to the ground. He craned his neck to see Jill sitting on him. “Make it look easy now,” she taunted. 

Clive was always up for a challenge. 

He took a deep breath and shifted his weight as best he could, forcing himself to straighten his arms. He could do it; he could lift her. 

She grabbed on to him unsteadily, laughing as her feet lifted off the ground, making it harder for him as she rocked and sought her balance, opting to tighten her legs around his side. But as difficult as that was, he made it through one push-up. 

“One!” Jill teased ruffling his hair. “Is that all you can do, Clive?” 

“Not so comfortable?” 

“I could sit here all day!” 

Clive grinned and took up the challenge, managing to get his arms straight once again where he stayed to catch his breath before lowering himself again. 

“You hurt yourself, My Lord, and I’m not taking responsibility for this,” Murdoch laughed. 

“No need to. I won’t get hurt.” He managed a third push-up, his arms shaking from effort. 

“I want to try!” Joshua yelled, running out into the training yard from nowhere. Clive felt Jill’s grip tighten just before Joshua threw himself onto both of them, sending them into a fumbling pile of laughter. 

“I’m not a chocobo!” Clive chuckled, rolling onto his back to take several deep breaths just before Joshua and Jill climbed onto him, forcing the air from his lungs before he could laugh again. 

"I want a chocobo ride!" Joshua exclaimed, his eyes brightening excitedly as he stared at his brother. 

And who was Clive to deny His Grace?

He gently pushed them both off of him and crouched down. "Fine. Once around." 

Clive watched Jill smile as Joshua climbed onto Clive's back, his arms tight around his neck while Clive hiked him up higher for a better grip. 

"KWEH KWEH!" Clive chirped, running around in a circle as Joshua cheered. It reminded him of all the times he'd done this for him growing up, playing the faithful chocobo for him to ride around the castle when their mother said Joshua couldn't go outside or couldn't ride a real chocobo. There was still a feathered shirt in his closet he'd had made at the tailors for him to wear so Joshua could ride into battle on his faithful steed, Clive. And when he got tired, if Joshua wanted more, Clive would get to his hands and knees and become a bighorn, letting out low rumbles as he'd crawl fast as he could along the carpeted halls all while Joshua laughed. 

"Tired yet, My Lord?" Murdoch chuckled, watching Clive slow. 

"I could go all day," Clive panted. 

And just then, the soft yips of Torgal got louder and louder until Clive felt excited jumping on his leg, paws swiping at his boots, too short to get up to his pants. 

Jill giggled and grabbed Torgal, placing him in Clive's arms so Torgal could easily lick Clive's face. 

"Oh, Jill!" he snorted, reaching around himself to try to secure Joshua while staving off puppy licks. 

Jill grabbed Joshua to help him off Clive, and Clive relented to Torgal's affections.

"Are you ready, Jill?" Joshua asked, grabbing her hand.

"I'm shocked Mother is letting you go wherever it is you're taking me." 

"She tried to stop me," Joshua said proudly. "But I didn't let her! She said I should let you and Jill go alone." 

Jill made a face. "Why would she say that?" 

"To get us out of the way, I'm sure," Clive scoffed, though his arms tightened around Torgal. "But she allowed you to come, right?"

Joshua shrugged. "She ran away real fast when I told her I was going to go. So I think so." 

Clive made a face, but didn't question his mother's odd behavior. He'd given up questioning her years ago. 

Murdoch gave them the okay to go on ahead to ready the chocobos while he readied their guards.

Clive ran up to Ambrosia, eager to show Jill and Joshua his steed. They were both reluctant to stop petting her soft feathers, but Joshua's royally trained chocobo was readied, and he hopped up. Jill rode behind Clive, one hand around his waist, another stroking the fine white feathers of Ambrosia while she waited for the stablehand to lift Torgal off the ground and into her waiting arm. 

"You both okay?" Clive asked, turning to check that Torgal was secure, and that Jill was in no danger of falling off. "I can hold him." 

"You worry about the Chocobo, I'll worry about Torgal." 

"Okay, okay," Clive smiled. "You good, Joshua?" 

"Ready! Follow me!" 

The rode a short way outside the palace, not too far out, but a secluded stretch of grass with a tall rock and some trees for shade. The guards would be riding behind them to keep an eye out from a safe distance, so Clive barely worried about the area. All he noticed was a blanket laid out, and set up there was a picnic basket. 

Clive rode over to it, dismounting Ambrosia and helping Jill and Torgal down before grabbing Joshua from his chocobo. 

Joshua ran over to the basket and grabbed it, thrusting it at Clive. "We made it!" 

"You did? Not Barnes?" 

Joshua glanced anxiously at Jill, and she wrapped her arms around Joshua. "He may have supervised. But we did our best." 

Smile growing, Clive opened the basket and saw three sandwiches and three brownies neatly packed inside. On the blanket was a pitcher of juice with goblets. Torgal ran over, yelping excitedly.

Clive set down the basket and grabbed the both of them, pulling them into a hug. "Thank you. This is the best of my gifts." 

"We did have help setting up. Lord Murdoch insisted we not come out here alone until now," Jill said, kicking the grass sheepishly. 

"That's alright. I appreciate it." 

They ate in laughter, lying across the blankets as they ate and chattered away about nothing and everything until the food was gone and the drink was finished. 

Clive went to lay his head against the ground, but Jill offered her lap for his head to rest on, and he gratefully accepted. Her fingers threaded absently through his hair again and again, and for a moment, just a moment, he wished his mother would comfort him this way when he was sad, scared, or even just tired as he was now. Her fingers were soothing, almost like a lullaby without sound, and he found his eyes drifting shut as he relaxed. 

"Me too!" Joshua said, scooting over to Jill. 

"Come here, then!" she said happily, uncrossing her leg just before Joshua threw himself onto her. She stroked his hair in time with Clive's. 

He opened his eyes ever so slightly and stared up at her. "There's no one to do this for you," he said easily, though later, he would wish that he had offered himself. 

"It's alright. I don't mind. I love seeing you both like this. You look peaceful. And you both deserve it." 

Torgal, who'd taken his own nap, shot up and began to bark.

Then, the sound of footsteps had everyone sitting up and turning to see a Shield running towards them. "Your Grace, My Lord, My Lady, you must come with me! There are goblins in the--"

A dagger pierced his chest. 

The Shield blinked several times. "Run," he hissed before spinning around with his own sword to protect them from the goblin. 

Joshua ran forward, his phoenix healing powers glowing in his hand. Clive grabbed him and pulled him back with one hand, his other grabbing his new sword, tossing the fine sheath aside before pushing Joshua towards the nearby hill. 

"We can take the Chocobos!" Jill said, moving to untie the knots. But Clive let Joshua go so he could grab Jill before she could and hauled her away, only letting go so he could once again grab his brother. 

"Let's go!" he yelled, urging them away from the Shield and the goblin. 

But he didn't know which way to run to. His training had never covered this: where was the enemy coming from when he needed to protect two people and had no backup? Where did he run to to keep them safest? 

"This way!" he said, deciding. Joshua had no choice, what with the firm grip Clive kept on his wrist, but Jill and Torgal kept on his heels as he led them towards a cliff. He pushed Joshua behind him, and gestured for Jill to do the same.

"What are we doing here? Should we try to go home?" 

"Not yet," Clive said, his eyes scanning the horizon before glancing behind him. The cliff led too far down for attackers to sneak around, nor could they approach from behind. It left Clive with far less to worry about. "Joshua, only use your powers if something goes wrong. Leave everything to me." 

"But Clive, I can he-"

"No. Listen to me, Joshua, this is not a game." 

"I know, but..." 

The ground shook. 

Torgal growled off to the left, and Clive readied his sword, steadying his breaths like Lord Murdoch had taught him. While it was not his first real fight, it was his first fight alone. And whatever was making the ground shake would be large. 

And then, towering over the ground, a Gigas appeared, heavy footsteps slow and menacing. Clive sucked in a nervous gasp, but narrowed his eyes in determination. "Jill, when you see an opening, get Joshua away. Back to the chocobos... ride home as fast as you can, don't stop for any soldiers. I'll hold him off here." 

"Clive!" Jill protested, though her arms already wrapped protectively around Joshua. "Holding it off won't help. Come with us." 

"They're faster than they look, Jill. Just do what I say." 

"Clive!" Joshua breathed as the Gigas grew closer, closer. 

"I am a Shield of Rosaria. 'To dwell in the darkness that we might purge the night and welcome everlasting dawn.' That is our creed. Jill? Do as I ask." 

The Gigas roared, and Clive took the opening, closing the gap between them while the beast was occupied. He slashed at the leg, grateful that the sword was freshly sharpened, cutting just enough through the Gigas' leathery green skin to make a dent. It let out a bellowing screech of anger that such a tiny creature had managed to touch him, and swung his club down with a force that shook the earth beneath Clive's feet. 

He dared a glance at Jill and Joshua to make sure they hadn't fallen off the cliff or anything horrible while he'd been occupied. Joshua held a struggling Torgal, eager to jump out and join the fight, and Jill held Joshua, watching Clive with wide eyes. 

But that was all the time he could spare them, content that they were safe enough. 

When he regained his footing, he danced around a firm kick, slashed his sword at its ankle once again, and jumped back. It was rearing to charge at him. 

"Jill! Go now!" he shouted, crouching down, prepared to keep the Gigas' attention on him, praying that he could time this correctly or he could easily die.

He could see the two run off into the distance, and then focused again. It dug its club into the dirt, using it to push itself into a faster run. And just as it reached him, Clive threw himself off to the side into the dirt, rolling to his feet. 

But the Gigas swung its club, and instinctively, Clive moved to parry. He succeeded in throwing the club off course, but felt it collide with his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He coughed, sputtering as he looked around. His sword wasn't in his hand. Regardless of what he felt, he pushed himself up and ran toward the glistening metal, grabbing his weapon once again and charging forward to get as close as he could. He gave the leathery skin a stab, and then a swipe, though the swipe merely bounced off. He rolled away from another kick, and thrust his sword upward, straight into the base of the Gigas' spine. 

It was effective. The beast was staggering around. But in its recovery came a rage. 

The Gigas made a giant spin with its club, changing the angle to ensure Clive took the hit. And he did. 

Flying off his feet, Clive rolled onto his side, wheezed for breath that wouldn't come. He clutched his chest, desperate for air, watching blearily as the Gigas stalked towards him. He tried to get to his feet, but his boot slipped, and he started to cough some more. He needed a moment, just a moment, to catch his breath.

And he was granted one. 

The Gigas stopped its stride and turned its attention elsewhere. 

Clive managed a deep breath, regaining some of his lost air.

But as he sat up, fear clouded his vision rather than the black of breathlessness. 

Jill stood before the Gigas, rocks tucked in her arm, throwing them one by one at the creature. 

"Jill?" Clive wheezed, forcing himself to get up. He had to get up. 

"Are you alright?" she called back. 

Confirming his worst fears. She was really here. 

"Jill!" 

She threw one more rock before taking off in a sprint just as the Gigas crashed his clasped hands down to hit her with the force of his fists and the pommel of his club. The ground cracked, and Jill lost her balance, falling to the ground before scrambling back to her feet. Her light grey hair bobbed with her as she ran, and only then did he notice what she was running towards. 

His sword. 

Get up! he chastised himself, still lost in a daze from the shock of seeing Jill, and the impact from the Gigas. 

Jill grabbed his sword and sprinted towards him, and he bolted to meet her. He grabbed the sword from her outthrust hands and she stepped behind him. 

"Don't lose it again!" she said, almost a teasing laugh in her voice reminiscent of that morning. 

Clive's grip grew firmer. "I won't." 

He could practically feel Jill's presence behind him, her shadowing his movements, staying far enough away from the Gigas and behind Clive. 

"Is Joshua safe?" 

"I got him on the Chocobo and sent him and Torgal back before returning." 

"You should go!" 

"Not without you." 

Clive didn't have the opportunity to offer her more of his argument, relenting to keep her safe behind him as best he could. But he was learning with every moment he spent with the Gigas. When he closed in once again, he dodged a hard kick and landed a blow in its foot. When he could, he slashed at its ankles and prepared to dodge its club while it staggered away. 

"Lord Rosfield!" someone called. 

Clive's attention turned to several soldiers riding towards them on chocobos. Then, Jill was against him, pushing him with her out of the way of another swing. He'd gotten distracted. 

Beneath the beast, he kept hold of Jill in one arm, and stabbed upwards into its spine once again, twisting his wrist and pulling hard, spinning another blow into a deep cut on its ankle, severing tendons, sending the beast down to its knee. He pushed Jill away and used the new height to jam his sword through the heart of the creature, ending it for good. 

Limp hands dropped the club, and Clive ran over to shield Jill as it fell in the dirt beside them. And when the next resounding crash was the lifeless Gigas, he grabbed Jill and pulled her into a tight embrace. 

"Are you alright?" 

"I'm okay! Are you?" 

"I am. Thank you, Jill." 

He dropped his sweaty head on her shoulder and sighed into her. She ran her fingers through his damp hair once again, comforting his weariness as the weight of his youth hit him. He'd done it. He'd made mistakes. But he could only get better from here. 

"My Lord! Are you hurt?" 

"Not seriously, I don't think," he said, looking himself over. "A bit winded and with quite a headache." 

"You're bleeding," Jill pointed out. "Probably part of the headache." 

"Am I?" he touched his forehead to find it come away red. He looked at the shoulder of her dress. Red. "Oh, Jill. I'm so sorry, I didn't even know." 

She glanced at his blood on her and shrugged it off, grabbing his arm. "I'm just glad you're alright, Clive. Don't worry." 

Murdoch rode forward, inspecting the scene. "His Grace told us where to find you, but it seems you didn't need our help."

"Is he safe?" Clive asked. 

"Quite. Your mother ferried him inside immediately. But I suggest we get you back now as well." 

Clive woke up in the castle infirmary where he'd been forced to stay for the night after physikers had run every test on him, after his father had inspected every inch of his face for more bruising and swelling, after his lungs had been checked, his heart. He did bear a fractured rib, but the amazement was not lost on anyone how that was all he'd left with. 

He could feel warmth on both sides of him in the small bed. On one side, Joshua curled into him, head nestled against Clive's chest, listening to his easy breaths. Torgal curled up on Clive's stomach, rising and falling as he breathed. And Jill lay on his other side, his arm tightly clutched in hers. 

He smiled. They were safe. And that made his birthday a little brighter. 

Chapter Text

Jill- Age 12

Jill rested on her arms as she clutched Clive's hand with a fierce focus both in her grasp, and in the look on her face. She glanced up and saw him staring at their interlocked fingers with the same level of determination. But she smiled and laughed, earning a curious look from him. He narrowed his eyes at her and lifted his arm. 

"Hey, hey!" Jill said loudly. "You're a cheater!" 

"All is fair in love and war, as they say." 

"Sore loser," Jill snorted, pinning his thumb beneath hers with ease. 

"Dammit," he swore, glancing around to be sure no one heard nor saw. ""Best five of six." 

"Just accept that this is a war you'll never win," Jill said confidently, grabbing his hand again. And within seconds, she had his thumb pinned down once again. 

"Six out of seven!" 

"Clive!" 

"I'm going to win one." 

Jill rolled her eyes and let his thumb go. This time, she put barely any effort into it, pretending to attempt to pin Clive's thumb and barely making it out from his. She watched his grin grow the more he thought he had her, and when the game had gone on long enough, she only pretended to be unable to escape from his winning clutches. 

"Yes!" he cheered to himself, sitting up on his arms. "Finally!" 

"Lucky win," she teased, leaning her head down into the crook of her elbow as she looked up at him. 

"Training, Jill. Training." 

Footsteps approached behind them, and Jill watched Clive's reaction turn even more excited. She didn't hurry to sit up; whoever it was was someone he trusted, not someone like his mother. 

"What are you two doing on the floor?" 

The familiar voice of Archduke Elwin prickled at Jill's ears, and she hastily shot to her feet so she could bow, Clive following suit a bit slower. 

The archduke held up his hand to calm them both. "Were you comfortable down there, or were you just in a place of convenience?" 

"Quite comfortable, Father. Jill was just letting me win a thumb war, for which I'm eternally grateful for her ability to boost my ego." 

Jill shot a look at him, and he shrugged. Apparently, her attempt at subtlety was a failure.

"Ah, good at them, are we?" he asked with a smile. "Good. Don't let him win next time. Clive needs to lose to understand what it means to win." He ruffled Clive's hair. "How are you doing after yesterday? Not too tired, are you? Hell of a week for you." 

"I'm fine." 

"Not too hot?" 

Chuckling, Clive shook his head. "I don't feel different. Only when I call upon the Blessing of the Phoenix does it feel different at all." 

"Murdoch would like to see you train more with the blessing before we head to Phoenix Gate." 

"Right now?" 

"No, no, just in the future." 

"Very well, then." 

"You two should both change for the feast. It's in your honor, Clive, so look decent. Fix this mop up," he said, ruffling his hair once again. 

Clive pulled away with a scoff. "Yes, father." 

"You're a man now. Fifteen. Where have these years gone? Are you feeling any older?"

"Not but for the fact that everyone keeps calling me a man now." 

Jill crossed her arms. "Would you rather they still called you a boy?" 

"Of course not. It's just... age is but a number. My worth as a man should be judged by my actions, not by my age." 

"Well said," Elwin grinned, looking fondly at his son. "I'm quite proud of you, Clive." He turned his attention to Jill. "And you, Little Lady, your thirteenth year is upon us. Likely as we return from Phoenix Gate, I imagine. Have you anything you want?" 

"Just to spend the day with all of you is enough." 

"An outing, then. I'll have the cook prepare your favorite meals and the four of us can make a day of it. What do you say?" 

"I'd love that." 

"Good. Now, both of you, go, ready yourselves. Time to celebrate our new First Shield." 

Jill bowed to Elwin and waved to Clive before heading off towards her room. Lady Morgaine was lining up her dress when she entered. 

"Lady Jill, you're earlier than I expected." 

"His Grace found Clive and I playing and asked that we go change now." 

“Very good. Let’s get you in your best, then, shall we?”

Jill changed into a comfortable but fine dress that spun wide when she twirled in it that she'd spent painstaking nights making with her governess. She grabbed her brush, smiling at the wooden carving of Torgal on her desk that looked like a lump off wood and less like anything else that Clive had made for her. To her, it was perfection. She spun it to face her, admiring it before setting her brush down. Then, she hurried that she might meet up with Joshua, Clive, and Torgal before the feast began in earnest, though she could already hear the murmur of a crowd in the hall and music ringing loudly, a jovial tune that she swayed to as she walked.

“—and make sure the girl makes no mistakes.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” a meek voice said beneath the strong demands of Anabella. 

“I was thinking of trying to pawn her off to Hugo Kupka. Having friends in Dhalmekia would never hurt anyone, and there’s little doubt whose voice is loudest there.”

Jill stepped back, pinning herself against the wall with her hand to her mouth. 

“The Titan, Your Grace? She’s a little girl.”

“As was I when I was given to the Archduke. It is what all little girls in our position do. Thank heavens I was blessed with a son. I’d hardly want to send my own daughter to Kupka.”

“Can you not send her to Prince Dion, Your Grace? Lady Jill still holds the title of a Princess.”

Anabella laughed. “She’s barely worth the title. Her home is on the brink of self-destruction, and I’ll not let them think they have her influences to help them. A girl like her should know her place, and it’s not beside a prince.”

Jill kept her hand over her mouth as she hurried past the door, racing down to the feast with newfound urgency, but the tears that started to pool in her eyes stopped her in her place and she moved back up the stairs, spinning around to head down the hall. She couldn't go into the feast like this. Everyone would see her barely contained tears holding back endless streams. No, she could try to find Lady Morgaine, to seek comfort from someone who was meant to prepare her for things like this. 

Or she could seek comfort from her best friend who always knew what to say. 

She turned down the hall and banged on Clive's door a bit more frantically than she'd intended, but footsteps echoed on the other side, louder, louder, until the door cracked open. Clive was pulling his arm through a sleeve when he stopped and pushed the door open further. 

"What's happened?" 

His eyes were wide with concern as he watched her, and she had no doubt of their sincerity. 

"Clive," she managed before throwing herself against him. He hesitated for a moment, and then his hands wrapped around her back. "The Duchess! She--" Jill couldn't manage anymore before the tears she'd been fighting began to spill. 

Clive knocked the door closed and pulled Jill with him towards his bed. "What did my mother do, Jill?" he asked as gently as he could. 

"I don't want to go!" she cried, falling limp into his arms. Clive didn't push any more, simply holding her and letting her cry herself out. Jill knew he could feel her shaking, knew they were probably going to arrive late to the feast now. And then Anabella would only take further revenge on her, and she was going to get Clive in trouble for his tardiness too. 

She pushed herself off of him and wiped her eyes as she stood, taking steps towards the door. "We have to get to the feast." 

But Clive dodged around her and blocked her way. "I don't care about the feast. What's wrong?" 

"She..." Jill swallowed a thick glob of spit. "She's going to send me away." 

"Where? When?" Clive dragged Jill back over to his bed and sat on the mattress, and she followed suit, crossing her legs and getting comfortable. 

"I don't know when. But she's planning a marriage, Clive! A marriage! I'll be thirteen in just a few weeks, I'm sure she's going to make it for then! She's going to take everything from me, Clive! Everything! You, Joshua, my home, my life, my comfort! She's going to take me from the only people who have ever cared enough for me to want me! Even my own parents were alright with sending me away. And I'm going to be taken by that wretched beast of a man!" 

"Who?" 

"The Dhalmekian soldier who became a banker! Hugo Kupka! The Titan himself! I don't want to go!" 

Clive's eyes widened marginally, but his brow quickly set in determination. "You're not going, Jill. I won't let you. I'll speak with my father; he won't let it happen either. You're his ward, and sending you away would leave us open to attack, especially if my mother arranged a marriage with someone awful like him."

"I just heard her, Clive! That's what she wants! She said she was thankful she had sons because she'd never send a daughter of her own to Kupka. She said I wasn't worthy of the title Princess and that I should not marry as high as a Prince like Prince Dion. She is seeking this alliance, and a marriage to me is to be the pen that signs it." 

"I'm telling you, Jill... I'll speak with my father and with Joshua. As the Archduke and heir, they hold more influence than my mother. We'll all protect you." 

Jill sat with her head in her hands, unable to fathom that Anabella would take well to any attempts to stop her plans. Jill would only be sent to someone worse. "She's taking everything from me." 

"She's not taking me from you, Jill. I won't let her." 

Jill glanced up at him and wiped her bleary eyes once again. "Clive... I've a favor to ask of you. It's a big one; feel free to say no, it won't offend me at all."

"What is it?" 

Jill wrung her hands together. "It's just... this is awkward. You're my best friend, and I trust you. I trust you more than anyone. So... I hope you won't be offended, but I have to ask... would you..." she sighed and pushed her hair back. "I just don't want her to be able to take everything from me." 

"What, Jill? Ask anything of me." 

"Would you..." she bit her lip. "Alright... here goes... would you kiss me, Clive? It's just... I don't want her to take that from me. I don't want to be forced to give something like that memory away to a man like Kupka. I want a memory of a first kiss with someone I care for. And I do care for you, Clive. You're my closest friend. You're everything to me." 

Clive blinked slowly before nodding. "I... I can give you that. Now?" 

"Whenever. Just... before she sends me away." She fidgeted nervously. "But like I said, you don't have to. It's not something I want from pity." 

"I don't pity you, Jill. You're anything but pitiful. I admire you. You're a fighter." He offered her his hand, and she took it without hesitation. "Fight with me, Jill. We'll keep you here. Me, you, Joshua, Torgal. We're unstoppable together." 

It got her to smile. "We are, aren't w--" 

Clive kissed her. 

It was stiff and awkward, two lips pressed together with neither knowing where to go from there. But Jill closed her eyes as another tear dripped down her cheek, eternally grateful that he'd done this for her. That she was worth enough to him that he would let her have this memory. That she wasn't going to let Anabella Rosfield or Hugo Kupka steal this away from her. 

Clive sat back and smiled, blush spread all along his cheeks. "That an alright memory?" 

Jill was no better, feeling heat all along her face and neck. "Yes. Thank you, Clive. You've no idea what that meant to me." 

"It means you're not giving up, Jill. I'm not ready to lose my best friend. Who else would I have to keep me in line? Certainly not Joshua. And Torgal will fight to keep you here. You're his favorite person." 

Scooting closer, Jill wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight. Clive returned her embrace. 

"Your mother frightens me." 

"Me too." 

Jill could hear his racing heart beneath her ear and settled closer, relaxing into him. "You're my favorite person, Clive." She felt his hesitation in his tightening arms and started to chuckle. "Don't worry; you don't have to say it back. I know Joshua is yours." 

"You're my favorite non-relative." 

Jill giggled. "Thank you." 

Clive's door suddenly whipped open, and both of them turned in alarm. But only Joshua stood at the door. 

"Clive, it's-- Jill! Hi! I was coming to find you next!"

"Joshua," Clive scolded, standing. "You need to knock." 

"Why? It's only you." 

"What if I was still changing?" 

Joshua looked between Jill and Clive, pointing to Jill. "She's here, so you're obviously not."

"That's not the point." 

Jill wiped her eyes once more and stood. "Where's Torgal?" 

Joshua's face turned to a pout. "Mother made me keep him in the kennel tonight." 

"Poor thing." 

Clive nudged her. "Neither of us will be missed. Care to come with me to visit him?" 

"Hey, no fair!" Joshua said, stamping his foot. "I want to go, too!" 

Clive put his hands on Joshua's shoulders and guided him from the room, Jill in tow behind them. "You will be missed. Go run to Mother before she has the guard out looking for you." 

"It's not fair!" 

"Life's not fair, Joshua," Clive said over his shoulder as he turned to go down the other hallway, one that led outside. 

Jill followed him, grinning. "You two." 

"What about us?" 

"You're cute, that's all. He's always chasing after you. You're his idol. And you're a good big brother. You let him most of the time." They were hit by the sudden evening air as they opened the doors and stepped outside. "You make me wish I'd grown up with siblings." 

"You have us," Clive supplied, staring at the dirt. 

Jill made a face. "I... I think the dynamic is different. I don't think of you as my brother. You're my best friend." Her footsteps faltered and she tripped as she lost herself in her mind. In fact, she did see Joshua like a brother. So why didn't she feel the same way about Clive? 

Clive hummed in agreement. "True. I don't see you that way either. Hey, want to take the shortcut?" 

"Yes!" 

Clive held out his hand, and Jill took it. He climbed up onto a box, helping her up. Then a barrel, pulling her beside him. And then onto the small roof of a shed, helping her again. Their hands stayed locked for balance as they walked along the roof, crossing the courtyard much quicker than the path would have taken them. 

They could hear the eager barks of Torgal before they could see him, and Jill let go so she could walk a bit faster. She wasted no time throwing herself into the kennel and sitting on the ground so Torgal could jump onto her, licking her eagerly. Clive walked much slower before leaning against the doorway, watching them with a small grin. Torgal spun in a circle and gave him an excited bark, but stayed with Jill. She had a feeling he knew she needed him. 

"Oh, Torgal," she sighed, pressing her face into his fur. "I wish you could come inside with us!" 

"My mother would have him killed," Clive muttered. "Father would find it amusing, though. Uncle Byron probably would have let Torgal in just to see my mother scowl." 

"Your uncle is far too good at irking her." 

Clive grinned, but it was softer than usual. "Jill?" 

"Yes?" 

"I think I know how we can convince my father to let you stay here forever. And there would be nothing my mother could do." 

Jill grasped Torgal eagerly. "What is it?" 

He couldn't meet her eyes, dancing from foot to foot as he sought a comfortable position that was eluding him. 

"I..." he ran his hand along his face and bent in front of her and Torgal, focusing his attention on the pup, on the way his ears moved while Clive stroked behind them. "You could... you could..." his voice dropped to a near whisper, "marry me." 

"What?" 

With the words out the first time, Clive sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. His eyes lifted to hers. "You could marry me, Jill. I've station befitting yours, I would treat you well, and you would never have to leave here. I'd be Joshua's shield, so I'm not leaving here either. The three of us could be together forever and no one would be able to touch us. No one would control your life, Jill, certainly not I. My mother would never lay a hand on you again, nor would she have a say in any of your life. Best of all, I'm not Hugo Kupka." 

Jill didn't realize how tightly she was grasping Torgal until his whine broke her from her trance and she let him go. "Clive... I couldn't ask that of you. I won't ask you to give up your life to save mine." 

"There are far worse things in this world than marrying your best friend. We wouldn't even need... to... you know... um... do... married... things. Just... be friends." 

Jill felt herself smile as she warmed up at his words while his own face turned bright red even in the encroaching darkness. "And we would share Torgal." 

Clive chuckled. "Yes. You'd never need to part from Torgal. This isn't a reach, Jill. We could convince my father of this. Politically, it binds us to the Northern Territories far more than your staying here with us did, it gains us allies as well as quelling tensions that still stem from the war. I'm a Marquess, so you'd take a bit of a hit to your own title, but you'd take a far worse one with Lord Kupka. I can keep you safe, Jill, if you'll let me try." 

"You shouldn't have to." 

"I'm a Shield of Rosaria. It's my duty to try." 

"Stretch your shield too far and you'll break an arm when you're hit, Clive. Save that strength for Joshua." 

"I can be your shield too, Jill. I won't let them hurt you or take you away. You and Joshua are everything to me." 

Jill felt a tear drip down her cheek. "What if you find a girl you want to marry? I'll have taken that possibility away from you." 

"There won't be anyone. I'll be with Joshua a lot. There won't be time for me to have anyone else in my life anyway. So you're taking nothing."

"You're sure about this?" 

Clive held his hand out to her. "I've never been more sure. You're my family, Jill, and you always will be. I'll keep you safe, if it's within my power. And this is." 

Jill hesitantly set Torgal down and took Clive's hand with a light touch, but feeling him broke her last barrier down, and the tears streamed down her cheeks freely. She pushed his hand aside and threw her arms around his neck. "I don't want to marry Kupka!" 

Clive's arms tightened around her. "You won't. We have good arguments against my mother, and my father will listen. And if, for some reason, he doesn't, I'll get you to my Uncle and he'll keep you safe. You will not go to Kupka, Jill. Rosalith, Rosaria, we're your home. Not Dhalmekia. You won't be taken there. I promise, and I don't break my promises." 

"You don't." Her arms nearly crushed the air from him. "Thank you, Clive. You really are perfect, aren't you?" 

Clive snorted. "No." 

"Please, if there's anything at all I can do for you ever, ever at all, just ask." 

"Just keep being you, Jill. Don't stop correcting my footwork when I train, don't stop trying to train Torgal to dance when no one is watching." 

She smiled softly, amazed by the way the moonlight hit him so perfectly in the darkening sky. She wiped her eyes. "Speaking of dancing, if we don't get back inside, we'll have our heads bitten off." 

He held his hand out for her once more. "Alright, let's go." 

Jill was watching the excitement around the room, the murmur of the crowd mixed with the livliness of the music. Joshua sat with his mother at a table with some of her Ladies as they gossiped while she sought to keep an eye on him. And Clive was returning from his father's side, rushing towards her. 

She watched him with a raised brow. 

"Dance with me, My Lady?" 

Jill snorted but took his hand as he led her off to the less crowded area of the floor. 

"I spoke with him." 

"And?" 

Clive ignored the next steps of the complicated dance and pulled Jill closer to him so they could sway and talk instead. "He was horrified that my mother would ever plan such a thing. He said you're not to go anywhere, and he'll make sure of that!"

Jill could feel the smile spread along her face as she crashed the rest of the way into Clive. "Thank you!" 

Clive got comfortable with her in his arms, swaying again. "It... um... seems our backup plan won't be needed." 

"Did you tell him?" she looked up at him, watching his face redden. 

"I mentioned it, just in case Mother tries to pull one over on us." 

"What did Lord Rosfield say? I must know!" 

"He..." Clive bit his lip. "He said we were cute and that our willingness was 'good to know.'" 

"Oh my, sounds ominous," Jill teased, loosening her grip. 

"He looked far too pleased with himself." 

Jill stepped back from him. "You're still my hero for this, you know?" 

"I'm not a hero, Jill." 

She rolled her eyes and glanced at the dancers around her, catching herself up on where they were in the dance so they could resume the night with laughter that Jill had thought to be stolen from her lips earlier that evening. "You don't have to be a hero to be mine, Clive." 

Chapter Text

Jill- Age 12

"Come on, Torgal!" Jill called, skipping down the hallway as Torgal's short puppy legs sought to keep up with her. 

She'd felt safe in her home once again, even though she was stuck with Anabella until everyone returned from the blessing at Phoenix Gate. But knowing that she had the Archduke's support against any marriage proposals, and that she had Clive and Joshua's support if anything should turn south, she felt herself breathing easier once again. 

Jill turned into her room for the night and closed the door quickly before anyone could spot her letting Torgal inside. And with a quick change of clothes, she was ready for bed, Torgal curled up on her blanket. She gave the wooden carving of Torgal that Clive had given her a fond look before crawling under the blankets, draping her arm over the puppy, and going to bed. 

Until she was awoken by a hand against her arm. 

Lady Morgaine was kneeling beside the bed, dawn not yet cracking through Jill's window. 

Jill groggily turned over. "I'm sorry, I'll put him in the kennel tonight." 

"Lady Warrick." 

Jill's eyes startled open. Few people ever called her by her last name. She was always Lady Jill. 

"Yes?" 

"A stolas arrived just a while ago." 

Jill waited, watching as tears brimmed Morgaine's eyes. "Y-yes?" 

Morgaine sniffed and grabbed Jill's arm comfortingly. "Something terrible has happened... I'm afraid... Phoenix Gate was attacked."

Jill's eyes widened, and she threw her covers off to run to her balcony, staring north. The sky was dark, but there was a haze beneath the clouds. Fire, perhaps? "Is everyone alright? What happened? Who attacked them?" 

"It seems it was Imperials. We're at war, My Lady. But that's not all. Please, sit." 

"Imperials? Why would they attack Rosaria?" 

"My Lady..." 

"I mean, I think I recall Joshua saying that they want this land, but that's... this war is going to be terrible. Far worse than what would have happened if my father had attacked here. And what if the Iron Kingdom attack they were planning? Sanbreque is massive and strong. And they have an Eikon." Jill gasped, spinning around. "No! Joshua is going to have to fight Bahamut! He's not strong enough yet! Who's going to train an Eikon? Who are the Dominants who remain friends to Rosaria? Odin and Bahamut are great enemies! Perhaps they can train together!" 

"My Lady, please..." 

"Besides," Jill continued, looking back out into the haze, "If anything happens, Clive will be there to protect Joshua. Even if Odin turns against us, Clive could fight him! He can fight any--" 

"The marquesses didn't make it, Lady Warrick." 

Jill turned, a smile on her face. "They weren't even there? Sanbreque attacked an empty stronghold?" 

Torgal whined, hopping off the bed and nuzzling into Jill. 

Morgaine shook her head, a tear spilling down her cheek. "No, My Lady. That's not what I mean." She took a deep breath. "They all arrived at Phoenix Gate. They were attacked by Imperials. A second Eikon of Fire appeared, turned into a ferocious beast, and left the stronghold decimated, along with all those inside. His Grace Joshua was able to summon the Phoenix, but survivors... survivors saw the second Eikon... kill His Grace." 

Jill swallowed hard. "His Grace? Archduke Elwin?” 

"Him as well. But His Highness... Joshua Rosfield." 

Jill's mouth dropped open. "Joshua is..." 

Torgal howled, and Jill bit her lip, spinning to face the banister once more, using it to support herself as she hid the tears that streamed down her face. "How is Clive? Is he on his way back? Can we head out to meet him? He must be... he must be devastated." She wiped her eyes, determined to be strong. 

Little did she know how few words could sap all the strength from her. 

"My Lady... Clive..." Morgaine struggled for words, but she took a breath and settled for the clearest words she could find. "Survivors saw Clive amongst the dead. He... he's dead, Jill. They're all dead." 

"Clive can't die," Jill said matter of factly. "He... he's too strong. He has the Blessing of the Phoenix. And Joshua. He is the Phoenix. There's no other Eikon of Fire. What... why would you..." 

"Jill, I'm so sorry. But... it gets worse, and I need you to hear me, child." 

"They're not dead." 

"Jill, Anabella is the one who had them all killed." 

"She can't have. They're not dead." 

Torgal whined again. 

"We need to get you out of here before she returns. I'm going to help you, but I need you to pack now. She'll return in about four more days, and the others are already making arrangements to get us out of here." 

"They're not dead." 

"They are, sweet child." 

"They're not dead." 

Morgaine sniffled and brushed herself off, kissing Jill's hair before grabbing things from the closet and folding them onto Jill's bed while Jill stood on the balcony, unmoving, unblinking. 

There was no such thing as a second Eikon of Fire. Therefore, nothing could have killed Joshua, and nothing could have brought down the stronghold. Morgaine was lying. Morgaine was lying. 

"They're not dead." 

Elwin would return and they'd all go on their outing to celebrate her thirteenth year. She'd hold Clive and Joshua's hand on either side of her and swing their arms as she walked between them. She'd skip, and force Clive to join her and Joshua's giddiness until he was swept up in the contagion. He'd take her hand and lead her up a hill to finally see some snow daisies while no one was looking. Torgal would stay with Joshua, knowing that barking would give them away, and Jill would give him treats and pets later. They would rest beneath the stars and she'd name the ones she knew, pointing to them as she did with Joshua and Clive lying in the grass with her. 

"They're not dead." 

Jill fell to her knees. 

"They're not dead." 

Morgaine turned and dropped a shirt before throwing herself beside Jill to hold her to her chest, soothing her hair. 

Jill screamed. 

Her fingers clutched desperately at Morgaine, pulling the fabric of her dress until it was all clumped tightly in her tiny fist. Her wail frightened Torgal, his ears folding down, cowering away from her. It was continuous, all the air forced from her, demanding she take a breath to alleviate the pressure in her chest, only nothing was enough. 

Jill pushed Morgaine off her, scrambling to her feet and throwing her arms over the balcony, fists clutched tightly together in desperate prayer. "Metia! Bring them back to me! Bring them back!" 

"Jill..." 

"Bring them back!" 

Morgaine's touch was light as she steered Jill inside. She set Jill against the bed, and Jill pulled her legs up. Torgal hopped onto her lap, whimpering as he nuzzled into her chest. She pressed her face between his ears and hugged him closer towards her as she cried. 

"We're going to get you back to the Northern Territories. The Blight is bad but hopefully there’s something left," Morgaine explained, grabbing a sack to put Jill's clothes into. "Grab whatever you need from here. Only essentials. Everything else will have to stay." 

Jill looked up, puffy eyed and bleary before reaching for the wooden carving of Torgal. Clive's. 

"Jill... I'm sorry. That's too big. We can't." 

Dropping her hand, Jill fell back onto the pillow and pulled Torgal with her as she turned onto her side, sobbing as quietly as she could manage. 

She only realized it was all true and not a horrific nightmare when the next day, all the servants of the castle stood around in tears. 

Morgaine held both of their sacks of clothes and led Jill into the kitchens where they packed rations. Jill hugged Torgal tightly to her chest, unable to bring herself to help. Morgaine didn't seem to mind, guiding Jill through her zombie-like state until everything was ready for their departure. 

"There's a wagon leaving the castle in a few hours. We'll be on that, alright? We need to leave before the Duchess returns." 

Jill nodded weakly and slid down the wall to sit and wait. She waited, unmoving, for hours with Torgal patiently in her arms, as though he knew the direness of their situation and was willing to stay with her to comfort her and to avoid causing any trouble. She wondered at times if Torgal understood why she was so upset, if he could feel her emptiness radiating off of her and onto him. She'd hate if she caused Torgal to be miserable, too. 

A wagon approached, and Morgaine bent in front of Jill. "I'm not going to call you "Lady" while we're out here, alright? I think it will be safer for no one to know you're of noble birth." 

Jill couldn't bring herself to nod or acknowledge Morgaine, despite her best efforts. Morgaine seemed to understand, though, gently guiding Jill to her feet and towards the wagon, helping to lift her and Torgal up. 

Though she couldn't speak, Jill managed a final look at her home as the wheels turned, jolting everyone forward. It looked just as it always had, yet there was a darkness, a cloud over it, and Jill didn't want to look any longer. 

Though, fate was cruel and would give her little choice. 

The horses leading the carriage brayed and reared back as a barrage of sound echoed from the road beyond the walls. Jill's head snapped to attention, and Morgaine wasted no time getting her back off, pulling her away from the carriage and back towards the castle. 

In seconds, the carriage was aflame, shrieks of panic forcing Jill to look away. And above all, the sound of screaming men charging towards them. 

"Is it the army come for us?" Jill asked, trying to keep up as Morgaine led them towards the nearest door. It would lead somewhere near the kitchens. 

Morgaine threw the door open and pushed Jill inside. "Go! Get out the back! You know where to go, Jill." 

"No, Lady Morgaine, come with me!" 

"I'm going to lead them away. Go... go!" 

Jill slid her feet backwards, but instinct took over from there, helping her to run through the halls she'd played in for most of her life. 

"Come on, Torgal," she breathed, kissing between his ears to comfort herself as she ran, checking over her shoulder every now and then. 

Sounds grew louder, the clash of steel with the guards still in the palace had her heart racing. Closer. Closer. 

She looked around and ducked down a narrow hallway that only the servants used. She, Joshua, and Clive had used it many times for games of chase and tag, but never officially. She came out at the foot of a set of stairs and found herself taking them two at a time, clearing the servant's area and into the main rooms. 

But a door opened, and Jill spun around. A soldier dressed in an unfamiliar uniform started shouting words at her in a language she didn't understand, his battle axe brandished, skulking closer to her. 

"Dyttan! Unsýfre nîeten, dyttan!"

Jill went to turn so she could run, but she felt a sharp pain in her hand that had her wincing just enough for Torgal to wriggle free. She covered the blood from the dripping bite marks with her hand, watching Torgal with surprise. 

"Come back!" she hissed, her whole body screaming to run away, but her mind begging her to grab the pup before she could run again. 

She took a step forward, and Torgal turned over his shoulder, growling at her. She stopped, and he turned, crouched low. She'd always known Torgal to be cute, perhaps a bit too excitable when they went hunting, but she'd never seen him angry. His growl surprised her, lower than she expected from a pup his age. And his teeth had hurt. 

The soldier muttered something in a taunting tone of voice, and Torgal turned back to Jill and barked before setting his attention back on the soldier. 

"Torgal..." 

But he made no move to go to her, instead, crouching lower just before sprinting at the soldier, dodging between the blow of his axe and his ankle, crunching his teeth sharply into his skin. The man tried to kick Torgal off, but it didn't work. 

Jill knew it would only be a matter of time though. 

She took a step to help him, but Torgal barked at her again before resuming his attack, and she could almost hear it clear as day. He wanted her to run. 

And her body listened. 

She had no time for tears, making her way towards the back entrance to the castle where the stables were. But she found that her desperate search for safety had brought her somewhere else. 

Standing at the thresh hold of Clive's room hurt more than she thought it could have. She stumbled inside, as she always had when she needed comfort. She stared at his bed where they'd talked and played for hours. Her voice longed to call out his name, but his name was one of the few things that she felt she'd never be able to speak aloud again. 

She scanned his room and found his training sword propped against the wall. It was dull, but it was better than nothing. She took it and ran from his room, hoping to never have to set foot inside there again. 

Jill clutched the sword to her chest as if it were Torgal, hurrying past the throne room and through the doors beyond them. Though she'd never technically been allowed back here, Clive and Joshua had brought her many a times. She glanced around, wishing they'd taken her there more recently, and decided to follow her gut down the long hallway rather than through an adjacent door. Several turns later, she pushed a door open and was outside. 

Gasping, she ran for the chocobo pens, her hands shaking too hard to lift the door hatch to free one. 

Then, there was a hand pulling her backwards. 

She spun to see one of the strangely dressed soldiers. He was yelling at her in a foreign language again, one she didn't remember hearing in her studies. But she didn't care. He was between her and the chocobos.

Swinging Clive's sword with all her might, Jill tried to hit the beastly man, but his axe connected with her sword and swiped it right from her hand, flinging it to the ground as she shook off the sting. He grabbed at her, and she took a page from Torgal's book, biting his arm as hard as she could while she flailed to get herself free. 

For a moment, it worked. 

For a moment. 

Three steps of freedom before his hand tugged her arm back so hard she was sure it had dislocated. And with the back of his palm, he swatted her across the face, sending her into the dirt. Jill tried to crawl, but the man's dirty boot stepped on her dress, stopping her before he lifted her up and smacked her again, hissing some commands in his mother tongue where the only familiar word was the name of a person who she'd most certainly heard in passing in her education: Imreann. 

Jill pressed her hand to her face and it came away bloody. Her nose, her lip, cracked skin, she didn't know what it was from. All she knew was that she was in pain. 

And she had lost everything. 

"Jill? Jill, wake up!" 

Jill awoke in the arms of Morgaine as dawn cracked through the tiny window of the cell they shared with about twenty other women. Morgaine's arms gave her the warmth she desperately needed as she felt herself chilled to the bone for the third morning in a row. Since the day they'd hoarded the women onto the boats, Jill had felt the air getting colder and colder. 

The Iron Kingdom wasn't only so known for the cool of their blades, but apparently the chill of their air. She thought it odd, given the active volcano just next to them, but they were in a dark, dank prison made of stone where hardly any air made it that hadn't already been breathed in and out thrice over. It was stagnant and damp, and hardly any surprise Jill was starting to feel the effects after years on warm, sunny Rosaria. 

"You were talking in your sleep again," Morgaine said, moving Jill into her arms. 

"I still see it all every time I close my eyes," Jill muttered leaning her head on Morgaine's shoulder. "I see them killing the soldiers in front of us. I see them pulling all the men from the line of us to cut their throats. Do you ever wonder... why it is? Why keep the women and not the men?" 

Morgaine's eyes darkened. "I don't know," she said through thin lips. "Perhaps they simply believe us weaker and mean to keep us as hostages. I don't know." 

"Is that all?" Jill searched Morgaine's eyes for the truth. "I heard others speaking of... terrible things." 

"Fear. That is all it is that makes them say such things. Don't pay them any mind, Jill." 

"But I'm afraid, too." 

Morgaine's arms tightened around Jill, crouching forward as the woman beside her accidently elbowed her. "As am I. But hope will arrive. There is always hope." 

Jill looked at her bloody, dirt-stained, torn dress. Her hair felt a mess ever since she was dragged off Crusaders' ship in chains and thrown into a packed cell only to fight over food with the others. She didn't feel there was hope. Her hope had died with the rest of her family. 

"They're going to kill us, aren't they?" Jill asked somberly. A woman in front of her turned her head to listen, but didn't reply. 

"They're not," Morgaine tried.

"Morgaine?" 

"Yes?" 

Jill closed her eyes, though no tears came. She'd cried herself out over a week ago and hadn't managed a tear since. "Today's my birthday. They would have been back to celebrate. We'd have had an outing. They'd have readied for war against the Iron Kingdom in the war room. They were so close. If this had only happened a week later, they'd all have been home to protect us." 

"Don't start dealing in 'what ifs,' Jill. What happened, happened. We can't change the past." She smiled as best she could. "And happy birthday. Thirteen? You're a little lady now." 

One of the women turned. "Happy birthday, Lady Jill." 

"Thank you." 

"I heard rumors," another said, "That Archduke Elwin had plans to speak with you about something important today." 

His name made Jill wince. 

"S'pose I can say, since he ain't here no more," the woman muttered. "He were havin' meetings I served at. Said Little Lord Rosfield had talked to him about wantin' to marry you." 

Jill sucked in a breath and pressed her palm into her chest as a familiar ache she'd barely been able to let go of since the attack settled over her again. "Please, don't say his name. Don't say any of their names." 

"I didn't mean..." 

"It's alright." 

Jill's eyes unfocused, and she curled into Morgaine once again, seeking more warmth.

Her ears attuned to the sounds of the hushed conversations around her. 

"-when we gat back home, that's what I'll do."

"-killed a Bearer last night. I could hear the screams." 

"-scared, Mama." 

"-Rosalith's remaining soldiers will sound the alert. We'll be alright." 

"-this place will kill us all." 

Jill groaned. "I don't feel well, Morgaine." 

"I know, child. I know." 

There was an echo down the hall, likely the guard who'd bear their scraps of food and throw it at them. But something sounded wrong. There were too many of them. 

"Bîsæc dôð bæc unlæd duguð heolstorloca," one of the Ironborn hissed, banging his weapon on the bars of the cell. Jill narrowed her eyes, unsure what he was saying, but his tone and the echoing clang of steel on metal was enough to have her jumping to her feet. The group of them murmured as another unlocked the cell, two others standing menacingly with axes by the door, and one threw the door open. "Bæc unlæd duguð heolstorloca!" he hissed again, making a shooing motion with his hands. 

Morgaine grabbed Jill's shoulder and pulled her backwards as they all moved towards the back of the cell, towards the wall. 

"Reccan ûs of pro ic êowergeoguð dryhtfolc!" 

Strangers clutched each other, confused as the Ironblood rolled his eyes in disgust and grabbed a nearby little girl by the wrist and threw her behind him. She began to scream, but another Ironblood grabbed her and shoved her out of the cell where irons were clasped around her wrist and she was forced to her knees before she could scramble away as she screamed in fear. He forced his way past several women and grabbed another little girl, doing the same. Then another. And another.

Jill felt hands pull her behind them, more than just Morgaine, hiding her among the crowd. She let them, sinking away from Morgaine as the women moved her out of sight, crowding around her.

Looking to her right, she saw a girl crouched on the floor, her head covered by her hands. And she, too, was yanked away.

There was chaos in the cell as women screamed and punched at the man, but his armor had their fists bouncing off helplessly. Jill could hear sickening gurgles, and she closed her eyes, pressing her face into the back of one of the women as she tried to appear as invisible as possible. There were desperate cries, harsh smacks, the thud of steel on flesh. Jill was shaking violently, and it wasn't from the cold.

"No, no! Don’t take her!" 

Jill looked up just in time to see the woman in front of her wrenched aside before she was grabbed by the hair and dragged from the crowd. 

 She grunted and pulled back, fighting the might of his pull with all she had.

"Jill!"

She turned to see Morgaine's outstretched hand, grabbing for it as hard as she could before she was torn away and thrown to the ground outside the cell as the gate closed behind her and the chains went painfully around her wrist. 

The Ironblood got in her face, smiling wickedly. "Êower tîber spræc læstan sê swæfan orgilde wægn cristalla." She didn't know what he said, but the smile was anything but relieving. 

They pulled the girls on the chain, led forward by their linked wrists, through the dark, dimly lit keep. Jill shuddered as they passed faces of soldiers and servants alike, all who just watched the six little girls in chains walk by. 

It was a long walk, and Jill couldn't take everything in, not with her fear threatening her legs to collapse at any moment, threatening to let her lose her stomach. Threatening to let those tears spill once more. 

When they stopped, Jill didn't have time to look around. A man in robes came out and gave each girl a look-over. "Twi," he said, and Jill was unchained along with the girl on the other end of the shackles. "Timbrian." He gestured to the doors. 

Jill couldn't move, glancing at the other girl. She was blonde, shaking as her hands gripped her dress tightly before she fell to her knees. "I don't want to go!" she cried. 

One soldier stepped forward and grabbed Jill's shoulders to keep her in place, but the other soldier dragged the girl by the hair through the door, following the man in the robe. 

As they rounded the corner, Jill froze, staring in awe at the sight before her. 

A mothercrystal. 

It glowed red, like the fires of the volcano and the breath of the drake it was named for. 

"Founder..." 

They let her stare for a moment before pushing her forward down a long stretch of path that Jill would have hated to look down from. But she could only look up. 

She nearly tripped over the stairs in front of her, distracted by the sight of the heart glowing brilliantly from the center, and several more men in robes kneeling before it, chanting in their foreign tongue. In front of them was a slab, but she could see no more. 

One man stood while the others kneeled, and he walked over to them. 

"Hello," he said in the common tongue. "My name is Imreann." He glanced over his shoulder. "Is it not magnificent?" 

"What's happening?" Jill asked. "Why are we here? Why are we prisoner? Why did you attack Rosalith?" 

Imreann's lip twitched. "A noble girl. No other would speak with such... impudence." He ran his hand beneath her chin, and she jerked her head away. 

The other girl sank into the soldier behind her. "Are we going to die?" 

Imreann turned to her, a smile curling up. "Yes. The crystals demand sacrifice. And you have been chosen." 

The girl screamed, but Jill froze as a bitter thought chilled her. Was death the worst thing that could happen to her? The Founder would welcome her to a land of the undying, and Clive, Joshua, Elwin, and her parents would await her there. It was everyone she loved just a reach away, and all it would take would be one final act. 

The glare Imreann shot her made her sick. He didn't seem pleased with her unexpectedly calm reaction, and he turned around to face the crystal. "For every year of your life that you are sacrificing, we gain more power. It is why we seek youth." 

Lord Elwin would chastise her for her giving up. Joshua would cheer her on. And Clive would offer her his strength. None of them would want her to join them, no matter how much she wished for a reunion. 

Jill shoved Imreann and spun on her heel, grabbing the blonde girl's wrist and dragging her along as they bolted back towards the entrance as fast as their feet could take them. She could hear the clunking armor behind her, but what she hadn't expected was for a man three times her size to step into the path of the doorway, blocking them off. 

Jill skidded to a halt and ran towards the edge of the path, but she was grabbed by the back of her dress and hauled back as she tried to free herself, grunting with effort. Imreann grabbed Jill by the ear and pulled her with him up to the altar. 

A knife lay in the center of the stone slab. 

"No!" Jill shouted, spotting it. 

She pushed at Imreann, only for four other men in robes to grab ahold of her arms and lift her onto the table. 

"No! No!!" she screeched, trying to push herself away with her feet. She managed to stand, but could get no further leverage. The other two robed men grabbed her feet and yanked the floor from under her, and she crashed down onto the slab with a shriek. 

Her head was throbbing from the impact, her back burning, her limbs painfully held down despite her flailing. She was totally immobilized beneath them all, entirely at their mercy. 

"No! Please! No!" 

She didn't even see when Imreann had grabbed the knife, but she could hear the girl screaming in fear as she watched him hover it over Jill, foreign prayers spilling from his lips as she pushed and flailed and threw herself around as best she could, screaming all the while. If there was a god in the realm, they were a deaf god. 

"Please! Please, no!"

When his words ceased, Jill couldn't bear to watch her own demise. Her eyes slammed shut, and she turned her head away, holding her breath in preparation. What would she feel? Pain? Would it hurt? Relief? Would it end quickly? 

"I can heal you, Jill!" she could hear Joshua's voice in her mind, his hand reaching out to her. 

"Come, girl, let us away now." Lord Elwin gestured beside him, offering her a place by his side. 

"We've missed you," her parents' voices echoed, unfamiliar after all these years. 

And behind her eyes, Clive stood beside her, handing her his sword that he'd been gifted on his birthday. "Since when do we listen to my mother, Jill? Pick up your weapon and fight with me." 

Her hand clasped around the hilt, and a burst of cool air hit her, forcing the air from her lungs as if she'd plunged into icy waters in the midst of the coldest winter. 

Was this death? Had it happened? 

She gasped, unable to move, frozen like ice. There were screams, but they weren't her own. Who was screaming? 

Clive winked at her before he disappeared. And Jill's eyes flew open. 

"Let me go!" 

Ice shot from her fingers, lodging in one of the robed men's throats. 

She looked at her hand in shock, paler than usual and with icicles sticking off the sleeve of her shirt. But she barely had time to register it, instead, rolling herself off the slab and sending a powerful wall of frost at two other priests. 

"It's an abomination!" one of the men shouted, reaching into his pocket for a knife. 

Jill felt fabric move with her somewhere hovering off her shoulders, and she clenched her fist, turning the man to ice in an instant. 

"Get back!" Jill hissed, stepping towards the other girl. But her voice wasn't her own. It was mixed with another's. One stronger than her, deeper. Older. 

Sharp icicles froze in her hands, stinging with cold before they shot towards the men holding the girl.  She stretched her fingers and a hundred sharp pieces of ice like shrapnel shot into the armor of several guards, piercing hard and fast straight through the metal. 

Something clasped around her wrists, and Jill screamed as the ice inside her burned, a hot circle of frostbite ringing around her hands as her connection to the element was suddenly cut off. 

Imreann pulled her to the ground and held the knife to her throat. "You beast! You fucking monster! You're a dominant!" 

"A what?" Jill asked, out of breath, tears creeping up through the pain. She couldn't process the word; though she knew it well, it had never applied to her.

He pulled her close to him and forced her to look around the room. "You filth. Look what you've done. Animal!" 

Jill sucked in a breath. Save for the young girl who cowered in a ball, and Imreann, there were none alive. 

"I didn't..." the tears she'd sought so hard to hold back spilled. "I don't know! I didn't mean to!" 

"I should kill you, you worthless savage!" He dragged the knife along her throat so blood dripped. "But I won't." A smile curled on his lips and he grabbed her by the hair. "I have a better idea for someone like you." 

And with the look in his eyes, Jill had never been so frightened to be alive in all her life. 

Chapter Text

Clive- Age 15

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

Those were the only things Clive could think of when he woke from his nightmare only to find out he was still in it. 

Father was dead. Joshua was dead.

Joshua was... dead. 

It was a fact he had to remind himself every day. For the entirety of the ride he'd spent slung over the back of a horse, head throbbing from the gait of the horse, he'd had to tell himself that he hadn't been hurt in a training yard. He hadn't been knocked out by Sir Rodney. He hadn't been thrown from Ambrosia. 

He'd been attacked at Phoenix Gate, and his life had crumbled in an instant along with the castle's foundation. 

"Ah, the little archduke is awake." 

He stirred, feeling the ground beneath him, daylight burning his eyes as he winced and looked away from the blue sky. It had no right to be so blue, so pure. It should be downcast and weeping. The heavens themselves should cry for the lost. 

"Don't call him that. He's not a duke. He's nothing." 

Clive let out a pained breath and sat up, only to feel a boot to his face sending him back down. 

"Did I tell you to get up, boy?"

The taste of blood pooled on his lip, and Clive licked it away before glaring at the men around him. Each of them donned Sanbrequois armor, though one far outshone the polished perfection of the world's most distinguished army. 

There had been a point in his life when Clive admired the Sanbreque army. They were known for their incredible numbers, inspiring bravery, regimented discipline, and perhaps most interesting to a young boy, their dragoons. But now, as he looked upon the oathbreaking traitors who'd participated in the massacre, he could only find rage within himself. There was nothing left to fill the void that his nightmares had left inside him but with hate and anger. 

"You fucking traitors!" Clive hissed, sitting up once again, lunging for the knight in the shiniest armor.  

The man dodged Clive's weak attack, and Clive fell to the ground, clutching his side. He didn't realize he'd been injured at Phoenix Gate. 

"Perhaps we were given wrong information. This is not the finest soldier in Rosaria. Just a headstrong boy." 

Clive rolled onto his side, looking around. He was surrounded by about five soldiers. There was no way he could take them all in this state. "Why did you betray us? You were our allies!" 

The Knight grabbed Clive and pinned him in the dirt. "Listen, Rat, I don't like children. Don't give me a reason to kill you before we arrive at camp." 

"Go ahead! Do it!"

"Arsenio," one of the soldiers said just as the knight in the shiniest armor, Arsenio, reached for a knife at his belt. The soldier leaned forward as they watched. "The Duchess won't want him dead. Her orders were the front lines, not the pyre." 

"My... mother? What's she to do with anything?" Clive's brows pinched together and he shook his head, willing his mind to seek out impossible answers. 

The group of soldiers snickered. "Oh," the Arsenio said, mock sympathy in his voice as he bent down to Clive's level and tightened his fingers around Clive's throat. "You didn't know? Your mother is the one who entreated the Emperor to claim Rosaria for himself. She laid out the attack plans with His Radiance, she knew when you'd all be at your weakest. You'd be interested to know that our orders were that the heir is to be spared. There was no such stipulation on your life. Your brother was meant to live. That means his death is on your hands, not hers. Isn't life funny that way?" 

"My mother... she..." he swallowed. "She wouldn't have... because... Joshua..." but Clive trailed off. 

His mother had been despicable and downright cruel to him, but he'd never considered her to want him dead. 

Or had he?

He thought back to his birthday, to her hesitation.

"I'm shocked Mother is letting you go wherever it is you're taking me."

"She tried to stop me," Joshua said proudly. "But I didn't let her! She said I should let you and Jill go alone."

Jill made a face. "Why would she say that?"

"To get us out of the way, I'm sure," Clive scoffed, though his arms tightened around Torgal. "But she allowed you to come, right?"

Joshua shrugged. "She ran away real fast when I told her I was going to go. So I think so." 

And on that same day, out of nowhere, and to the surprise of the soldiers, a Gigas had appeared and nearly killed him and--

"What of Rosalith?" Clive asked, breathless. "Did my mother attack there as well?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" 

"Please!" Clive begged. "Please, I'll stop talking. Just tell me." 

"You don't make demands of me, you little fuck." Arsenio kicked Clive again. "I don't think you realize this, but you're officially dead. I forgot to mention that. The Duchess is in mourning for her entire family. Now, shut the fuck up and walk. We've a long way to go."

By the time they reached a small encampment, Clive was exhausted. He'd walked bound behind the chocobos the entire way, limping with an injury he couldn't quite pinpoint without the time to really sit down and assess himself, and see to his injuries. At least with his mind in soldier mode, he didn't have to think about what was happening to him. No, all he had to think about was surviving with an overwhelming enemy force. 

Sir Rodney had taught him that before. 

Sir Rodney. He wondered how many of the others he might have been able to lead to safety. Were there any survivors of Phoenix Gate? 

He didn't realize just how strong a pain a single word could bring him until he repeated "Phoenix" over and over again, hoping that with time, it might lose its edge and the stabbing in his chest would dull. But if that power existed, it wasn't to happen today. Today, the name felt like the weight of the entire castle had collapsed on Clive's chest, and he couldn't breathe under the pressure of it. 

"Let's go, rat," Arsenio muttered, pulling on Clive's binds and leading him towards a tent. He pushed Clive inside. 

"We got him." 

Another well-polished suit of armor stood before him, matted brown hair, tousled and sweaty from training. He combed through it with his fingers. 

"I heard about the success of Phoenix Gate." He shot Clive a sadistic smile. "Well done aiding us in the long run." 

"I didn't aid you!" 

The man stretched his arm casually. Clive took in the patch on his arm. A dragoon. "No? You were First Shield to His Highness Joshua Rosfield. Joshua Rosfield is dead." His brother's name shot through him, stabbing worse than any mention of the Phoenix. "With His Highness alive, the Duchess would have become the Wardeness of Rosaria until he became of age. Now, our Emperor may claim the land. You have done us a great service by failing in your duties." 

"I've killed your kind before," Clive spat. "I'll do it again." 

"As if I would trust the Shield who couldn't even protect his own brother." 

Clive lunged. 

Arsenio grabbed Clive and punched him in the gut, sending him to his knees. 

The dragoon circled Clive like a predator. "My name is Jude Forewind, Knight of the Deadly Seas. And I will be the man who breaks you." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Clive spat, disgusted by empty threats. He could never be broken. 

Jude continued speaking as if Clive hadn't said a word. "I received word from my troops in Rosalith. I hope you didn't plan to ever go back. It was in quite a state when they arrived. Apparently, the Iron Kingdom attacked just days after Phoenix Gate. By the time the Duchess returned, everyone in the castle was dead. Every man's throat slit. Every woman... well... who knows what they did to them. Most of them are gone. The ones they left behind weren't left pretty either. Everyone you knew there is dead." 

"What?" Clive breathed out, though taking another breath proved nearly useless. "Were none spared?" 

"No man. Ironblood take their women. Why, I can only assume. And it ain't a pretty assumption no matter how you slice it." 

"Founder... Jill..." Clive hissed, running his bound hands along his face. "Jill." 

"What's that?" Jude asked, tilting his head. "You got a lady friend back home?" 

"She... she's my best friend." 

"She's dead or worse, kid. If she ain't dead yet, she'll soon wish she was." Jude sighed wistfully. "If only you'd been there for her. Could have saved your little lady lover. Failure at the Gate, failure back home. Might as well accept it, kid: you're nothing but a failure, in the end. Dead father, dead brother, murderous mother, tortured girl. What's left for you to lose?" 

Clive shrank back. He wouldn't let them see him affected. 

"Could start fresh with us, you see. No more Clive Rosfield. He died at Phoenix Gate. How's that sound?" 

But Clive couldn't do that to his father, to his brother, to his country. "No. For better or for worse, I am Clive Rosfield, Marquess of Rosaria, First Shield to the Phoenix, and I will get out of here. And when I do, I will avenge my brother and kill his murderer. And then I'll kill all of you." 

Jude tsked. "See, we could have done this the easy way. But I guess not." He strode up to Clive, who squirmed in his bindings. "What's your name?" 

Clive narrowed his eyes. "Clive Rosfield." 

"Wrong. You're no Archduke here." Jude closed his fist and punched Clive in the gut. "What's your name?" 

Clive doubled over and coughed, wheezing out, "Clive Rosfield." 

Jude lifted Clive's chin and pushed him backwards into Arsenio. "Hold him up." He punched him again. "Your name, boy?" 

Clive gasped for breath, but leaned back. "Clive Rosfield." 

"Stupid kid," Jude spat, punching Clive in the face this time. Clive's legs gave out for a moment, and he felt them stumble for purchase, though Arsenio held him upright. "We'll get it through your head sooner or later. Can't have a dead man joining the army, can we? Take him out of here." 

Arsenio dragged Clive away and tossed him to the ground by a fire. 

Flames like the firebird... his sworn oath... 

No, he wouldn't let Clive Rosfield die at Phoenix Gate. He still had a job to do.

Clive blinked for the thousandth time in a row, trying to adjust his vision so he could see through the haze. All he could see was the grass he was pressed against. 

And then, he saw the gruel dropped in front of him, poured to the ground tauntingly out of reach. 

"What's your name?" 

Clive rolled his face into the dirt. He was so sick of that question. So sick of the response. Jude kicked him twice when he refused to answer until his name rolled from his tongue. 

"Fucking kid," Jude muttered, grabbing Clive by the hair and hoisting him to his feet. "Let's go." 

Struggling to keep his feet, Clive stumbled crookedly as he begrudgingly followed Jude across the camp, down to the areas he hadn't been allowed to frequent. The physicker sat by her own fire, watching them curiously as Jude dragged Clive towards her. "See this whelp? The bastard just shot fire at me. He's a fucking Bearer." 

Clive's eyes shot up, and adrenaline surged through his whole body. "I'm not... I'm not a Bearer." 

Jude gripped Clive's chin. "Yes you fucking are. 'Cause only Clive Rosfield had the Blessing of the Phoenix, and he's dead. You're just another fucking bearer. And it's time the world knew it." 

"No!" Clive hissed, eyes darting to the physicker for help, but she didn't seem to care. Didn't even react, just grabbed some things from her bag and set to working on something. "No! I'm not... I'm not a Bearer!" 

Clive ducked under Jude's arm and stumbled away, weak with hunger, thirst, and sleeplessness. He had no weapon, but Jude was right, he had the Blessing of the Phoenix. 

Jude drew his sword, and Clive felt the presence of the other soldiers creeping up behind him, ready to hold him down. But he slammed his fist into the grass, letting a wall of flames spin around him, burning several of the enemies, causing Jude to shield his face. And Clive ran. 

Only for a hole to appear in the ground, catching his foot and twisting his ankle painfully off to the side. 

He cried out, spotting a Branded soldier with his arm outstretched. Getting back to his feet so he could hobble off, Clive made for one final flight, but Jude clapped irons around his wrists, and Clive felt the Phoenix's flames just out of reach the second the metal connected with his skin. "Let go!" 

"We'll see," Jude said, bending into Clive's face so his rancid breath made Clive gag. "What's your fucking name, bearer?" 

Clive heaved, wincing as pain shot through his foot and up his leg. His stomach begged for sustenance, and his body yearned for sleep. What a pathetic excuse for a soldier he was. He'd been living the gilded life, seeing the world through a lens. He was a meticulously trained soldier who could run drills and fight off creatures. But he'd never been taught that the real monsters would be trained the same way as him. That they'd know their enemy in a way no goblin could. That they'd wear the same armor, understand the same drills. 

War was a dirty business, and up until that moment, Clive had been shielded more than he'd been a shield. 

He grit his teeth, preparing himself. He'd have to face the consequences of his naiveté. 

"My name is Clive." 

"What a shame that is," Jude hissed. 

"You won't hear me scream for you." 

"We'll see." 

Jude lifted Clive, perhaps the only mercy he offered given his twisted ankle, and carried him back to the physicker, throwing him to his knees. The camp moved around to watch, and Clive felt a boot on his back, pressing his body over a stump the physicker was using like a table. 

"Arsenio, hold him there good," Jude said, walking to the front of Clive, grabbing a fistful of hair, and slamming his face down, cheek up. He held him tight, and trapped between both men, Clive couldn't move. 

"Poor little leaf's trembling," Arsenio snickered, pushing his boot harder into Clive's back. "He really is just a kid." 

Reactively, Clive tugged at his chained hands, squirming. 

The physicker slapped his cheek down. "Move like that and you'll make this worse than it has to be." 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see what looked like a cattle's branding iron, but with a far more intricate shape. But he'd seen it many times as he'd roamed about Rosaria with his father. It was an iron, but the brand was not made of fire melting flesh, but magicked ink laced with venom that would soak deep into the skin and never fade. 

"Hold still, kid," she said, hovering the brand over his face, lining it up. 

Clive couldn't help it, squeezing his eyes shut. 

When the metal connected with his face, it might as well have been fire. 

The iron singed his skin, breaching the nerves of every fiber within his body. Heat radiated along his cheek as the venom spread. 

He screamed. 

Hot fires beneath his flesh cooked him from within, pushing further out. He tried to squirm, tried to pull his hands free from the metal bindings behind his back. His legs flailed until a harsh boot uncaringly kept them down. For a moment, he was grateful for the fist clenched in his hair, keeping him still, or he feared he'd have writhed away and caused the brand to be accidently reapplied in his flailing. 

"Almost there," the woman said, pushing the iron harder against him. 

"Get it off!" Clive screeched, though he knew nothing would stop the spread of the brand's poison now. Nothing would ever take away his pain. 

The physicker pulled the iron away and set it down, and Clive felt himself let go, only to scamper off to a bush so he could lose what little he had in his stomach as pain overtook him. He wretched until he couldn't breathe, until his legs couldn't keep him upright and he collapsed into the dirt, fresh tears cooling his cheeks. It made him want to cry harder, for it was the only relief he had. 

But Jude hovered over Clive. "Thought we wouldn't hear you scream." He grabbed Clive and dragged him away from the encampment towards the tent once again, and threw him in the dirt by a tree. "Get your rest, Branded. Tomorrow's your first full day as a slave of the empire. Congratulations." 

Clive sat up on his elbow, unable to keep the flow of tears at bay. "I'll fucking kill you." 

"I'm scared," Jude scoffed, kicking dirt at Clive before heading into his tent. 

Clive didn't have it in him to fight anymore. Left in solitude, he pressed his cheek into his shoulder, hoping the pressure would relieve even a fragment of the pain. 

If he were home, if he were in pain, the only one he'd feel alright troubling with his woes would be Jill. 

Jill, who he'd likely gotten killed when he was unable to prevent the Eikon of Fire from killing Joshua. 

And as they'd said, if she were alive, she wouldn't be for long, and she'd regret every second of it. 

He glanced up at the moon, at Metia. 

"Please," he breathed out, a hushed whisper as loud as he dared. "Help me avenge my family. I'll endure this, Metia. But please, grant my wish. You've ignored my others, laughed at them, spit on them. Grant me this one." 

And with a shuddered breath and a hiss of pain, Clive closed his eyes. 

"Oy, Branded," Jude hissed, kicking Clive's stomach to wake him up as he had every day for the last two weeks since getting his brand. 

The days had been cruel to him.

The contingent of the army had begun moving again, and Clive remained tied up by the wrists and dragged behind a chocobo, all while surviving on sips of water and stale bread tossed his way. He'd slept on rocks and dirt most nights, and his ankle had been forced to heal from a sprain on its own. 

A stark contrast to the fuss the castle would have gone through if he'd been injured back home. 

Clive sat up and pushed his hair back from his face, still feeling the lingering pinch of pain in his skin from sleeping on his branded cheek. Other Bearers in the camp had assured him the feeling would disappear eventually, and in terms of pain, he would feel like his old self in time.

“When I speak to you, you respond, Branded.”

“What?” Clive hissed.

Jude glared. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today. But you better learn some respect, you piece of shit.”

Clive stared up at him blandly. He had nothing to say. 

Jude bent down, getting comfortable besides Clive before handing him a piece of meat that had clearly been pulled off a plate. 

Clive wasn’t sure he’d ever eaten something so fast. The taste didn’t even register on his tongue before he swallowed it down.

“You like that, didn’t you?” Jude asked, sounding almost sympathetic. Almost. “There’s more of that in the encampment. You know all you have to do for me to let you join the others. You can have a warm meal. A bath. Company.”

“I’d rather die.”

“Yes, I gathered that much. But see, my orders are to get you on the front lines. But I just don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. You might not think I’ve paid you any mind these few weeks, but I have. And I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Clive didn’t want to hear it, but he had little other choice.

Jude handed him a piece of parchment with a neatly penned letter printed on it. “I assume you can read.”

Clive took the letter without another word and let his eyes scan the paper. 

“…regarding your inquiry into the second Eikon of Fire and the murder of His Highness, Joshua Rosfield. Survivors reported witnessing a figure in a brown cloak with no insignias retreating from the scene…”

Clive froze, the paper slipping through his fingers.

“I’ve done some digging on your behalf. Seems there are leads out there regarding that Eikon. Figured you might be keen on following some.”

“Yes! I saw him, the hooded man! I saw him… he… someone may have seen his face.”

“They might have. And what way are you to get revenge on him if you’re rotting by these trees? You listen here: accept that you’ve lost, Branded. You ain’t no better than any other of these soldiers. And we could use you. We could train you. All the while, you can be looking for the Eikon for your revenge. I’ll pass you leads and train you with my most elite, you’ll eat food again. Training will be rigorous, but if you intend to kill that thing, you need to be stronger than you are. And all you have to do to be trusted in the ranks and to have your chance at avenging your family is to kill Clive Rosfield for good. What say you, Branded?”

Clive’s mouth fell open to decline, but no words came out. His eyes fell to the letter. They’d seen him. They’d seen the hooded man. There was a chance. For Joshua, for his father, for Jill, for his friends. He had the chance to avenge them all, and all he had to do was sacrifice one dead man with nothing left to his name, nothing left to live for. Why was it so hard?

“What’s your name?” Jude asked patiently. 

Clive swallowed, rubbed his eyes, and looked up at the clouds, watching them pass for several long seconds as they carried away his burden. “I have none.”

“And what are you?”

He hesitated again. Closed his eyes. “Branded.”

Jude clapped him on the shoulder and helped him to his feet. “Let’s get you something to eat then, shall we?”

Chapter Text

Jill- Age 13

Jill sat in her cell and stared at the bars. There was only so many times she could count the cracks in the floor. 

She'd done everything she could to try to recall the stories Clive would read to her and Joshua about the Eikons and their Dominants, but she'd always been far too engrossed in the history of the Phoenix to pay attention to the others. 

Shiva? Ice? She hardly remembered a thing. 

"It's you!" she remembered yelling excitedly as she leaned against Clive on one side, and Joshua on the other as they all looked at a book Lord Elwin had gotten them. 

Joshua had traced his hand along the page. "I'm hardly that majestic." 

"You are so!" she'd countered. "You've only become the Phoenix once or twice, and neither time did you have a mirror, so you'll just have to trust us, right Clive?" 

He'd nodded in agreement with her as his eyes skimmed the page. "Did you know the last Phoenix was Lord Landon Rosfield?" And when Joshua shook his head no, Clive closed the book. "Without looking, who was he to us?" 

"Is this an answer I'm meant to know?" 

"As Phoenix, you should probably know at least a little of your history." 

Jill had pulled the book away from his chest so she could see the answer before looking smugly at Joshua along with him. 

"A... cousin?" he guessed. 

Clive snorted and handed the book over. "A great great uncle. Good try though." 

"Damn." 

Clive lightly whacked Joshua in the head. "Don't curse." 

"But you do!" 

"I..." 

Jill had giggled and crossed her arms, "He's got you there, Clive." 

"Well... I won't anymore. Starting now. So you better not start." 

The book had fallen closed, never turning to the next page, to Shiva. 

What a fool Jill had been. 

Should she not have had an inkling? Should she have felt a stirring of this power long ago? She should have asked Joshua more questions, should have learned more about all the Eikons. And now, that chance was gone, and she was left alone in a dark room with naught but a lit sconce on the wall opposite her to keep her company. 

She'd been deemed too dangerous to return to the cell with the others, lest she try to break them all free and start a revolution. Morgaine likely thought her dead. 

Jill sure wished she were. 

Her arms wrapped around her legs as she sought to keep herself warm. That was the worst part of all this; now that she had awakened Shiva's powers, it seemed she couldn't regulate her own body temperature. For a land beside a volcano, she was constantly cold, only swelling with warmth when she felt herself furthest from her connection to the ice. How she longed to kiss her lips into the gap between Torgal's ears, warming herself in his fur. 

"What are we to do with the little beast?" one of the priests had asked Imreann as he held her tightly in his arms while she'd squirmed for freedom.

"What we always do with these abominations," one of the others suggested. "Kill it and be done with it all. A vile thing like that doesn't deserve to live." 

"Wait," Imreann said, jerking her to the side. "I've an idea... but we must talk it over in private. I don't trust it not to listen in."

It wasn't until the door creaked open and an army's worth of Crusaders entered her cell that she even considered that she'd figure the answer out. 

"Beslêpan nêan," one hissed at her, throwing the magic suppressing cuffs at her. The soldier pointed to her wrist, so she strapped one onto herself before struggling to manage the other. They all watched her through it, and she wondered just how much power she had if these hardened warriors were afraid of her. Was it enough to set her free? 

If she were free, where would she even go with everyone she loved dead? 

But she stood up and followed the Crusaders without complaint, marching back down the familiar hallways until she was in the room with the Mothercrystal once again. 

The scene before her was too familiar: priests stood in a circle, chanting. Soldiers lined the sides of the area, ready with their axes to move or attack at any moment. The altar stood proudly in the center. 

Covered in blood. 

She spotted Imreann directly in front of it, wiping a bloody knife on his sleeve. "We ask the Mothercrystal for her forgiveness for allowing this abomination into the sanctity of your halls, and pray that our sacrifice has been worthy." 

Jill took a steady breath, though she was unable to look away from the puddle of blood pooled on the alter. An eerie calm settled over her, something akin to acceptance. She only hoped that they'd let her lie in the dry area when they plunged the knife into her chest. As she walked by, she found her fingers running along the edge of the alter, though she couldn't feel it beneath the tips of her fingers. It was like she was in a dream, floating, wading around as she waited to wake up. But she couldn't wake up from reality, no matter how much she wanted to.

"You're in luck," Imreann said, letting his sharp nail run under her chin. Jill made no move to jerk away, still floating. Still dreaming. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. "We've found it in our hearts not to kill you, as we would were you born amongst our own. Instead, you will help us spread the word of the Crystalline Orthodox to the world." 

Jill blinked slowly, but made no other move to respond. 

Imreann scoffed. "Bindan sv hire of hê uppe!" he barked at another priest before turning back to Jill. "Your kind are stains on this world and should be eradicated. But you already exist, so why waste you? All that matters now is making sure you can use those disgusting powers of yours. You'll start today."

The priest Imreann had addressed pulled her backwards towards the Mothercrystal and unbound her wrists from the magic cuffs, tying them instead with rope. A second priest took her other wrist and moved to her opposite side, stretching her arms out as wide as possible without any slack. 

She closed her eyes. It hurt. Like everything else. 

"Prime, you abomination." 

Jill wasn't sure what she was meant to do, nor how to do it. She'd never even seen Joshua prime. 

"I don't..." she said weakly. Her voice felt foreign to her. Lifeless. Drained. 

Imreann's hand smacked the back of his hard across her face. "Shut your unholy mouth. You will only speak when spoken to! I only want results." He turned to the priests holding her bindings. "Do it." 

Jill felt herself pulled backwards.

And then she screamed. 

Her back was pressed into the Mothercrystal, and whether it was a natural reaction that was meant to happen, or it was her uncontrolled newfound abilities, she could feel the draw of aether, feel the crystal penetrating it's power through her skin. It hurt, seared her, left her screaming until she was hoarse.

"Prime, you maggot!" 

Jill tried. She really did. She tried to call forth all the energy that the crystal was surging throughout her body, but it was moving with lightning speed. She couldn't pinpoint it, couldn't chase it. Perhaps if she were Ramuh, but she was not. She was Shiva. 

Freeze the power of the crystal, she tried, demanding her body to work with her, begging it to function properly. But she couldn't do it. There was nothing to call on. 

Imreann hurried towards her with the bloodied knife in his hand and pressed it to her throat. "Do you need your life to be threatened? Do you need me to cut your throat? Do you want to die?" 

"Please!" she cried, arching forward as another surge of power hit her hard. Great Greagor, if she could only control it.

"Please? Please what? Please release you? Please kill you? Please prime?" 

Her legs gave out, the ropes the only thing left to hold her up. 

"I can't! I don't know how!" 

"We are allowing you to taint the Mothercrystal with your filth, and you deign to say 'you can't?' You will. You will stand here until you can figure it out, and then we will cleanse your impurities that you have tainted us with from your vile presence." 

He grinned sadistically before nodding to one of the priests, and Jill closed her eyes before feeling more pain, unending. 

Jill was sprawled on the ground of the training yard, barely able to open her eyes. 

"Up!" one of the Ironblood hissed. Imreann had taught the commanders what few words they'd need to bark orders at her, but Jill could hardly bring herself to care. She curled up and ppulled her arms around her legs.

Thick fingers were around her neck, pulling her up, choking her, and she was thrown back into the center of the soldiers. But her opponent wasn't an Iron Blood. It was a captured Sanbreque soldier. As if they'd sully any of their own to train her. 

He ran towards her, and Jill let out a pained cry, holding her hands up, letting ice shoot from the tips of her fingers towards the soldier. They hit him firmly in the chest, but did little other damage. 

A foot kicked the back of her legs. "Forhêawan of hê!" he shouted, and Jill scampered forward, away from any other potential danger from behind. She didn't need to understand the language to know what they were demanding of her. Kill him. 

Letting everything else close around her, she laid on the ground and closed her eyes. 

"Clive Rosfield! What were you just doing?" She could remember Clive standing protectively in front of her, shielding her from who she'd assumed to be the worst person out there in the Twins. 

"We were just playing, Mother."

Jill had winced as the harsh sound of a palm connecting with skin resounded through the training yard. Clive grabbed Jill's hand, and Torgal bounded out in front of them. 

"Clive, if you put a weapon in that girl's hand, she'll turn on us all. She's from that savage warlord province; put nothing past her. She'll grow up to be a killer."

Clive had scoffed. "It's just Jill."

Another slap. 

"Come out here, you little coward. If I ever catch you wielding a weapon again, you won't have hands to use it, is that understood?" 

Jill squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Had Anabella been right all along? Was it she and Clive who'd always been the delusional ones?

"I can't..." she breathed, a sob escaping her throat, though she knew the consequences. Instead, she just laid her head in the dirt and waited. She would not prove Anabella right. 

"Let's go," Imreann said, grabbing her and slapping cuffs onto her wrists before dragging her through the keep. She didn't fight, but tiredly trudged behind him. 

"Where?" 

He shot her a cold look, but it didn't bother her. Nothing bothered her anymore.

When was the last time she'd had a conversation with someone? Surely the last time she'd spoken to anyone casually had been the night she'd been dragged from the cell to be sacrificed. The last kind hands she'd felt had been those of strangers shielding her behind their backs in vain. It had to have been a month. She couldn't be sure, but from the way time dragged on so slowly, her desperate wish for years to have passed so this could all end had to have been an empty plea. It must have only been a relatively short time. 

Life, she realized, was about to get dreadfully long. 

For years, childish hopes had plagued her. Dreams of a long and happy life in Rosalith with Clive and Joshua beside her. She would run through fields with Torgal, ride chocobos, and live forever after in peace. 

What a child she'd been just over a month ago.

Imreann opened the door and pushed Jill inside. She looked around the unfamiliar room. It was a kitchen area, of sorts, though the ovens and fires were on the far wall. She was in a clearing in front of a stairwell.

And in the clearing, five people knelt in front of her, heads bowed, while the rest of the onlookers in the room watched silently from off by the walls. Jill kept her head bowed as well. Until she heard her name. 

"Jill? Jill! You're alive" 

She hadn't felt her heart beat so hard in far too long. The familiar voice calling out to her had her brows raising excitedly.

"Morgaine!" she shouted, rushing forward. Imreann caught her and pushed her backwards. His brow furrowed, and he looked between Jill and Morgaine suspiciously. 

He ripped her off the floor and held his knife to Morgaine's throat. "Prime, or this one dies." 

"Don't!" Jill screamed, lunging forward, only to be caught in a soldier's arm. He unlocked her cuffs. 

"Prime?" Morgaine repeated, staring at Jill. "Like a Phoenix?" 

Tears sprung to Jill's eyes. "I'm sorry, Morgaine! I have the power, but I don't know how to use it yet!" 

"You're the new Phoenix?" 

"No. Shiva." Jill nearly sobbed on the word. "I don't know how to Prime yet! Please!" 

Blood dripped down Morgaine's throat as Imreann pushed the knife deeper into her flesh. "Figure it out." 

Heart racing, Jill clenched at her shirt, pulling it from her chest as if that could help her breathe. "I don't know how! I don't know how!" 

More blood. A longer line of it. Morgaine whimpered. "It's okay, Jill. Just close your eyes." 

Bile rose in Jill's throat, and her hands clawed their way up her throat, over her eyes, and through her hair where she pulled just to feel again. "Stop it! I don't know how! I would! I swear! I would!" 

Imreann slid the knife further, causing Morgaine to cry out. His eyes were set on Jill in a challenge.

"Figure it out," he hissed again. "Or she dies." 

"I don't know! I don't know!" Jill's shrill screech left her shaking, only standing with the help of the hands behind her. 

"It's okay, Jill. I'll take your love to them with me." 

"Nonononono!" she cried, watching the knife push harder into her. The others on the ground screamed as Imreann pressed his palm to Morgaine's forehead, tilting her head back further. 

The sound of a knife on flesh was one Jill had heard many times before. She used to watch the hunters bring back antelope, and the butcher would let her and Clive sit on the nearby table to watch while he set to work cleaning the kills. Joshua was never allowed so near to the smell, as per Anabella's orders, but Jill and Clive were in there often, even helping on rare occasion, often to the chorus of 'watch your fingers!' from the panicked butcher who longed to indulge two curious children. 

But a knife on human flesh was new to her, and it rang distinctly different. 

The soft gurgle of blood, the way Morgaine's hands clawed at Imreann's wrists before falling limp. The spray of blood that had her blinking to keep it from her eyes. 

"No!" 

Her voice cracked as she shrieked the word from her throat. But she was too lost to notice the second voice that had joined her. Shiva's voice. 

The men beside her were flung away from her as a burst of ice erupted off her skin, flying out in every direction. There were screams from the onlookers in the kitchen, and she watched them flee and hide. She didn't care. Jill summoned ice beneath her feet and raced towards Imreann and Morgaine, sending a wall of sharp icicles at him. 

To her mortification, he smirked, and pulled Morgaine's limp body in front of him as a shield. 

Jill screeched, more ice flying off of her, tears streaming down her cheeks, freezing the second they touched her skin until they built up glaciers along her face. She held up her hand, a spear of ice appearing, and hovered it over Imreann. 

He laughed. 

She paused for a moment, hesitating at his reaction. He stood, unafraid, and tossed Morgaine's lifeless, maimed corpse at her feet before pointing off to the side where the others had knelt. The smile on his lips was sinister. "You fucking monster." 

Jill turned. 

They were all dead. 

The ice melted away in an instant, and she collapsed to the ground, her hand covering her mouth as she sobbed into it. She was uncontrollable, wracked with a soul crushing ache as she stared at her destruction. She lost her stomach and crawled towards the bodies. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she whispered, again and again, hushed and frantic as she wiped at tears, smearing their blood accidently under her eyes. 

"Get up," Imreann hissed, pulling her to her feet. "We will do this again tomorrow and the next day until you can semi-prime at will. And you will call Shiva. That is all a beast like you is good for; destruction. At least we will help guide you so that destruction can be aimed at our enemies. You should thank us: we're going to give your life purpose." When Jill said nothing, her face flattening as her glassy eyes stared at the corpses all around her. Only Imreann and those in the kitchen were left alive. It was her. It was her fault. 

He slapped her across the face. "I said you should thank us. Do it." 

"Thank you," she muttered, all life in her words faded into the darkness that was threatening her. 

"Let's go." He dragged her back to her cell and threw her inside, alone in the darkness. 

It wasn't for several hours that the door creaked open again. 

Jill opened her eyes, though she lay facing the wall. She felt exposed, like someone were coming to stab her in the back and punish her for her sins. 

But all she heard was a slight rattle against the stones. 

"Oops, sorry, milady. I might have spilled." 

Jill turned, watching a woman bent on her knees outside the bars of the cell. 

"I don't suppose your magic can light a candle, can it, milady? I have one here." 

She... wasn't sure. 

Jill rolled over and followed the shadow the light from the open door cast, holding her hand over the candle that the woman stuck into the bars. Ice ran cool, but woo much of it at too low a temperature could burn. She focused on that. 

And a flame appeared on the wick. 

On any other day, she might have smiled. 

"Oh, well done, milady!" 

Jill sighed, sitting back. "I'm not a lady. Not anymore. I'm just Jill." 

The woman set the candle down and smiled. Brown hair fell into her eyes, and she had a soft smile that pinched dimpled cheeks. "I brought you food, Jill. You need to eat. I know you won't be feeling like it today, but you have to try. I... I saw. I was in the kitchens. I'm sorry for your loss." 

"You saw?" 

"I did." 

Jill felt her tears burn her eyes once again. "Then you should run. A monster like me will only get you killed." 

The woman tilted her head, unaffected. "How old are you, Jill?" 

"I just turned thirteen when... wait... how do you know the common tongue?" 

She smiled wider. "I was brought here when I was younger as well. I know how hard it can be. Though I know not your plight. It's all so different here than Rosaria, isn't it?" 

"How do you know I'm from Rosaria?" 

"Your accent. It suits you." She glanced towards the door. "By all rights, I shouldn't be the one in here tonight, so if anyone asks where the food came from, just tell them it was Holli. She'll cover for you, and your words will not get her into trouble, I swear it. Now, eat. I'll come back tomorrow with some more. Even when everyone seeks to hold you down, keep your chin up, Jill."

"Wait!" Jill called as the woman rose. "I don't even know your name." 

She smiled kindly as she backed up. "Marleigh." 

Jill pulled the candle closer to herself, careful that lingering tears wouldn't snuff it out. "Thank you, Lady Marleigh." 

Chapter Text

Clive- Age 17 

"Right! Left! Parry right! Again! Right! Left! Parry! What pitiful excuses you bastards are!" 

Clive rolled his eyes and shook out his arms. How many hours had they been running drills today? At least four now, and before that, he'd been crawling through the mud for several hours. Before that, he'd already worked up a sweat on strength training. They never stopped. If nothing else, Clive had built up quite the endurance over the past two years. If nothing else... he was a better soldier.

"Oye! You there!" Clive turned to make sure he wasn't the one being yelled at, but the commander was pointing to a different Branded soldier. "What you think we give you them swords for? To pick your pretty teeth? Use it! If this were our enemies, you'd be fucking dead out there! You lot need to train like this is a real fight, not like we're sparring, you hear me?" 

"Yes, Sir," Clive muttered with the rest of them. 

"Alright, I've seen your ugly mugs long enough today. Get out of here. We'll reconvene in three hours for more drills." 

Clive put his sword back on his belt and adjusted his ill-fitting armor before throwing himself on the ground, exhausted. 

"What you doing down there?" 

"Resting," he deadpanned. He didn't need to know who was speaking to know it was his friend, a man called Biast. He'd slayed a 'beast' in his early days, and the name with a slang had stuck. It was far better than how others got Clive's attention. That usually only consisted of someone kicking him, hitting him, waving at him, or screaming in his direction. Usually, he'd get the memo. Sometimes, he still couldn't tell. 

It had been two years since he uttered the name Clive Rosfield outside his head. And he intended to keep it that way. 

Jude had been good on his word, passing Clive intel in exchange for his uncontested servitude. And today, Jude was expected back in camp. 

Clive rolled over to Biast. "Alright, what do you want?" 

"I'm meant to train later with magic. Care to spar?" 

"I just sat down." 

"Get back up," he said, pulling Clive up by the elbow whether he wanted to or not. 

Clive stretched. "I suppose I should practice my fireballs." 

Biast snorted. "Your what?" 

"My fireballs." 

His mouth formed a thin line, desperately holding in a laugh. 

"What the fuck is so funny about my fireballs?" Clive hissed before he held himself up a little straighter. "Oh." 

"Your fireballs bothering you?" Biast snickered. 

"You thinking about them so hard?" 

"Are they hard?" 

Both of them felt a whack on the back of the head by an older Bearer. "You're both children." 

Well, in many ways, the Bearer wasn't wrong. 

"Hey, Fireballs," another Bearer called, looking at Clive. His face reddened. Founder, he hoped he hadn't just earned himself a name. "The Dragoon wants to see you. Said to find the broody one, so I figure that's you." 

Clive felt a lightness to his step as he quickly passed Biast. "I'm not always broody." 

"You are," Biast muttered. "You only ain't when Knight of the Flowers comes along." 

"Knight of the Deadly Seas," Clive corrected. 

The Branded soldier pointed towards the heart of camp. "Alright, Lover Boy. Go get your man." 

"He's not..." Clive scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Nevermind." None of them could ever understand. None of them had lived through Phoenix Gate. None of them had watched a mysterious Eikon of Fire maim their brother. None of them found the one man willing to help him find answers. Of course he was excited when Jude came around. If the others wanted to think there was something more, they could. It wasn't as if he could tell them the truth. No, that would require uttering the name Clive Rosfield, and that boy was long dead. A new man was taking his place. A stronger man. 

Clive hurried up the hill and jogged towards the flags that bore the dragoon's symbol. He kept his head down, crashed into often and purposely by several of the normal soldiers. The Bearers were kept housed in a separate area of every camp they made, so to see a Bearer walking through the unmarked crowd, he was a walking target. 

Finally, he made it to the tent and called inside. "Knight Commander? You wished to see me?" 

“Ah, come in!”

Jude’s familiar voice was light and airy on the other side of the tent flap, and when Clive pushed it aside, Jude pushed his long hair away from his face and smiled. “It’s been some time.”

“Too long,” Clive said eagerly, stepping all the way in so he could stand at attention. “The last lead was a disappointment. But I’ve a good feeling we’ll find the Dominant this time.”

“As do I.” Jude gestured to the seat across from him. “We’ve received intelligence that there’s some… group of sorts prowling around the edge of Sanbreque and Rosaria. They call themselves--and this is where our information is lacking-- something like the Unbowed? Unbent? Unbroken? Something along those lines. The Sanbreque Imperial Army had need of you, Bearer. These people are allegedly knowledgeable about the Phoenix, so it stands to reason they may have other documents on the second Eikon of Fire. You’re to take two men that you trust, one of a higher rank than you, and kill those bastards. They threaten Sanbreque. They seek to kill Bahamut in favor of their own Eikon. They must be stopped. Do you understand?”

“I do, Sir.”

“All of them. I don’t want a single one left alive at the location. We’ll send reinforcements in after you, and they’ll guard scholars to comb through all the material. Whatever they find, if anything, I’ll pass along to you.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Anything goes wrong, though, I’ll kill you myself. Do you understand, boy? This can’t go wrong, or we could all die.” 

“It won’t go wrong. I promise.”

“Promises are dreams for lovers. What I want is your word. A man is only as good as his word.”

“You have it, Commander.”

Jude grinned. Clive, for all the years spent begging for crumbs of the man who killed his brother, could not see just how twisted a smile could be. 

"Good man. Have you an idea of who you're going to ask?" 

"I do." 

"Stealth, Bearer. You must not forget it, or this will be your last mission." 

"I understand, Commander." 

"If you're caught, don't think you're getting any reinforcements, because--" 

"Jude," Clive cut off, raising his brow. "You've been sending me on these missions since I first arrived. I understand." 

Jude scoffed. "Don't get too familiar. You're lucky you're a talented son of a bitch." 

Shrugging, Clive chuckled humorlessly. "I had good instructors." 

"Get out." 

Clive gestured with the crossed-armed Sanbrequois salute before leaving the tent to go choose his companions. 

"Biast, let's go!" 

Corporal Tiamat was no pushover, and Clive knew that. He knew Tiamat was one of the soldiers he trusted to have his back when they fought the monsters of Sanbreque in the field, and he trusted him now to lead him and Biast west towards the boarder. 

"So," Biast said, catching up to the others with a hustling jog. "Is there some reason we're killing these monks?" 

"Because," Tiamat hissed over his shoulder. "Those are our orders and we follow orders or we get killed. Have you forgotten?" 

"Well, no, but--" 

"Don't question it," Clive said, clapping Biast on the back. "I've learned that's the much better way to go about this sort of thing." 

"Well, excuse me for not being the Commander's favorite. This is my first time out without the rest of the army behind my back."

"We move faster without them," Clive said, climbing up onto a rock and looking around. It was blessedly unoccupied in the area still, and he didn't feel the constant hot breath of someone breathing down his back. 

"Poppin' your cherry, are we?" Tiamat chuckled, walking faster, much to Biast's displeasure. 

"Gods, don't remind me of cherry popping," Biast groaned. "Just reminds me I'm here with your sorry mugs and not some bright eyed beauty." 

"My eyes are bright," Clive quipped with a smirk. 

"Piss off." 

"Got yourself a pretty one, pretty boy?" Tiamat asked Clive. "I don't know your story." 

"No," Clive said quickly. "No, I've no one back home. My... village was razed to the ground and none survived but those of us who weren't present. I lost the only girl I ever cared for there. I was ready to marry her at one point. If she'd lived, maybe it would have happened. If... well, if I weren't here, too." 

Biast nodded in understanding. "I was taken from my home a couple years back. Got my brand a bit late in life, I suppose. I made it pretty far undetected, like yourself. My wife turned me in when she learned. You're lucky you never married your girl. They all only turn on you when you need them most." 

"Not Jill," Clive muttered, his footsteps fumbling. 

"Hey," Tiamat hissed behind him. "You're both whining over a life you don't have. Get over it and keep walking." 

Clive made a face. That much was true. But Clive couldn't put his old life to the side just yet. He had the chance to avenge them, to seek justice still for their murders. The life he didn't have is the life he was still fighting to avenge. 

With much of the ground they covered being unfarmed land, rocky terrain, and far from the major cities and towns, they pressed onward through day and night, earing scant meals, sleeping in shifts on the cold, hard earth. The walk to the border was long and arduous near the blighted lands, past forests, and towards the mountains. But several days of walking later, Clive was relieved to see the telltale signs of human life. 

Footprints spotting the dirt towards a lush forest was the first sign. Hunters in need of food, most like. Yet Clive didn't see any animals about. Scared off, he figured, but the closeness of civilization.

The second sign of life were the small etchings in the trees not made by antlers or horns. There was a telltale jitter to the strokes that the blade belonged to a knifepoint and deep pressure to cut into the bark. They weren't anything Clive recognized, but they were intricate enough that they meant something. He ran a gloved finger over one. 

"Tiamat," he hissed, summoning him over. 

Tiamat took one look and gestured for silence as they moved forward, all three drawing their blades. 

Walking steadily onward, there were more signs of human life, but none more so obvious than the giant wall surrounding a seemingly abandoned town. Yet, the plank boards were perfect, no rot, no age, freshly cut and kept. There were no sentries, but there was a steep cliff just behind the village, a deadly fall from it, but good enough for scouting. 

Tiamat led them towards it, keeping low as they neared the summit, meeting with more newly furbished planks meant to keep prying eyes out. Clive scooted forward and lit a controlled flame against the board, burning the bottom of it until it could be torn away without disturbing the rest. 

It was Tiamat who peered through, giving an affirmative hand signal behind him. Clive tapped Biast's shoulder to let him know, and both returned their eyes as sentries on the hillside until Tiamat pulled himself away and sat back against the boards. 

"I see eight hooded monks. That's two targets for each of us, and two to remain for whoever can take them down first." He turned to Clive. "Were you told to keep any hostages?" 

"No. Just that they are threatening Bahamut and seek to replace him with an Eikon that they worship." 

"Which? Do we know?" 

"We don't even know what they're called," Clive said with a scoff. "But the Commander said their documents were of import. Don't destroy them." 

Tiamat nodded. "It looks like an easy fight. I think one of them is a child. Another looks to be a woman. They won't know what hit them. Let's go in and get this done quickly." 

Clive followed Tiamat and Biast back down the hill where the three of them pressed up against the fence, straining to hear any semblance of sound coming from the voices. 

"--the Apodytery again."

"--sealed Typhon." 

Tiamat made a face. "I don't think they're speaking the common tongue. We'll get nothing from them. Let's do this. Go." 

Clive closed his eyes and summoned the power of the Phoenix to him, feeling its wings shift him from his spot on the ground to the top of the fence. Good for short distances, he still didn't like using any abilities that were uncommon in other fire wielders so as not to have his identity found out. But he'd been caught in battle using it before, and now it was no secret that he possessed exceptional skills that other fire users did not. He perched himself firmly and reached his hand down to pull the others up. 

"What was that?" a young boy's voice called out. "Something... the back of camp."

"Fuck," Clive hissed, pulling Tiamat over and then grabbing Biast. "They heard us! Go!" 

"Fuck!" 

Biast dropped down, running beside Tiamat, and Clive hopped off the fence, grabbing his sword. Hopefully, the child wouldn't be be stupid enough to try to fight him. He could figure out how to knock him out harmlessly, he was sure. 

When he rounded the corner, though, he could see Biast already running for one of the hooded figures, but his sword met the ground as the hooded man stepped to the side with the grace and precision of a fighter. 

"Guard up!" Clive yelled. "They're trained!" 

"Course they fucking are," Tiamat grumbled, rushing to meet his own hooded figures. 

And Clive shot fire at the cloaks of one on the far right. Clive narrowly missed a dagger in his poorly fashioned armor, but he rolled off to the side and twisted the man's arm, letting the knife drop harmlessly into Clive's waiting palm before he let it sink home in the soft flesh of his opponent. He rose to his feet and sidestepped several quick and deadly jabs of a knife from another. Far too close for Clive to use his sword, he shot fire out at the man, sending him backwards as he cowed from the flames. Clive kept up the onslaught until he could close the gap, pressing his own sword against the throat of the hooded monk. 

"What do you know of the Phoenix?" Clive demanded, pressing the steel harshly against his throat. "Tell me!" 

"You threaten me as though I fear death," the man responded coolly.

"How did the Phoenix die? Who killed him? Surely you know! They said... they said you'd know!" Clive felt his voice crack as he choked back a sob. "Tell me, dammit!" 

"A Phoenix will rise again from the ashes." 

"Fuck the ashes! Fuck the next Phoenix! Who killed Joshua Rosfield?" 

"I cannot tell you what I do not know!" 

"Fuck you!" Clive hissed, letting his sword slide seamlessly along the man's throat before throwing his lifeless body aside. Hopefully, there was information inside that he could look at before--"

"Hey!" Tiamat called, still fighting. Clive looked up to see him gesture to the gates. "After them! Don't let them escape!" 

Clive looked beyond the open gate to see a small figure being dragged away by another only slightly taller one, pulling him out the gate and away from the battle. 

"They're kids!" 

"Don't question my orders! The Commander didn't ask for survivors! Go!" 

With a resigned sigh, Clive jogged off, putting as little effort into the chase as possible. The kids would tire out, and he could at least offer up one last plea to Tiamat with them huffing and puffing and worn. 

In another world, another life, he could imagine he was chasing Joshua through the gardens in Rosalith. Jill could be tugging him along beside her, and Joshua would run until his coughing fit would inevitably stop him. They'd all collapse together into the grass and laugh before he would be called away for training, Jill to her lessons, and Joshua to their mother. And life would be normal again. 

The children took a turn into a cave and Clive hissed in annoyance before following, running in and summoning a ball of light to hover beside his head, making the darkness tolerable. He trudged on, rolling his eyes at himself. 

He had to let Clive Rosfield die. Stupid decisions like letting two children who reminded him of his loved ones live was going to get him killed for failing his assignments. His life hung in the balance of following orders, and if he couldn't even do that, what was he worth to the Sanbreque army? How would he get justice for Joshua? 

He turned around. These kids had given him the slip. He and Jill used to do it all the time; he should have realized. When he'd gone into the cave, they'd slipped out, and there he was walking on like a fool. 

A fool. 

He closed his eyes in the darkness. That's all he was. All he ever was. 

A pebble fell from the ceiling, and Clive froze. Opening his eyes took a long moment of hesitation, but he did, and slowly, ever so slowly, turned around. 

Staring down at him from the ceiling of the cave was a wivre. 

"Shit," Clive hissed, just as the creature let out a shrill shriek and dropped to the ground of the cave, claw swiping out to nick Clive's leg unexpectedly. 

Clive jumped backwards and away from the creature as it stalked forward. It was larger than any wivre he'd seen before, it's tail swinging about wildly just before it leapt towards him. He held out his sword, but it merely clipped feathers off the creature's wing, the steel bouncing harmlessly off purple armored scales. 

"Fucking steel!" Clive cursed, sending three consecutive fireballs at the wivre. Two of them hit it, enraging the beast. It lunged at Clive, digging it's claws into his shoddy leather armor, and puncturing Clive's chest, the hooked claw doing more damage to his skin than he'd expected it to. 

He managed to push it back and slice it along the soft underbelly, and blood dripped onto his pants, making them cling to his leg. He kicked it in the face before staggering back to find his proper footing, staying light on his feet. When the wivre charged at him, he wasn't surprised. 

Clive dodged out of the way just as the creature passed him, and Clive swung his sword down, severing the beast's tail. With no one around, he called the flames of the Phoenix forth and sent the wivre flying upwards into the ceiling, letting the momentum of it all carry him into his next blow. When the wivre hit the ground, Clive dug his sword in deep and sliced along the length of it, leaving nothing but spilled blood in his wake. 

He sent a flame down the cave a little ways to be sure he wasn't going to be joined by a second wivre, but when nothing appeared, he sheathed his sword and pressed his hand into his bleeding chest wound. The claw had gotten him good, and he was going to hear it for letting the kids get away, but there was nothing to be done now, so he headed back towards the entrance of the cave, blinded by the sunlight in his eyes. 

"The fuck happened to you?" he heard, watching Tiamat run closer to him. "I saw the kids run off, but those bastards are fast. Why were you in there?" 

"They ran in. I got attacked by a wivre in there." 

"A wyvern was in that cave?" 

"No, smaller. A wivre." 

Tiamat made a face. "Why are you telling me it was smaller? Embellish your damn stories, Wyvern Hunter. Makes for better tales to tell." 

Clive chuckled. "Alright. There were six wyverns in there, and I fended them all off with naught but a scratch." 

"Well..." Tiamat said, checking Clive's wound quickly. "Let's not get carried away with our stories now." 

"Pick one or the other. I can embellish, or I can tell the truth." 

Tiamat snorted. "I've got Biast watching the village for now, but we'll make camp, set up watches, and get the fuck out of this no man's land. Let's go, Wyvern." 

Chapter Text

Jill- Age 15

“Lady Marleigh,” Jill said, walking though the kitchens. “May I borrow some thread? I tore a hole in my dress again.”

Marleigh turned and looked Jill over, raising a brow. “How’d you get that, Jill? That’s…” she inspected a gash in the fabric under Jill’s arm. “That’s no accident.”

“Sparring,” she said simply, leaning against the counter.

But Marleigh stood straight. “Let me see.”

“There’s nothing to—”

“You let me see right now, Jill.”

Defeated, Jill turned around and shrugged the shoulders of her dress down, revealing bruises all along her shoulders and spine.

“It’s nothing, Lady Marleigh. I promise.”

Marleigh grabbed Jill’s arm and tugged her away from the kitchens.

For two years, Jill had known nothing but pain. She was well-versed and fluent in the language of it, the sharpness of its tongue as a lash on a back or a sword pricking skin. Words grew thorns as they sprouted from the vile lips of those around her. She was surrounded by its fine point, and her skin grew thicker with every jab she took.

When Morgaine had been killed, Jill sank deeper into a hole that she’d still never managed to crawl out from. All around her was darkness, and only when she looked up and saw Marleigh did she still see light.

But light came with consequences.

“Someone will see us,” Jill hissed as Marleigh led her through the halls.

“I don’t rightly care.”

“I do!” Jill hissed, pulling her hand away. “You will not be another of my casualties.”

Marleigh nodded towards the door. “In the room, Jill.”

With a defeated sigh, Jill relented and stepped inside. It was Marleigh’s bedroom, not an unfamiliar room. Marleigh had brought Jill there many a night to tend to wounds left by brutal days of training. She’d set bones on the floor, sewn stitches by candlelight, and now, Marleigh pulled out a washtub from under a tarp and set it near the fire.

“Right, I’ll be back with some water and—”

Jill raised her hand over the tub, filling it to the brim with ice before slowly clenching her hand, letting the ice melt away, leaving water in its place.

“Jill! Don’t use your powers when you don’t need to.”

“Why not?” Jill asked, adding more with a cocked brow. “This is nothing compared to what they have me do.”

Marleigh grabbed Jill’s hand and held it tightly. “You’re not… the Bearer’s Curse hasn’t… shown itself, has it?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Jill… perhaps it takes much longer for Dominants. With any luck, the Founder will have granted you that blessing.”

“Blessing?” Jill started to peel off her layers, only realizing once she bent her arm just how much pain she was in. “It would be a Blessing for the curse to take me now and end this all.”

“Don’t say that.”

With a face, Jill stepped into the tub and sank down. The coldness of the water against her burning, aching skin felt good. It was nice to feel the grime and sweat simply wash away as she curled up on herself and leaned against her legs.

“Oh, child,” Marleigh sighed, “Your back. Let me clean these wounds?”

“Mmm.”

It was only when the rag brushed her skin that she jerked away in pain.

“Imreann says scars are earned victories, but wounds are deserved for failures,” Jill whispered, closing her eyes and feeling the ghost of a whip on her skin. She hadn’t moved her feet fast enough for their liking. A warrior should be able to dance along the battlefield. Only a year into her training, she still sloppily threw herself about.

“You’ve one that’s rather large. I’m afraid of it getting infected. Would you mind if I stitched it closed?”

“You shouldn’t waste your thread on me. Shipments come so rarely.”

“Jill, don’t make me sit you down for more language lessons.”

Learning any Haearann was one of Jill’s least favorite things, and something only Lady Marleigh was willing to teach her. At first, it was in the secret of her cells at night, and then in corners, and behind closed doors. Always quick lessons, leaving much to be desired, but Jill was grateful. She could say a few sentences now, most especially, she understood the harsh commands that were yelled at her each day. But the language was so difficult, and the little time they had together to learn it left Jill hating that particular lesson.

“Go ahead,” Jill sighed.

She watched Marleigh sift through a drawer and return licking thread between her fingers so she could fit it through the needle. “I imagine you stitched often?”

“Oh yes,” Jill said, thinking of her cross stitching practice. “I used to love needlework.”

She hissed as the needle pierced her skin, but she dug her arm into her mouth and bit down when it hurt.

Back in Rosalith, when she’d pricked herself with a needle, when blood seeped down her finger, she’d grabbed a handkerchief and dabbed it away. Now, she felt the blood run down her back. At least this pain was a kindness.

“What was it today?” Marleigh asked as she worked as quickly as possible.

Jill stared at the water for a long time, watching it turn a shade of pink as the blood from her back mingled with the water. “They put a boy in front of the some Bearers. Told me I had to hit the Bearers without hitting the boy. It seems they were told to attack the boy, though. I spent the whole time just trying to protect him. I was punished for not following my instructions, and the boy was killed anyway.”

Jill let her hand rest on the surface of the water, forming an ice crystal tinged with red.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Marleigh had stopped working, and Jill could feel her back turn cold with chill.

“That’s kind of you to say, but it was.” She stood up and reached for her clothes.

“I can mend them if you sit tight.”

“I’ll see if they’ll let me have a needle to do it myself. I have to get back to my cell soon for curfew. Thank you for your kindness, Lady Marleigh.”

Marleigh helped Jill into her clothes and out of the tub. Jill changed quickly and slipped out of Marleigh’s room without preamble. If she were caught, Marleigh would face the consequences. She trudged back into the cell she’d always been in and gingerly laid herself down on her mat, using her arm as a pillow.

Her eyes closed readily, and sleep quickly followed.

"[Get up]!" one of the Iron Blood barked at Jill as she rose from slumber. The sway of the ship had significantly stopped, and it was clear they were in port. 

For years, Jill had longed to leave Ironholm, but chained in the cell of a ship headed to a mysterious summit was not what she'd intended. 

Jill rolled onto her side and pushed herself up to her feet, her hands chained behind her back. They had little regard for her comfort and certainly didn't care that she'd spent days in this painful position. She was lucky that one poor soul had been damned to feed her and quench her thirst. For however much they hated her, a dead Dominant was little use to them. 

She was dragged from the ship's hold onto land, thrown into a carriage, and told nothing. She expected no less. 

It was only when they pulled her out and she found herself outside a caer in unfamiliar lands that she even had an inkling of what was going on. 

They dragged her by the arm through the halls, yammering on too quickly for her to catch any words. But when she was thrown into a room with a lit hearth and Imreann sitting beside it, she felt herself cow away. 

"What is happening?" she asked, fully expecting to be hit in the face for such a question. But it didn't come. 

"Have you any idea where we are, Dominant?" 

"No. No one has told me a thing." 

"Back in Ironholm, on the ship, and in this building, we have several of those Rosarian bitches with us, you understand? One move out of place on your part, and every throat will be slashed. Is that clear?" 

Jill's brow scrunched. "What am I doing?"

"We've arranged a meeting with leaders of Waloed to convince them to join our forces. Your presence is needed to show our strength." 

"Waloed? But they--" 

This time, Jill did feel the back of a hand on her face. 

"I didn't ask you to speak. Just as I will not ask you to speak in there, either. Now, you understand the punishment for acting up?" 

"Yes." 

Imreann stood up and unlocked her cuffs, letting them fall to the ground with a clatter. He grabbed her by the shoulder and thrust her forward. "Then go. You're to stand there and say nothing." 

Imreann opened the door and Jill stepped inside. At a round table in the center of the room were two people. One, a man, sat with his hands folded under his chin, muttering something to a woman. She sat on the table with her back to the door, her legs crossed, leaned back as though she were bored. She didn't even turn when they entered the room. Only when the man cocked his head and muttered a word. 

Imreann hesitated by the door. "You? I was told I would be meeting with the head of your military!" 

"Aye, us," the man said, his accent thick, but not Rosarian. It didn't sound quite Waloedian either. His brown hair was short, and he puffed a cigarette with a gloved hand. 

The woman slid off the table, hazel eyes briefly glancing over Jill before looking at Imreann. Her short blonde hair bounced as she took a step, her hips swaying in time as she moved. She, too, had a cigarette, but she dropped hers to the ground and stepped on it with her heeled boot before continuing toward them. "You want to make a deal with Waloed? We speak for King Barnabas. Take it or leave it." 

Her accent had Jill's eyes lit up in wonder. She'd never heard the likes. It was exotic and beautiful, like every other feature of this woman. If Jill ever reached an older age, this is what she'd hope she'd look like. But her uncared for hair was already growing, and she could feel her face shallowing from the lack of food she was fed. She'd never become this beautiful. 

The man sat forward. "You're Imreann, I presume? Bold of you to come unguarded. Don't you rule Ironholm?" 

Imreann scoffed and moved around the woman to take his place at the table, gesturing for Jill to stand beside him. 

"Did you bring your own cupbearer? Is that the sort of man we're to deal with?" the woman asked. "Pitiful. And I heard Ironholm had warriors." 

"Now, now, Benna," the man said, snuffing out his own cigarette. "Let's not insult the man just yet." 

"You insolent Dominants," Imreann scoffed. "I am here to offer you power, yet this is how you treat me?" 

"Power?" the woman hissed. "As if we don't--" 

"Benna," the man said again. "He's right. We've been rude. We haven't even introduced ourselves." He sat back, lazy, cocky. His arms were open wide, unthreatening, and yet mocking all the same. "My name is Cidolfus Telamon. This is Benedikta Harmon. I know you, Imreann. Who's the girl?" 

Imreann hesitated before turning to Jill. "Well, answer him!" 

She cleared her throat. "J-Jill Warrick." 

Cidolfus narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he turned back to Imreann. "Your plan, now that we've all been acquainted?" 

Clearing his throat, Imreann leaned forward. "As you know, Sanbreque is acquiring land across Storm rapidly. All they've left is the Crystalline Dominion and Dhalmekia before they'll have taken over the continent. Then, they will come for Ash. I propose an alliance with Waloed before that can happen. Help me retake Rosaria in the name of the Iron Kingdom, and I shall give you more power." 

"And what power does one such as yourself have to offer us?" Benedkita asked, her brow raising. 

Imreann jerked his head towards Jill. "None would ever dare touch Waloed with another.... Dominant. We have our own we can either add to your power, or suppress it." He spat the word, but managed enough of a diplomatic air that it didn't come off as the clearest insult. 

Jill did a double take, but stayed silent. 

Benedikta scoffed. "You think three of the most powerful Dominant's can be taken on by a little girl?" 

"You've never seen her powers." 

Cidolfus stood up and walked over to Jill. "Would you fight us, Jill, if we declined your High Priest's offer?" 

Jill turned to Imreann for help, but he merely waited, watching her to see how she'd answer. All she could think of were the lashes she'd face back home across her back if she answered wrong, and the lives she'd have to watch be snuffed out for her wrong move. "I... I would fight Odin himself if it meant protecting those I care about." 

Smiling, Cidolfus nodded. "Courage and heart, then." 

Benedikta cocked her head. "Would you fight with us? We would kill many if we did this." 

Biting her lip, Jill shifted from foot to foot. "I have killed before. I can bear it, if it's for my people." 

"Not quite the answer I expected from a little lamb," Benedikta cooed. "Perhaps there is more ice in you than we can see." 

Jill's eyes trained on the floor, unblinking. 

Cidolfus nodded. "We'll discuss it and be back to you with an answer on the morrow."

"High Priest," Benedikta bid farewell as she walked away. 

Imreann didn't wait for Cidolfus, but grabbed Jill and pushed her towards the door and slammed it behind him, cuffs immediately back on Jill's wrists before he pushed her ahead of him without another word. Whether she did okay or not, she wouldn't know. Not until she knew if the others would stay alive or not. 

Jill rested her head against her arm as she slept, cold and uncomfortable against the stone floor of the caer while Imreann and the others took the rooms. Much to her surprise, Jill hadn't even reacted when she saw a rat as she drifted off earlier. What was she to do to it? What would it be able to do to her? Nothing, at this point, that hadn't already been done by the Ironblood. What was a rat but company, now? 

She adjusted her head. It was difficult to get comfortable with her hands still cuffed together, but she managed. 

Dreams filled her head of green gardens and blue skies. She could feel the fair weather on her skin, not the sticky humidity of living near the volcano or the chill of Shiva's presence within her. She dreamt of running and laughing, things she was sure she'd never do again but in the safety of her own mind. 

But her peace was shattered as lightning cracked the sky and a gust of wind blew dark clouds in. And it all grew cold. 

Jill shot up just as the door to her room opened. She was in, for all intents and purposes, a closet, so there was nowhere for her to go as two figures appeared shadowed by the outside light. 

Closing her eyes, she tried to focus all the cold that shot through her in an instant straight into her hands, but she did little more than shiver with the cuffs blocking her ability to call upon her aether-given abilities. She was trapped.

"Alright, alright, calm down Little Lady," a familiar voice said, husky and low. A man stepped into the room, and beside him, a woman brought a candle lighting up their faces. 

Cidolfus knelt down in front of her, and Benedikta scoffed at the sight of her. "In cuffs. What cowards." 

"Nothing we didn't already know," he muttered. But his eyes focused on Jill. "Jill, was it? You can call me Cid. We're here to help you."

"How old are you?" Benedikta asked, pulling the cuffs off Jill's wrists, rubbing her thumb into the skin to soothe it. 

Jill stared, dumbfounded. "I... I've seen fifteen summers." 

"Fucking hell," Cid hissed. "She ain't much older than Mid." 

"Disgusting curs, the lot of them." Benedikta helped Jill to her feet. "Come on, up. We'll get you out of here."

"You'll be safe with us," Cid promised, running his hand through Jill's hair. Aside from Marleigh, it was the kindest gesture Jill had felt in years, nearly bringing tears to her eyes at his touch. "It's not much, but we can take you back with us to Waloed. Father Priest over there won't dare step foot on soil that's been tainted by four Dominants. It's why Benna and I are here. We like to rattle them bones. Didn't know he'd found himself Shiva's Dominant, though. Must admit, that caught me off guard." 

"Cidolfus," Benedikta whispered, grabbing Jill's shoulder. "We have to get her out of here. We can talk later. You know what they do. What they've done." 

"That I do. Come on, Jill. Let's go." 

"No! I can't!" Jill gasped, backing herself up against the wall. "He'll kill them all." 

Benedikta bent leveling her face with Jill's. "We will kill him first and you will all be safe." 

"No," Jill said, hushed, her eyes on the door. "He's told me. If he dies, he'll kill all my countrywomen. The Ironblood have orders as soon as they receive word. There are women here, they're on the ship, they're back at Ironholm. I can't go." 

"Fucking cunt," Benedikta cursed, her grip on Jill's shoulder tightening. "That man deserves to die." 

Cid leaned against the wall. "That does complicate things." 

"We could split up. The three of us could take him." 

Jill shook her head again. "I... I haven't..." 

Cid cocked his head and sighed. "She hasn't even primed yet, Benna. It's why we can't sense her." 

"Fear," Benedkita spat. "They give her fear and expect her to use it, but it only blocks her true power. As it did mine." 

With a deep breath, Cid turned to Jill. "Do you want to be there?" 

"No. I want to go home." 

"Where's that?" 

"It's gone. They destroyed it. Sanbreque destroyed the rest." 

"Cidolfus," Benedikta whispered, grabbing Cid's sleeve. "We could ask King Barnabas. We could take the Iron Kingdom, free the girl, her people, take them with us." 

"What makes you think he would say yes to starting a war for a girl we don't know?" 

"Cid," she stressed, her fingers clutching his arm tighter. "This is what you and I have always fought for. To free those who are captive, as I was. This girl is a puppet, and we can cut the strings that bind her here. You and I. We could. Four Dominants. And I'm already working on... you know. The Phoenix is dead, and we'll never get Bahamut. We can give Barnabas what he wants and claim what we desire at the same time: freedom, Cidolfus. For her, for us." 

"Benna... he's not going to let us go." 

"I don't want to go. I want us to stay and do our work from his side. To back our cause with strength. I will not suffer a captor again, Cidolfus! I want to die on my own terms now, and she should have that same right."

"You're talking about starting a war with the world, Benna. That's a bit much." 

"Perhaps that is what the world needs in order to wake up!" 

Cid ran a hand through his hair before turning back to Jill. "Are you coming with us, or no?" 

Jill pressed herself into the wall, tears flowing down her cheeks. Marleigh's face lingered in the back of her mind. The other women. Ones she'd seen in chains, in tears, praying, wishing. All their fates were in her hands now. 

And she couldn't... she couldn't let them face more hardship. 

"I can't go. I won't be responsible for everyone's death. If my role in this world is to be a captive, then I will play my part well so others do not suffer for it. I can bear it." 

Benedikta shook her head and sighed. "It is your fate." 

Cid, however, pointed his finger in her face. "We'll be back for you. I swear it, Jill. We will come for you some day when we can be sure you won't face repercussions. When it's safe." 

Jill watched their faces darken into shadows once more until she was alone and the room was so silent, she wondered if that might have been a dream. 

And she prayed all night to Metia that she'd made the right choice. 

Chapter Text

Jill- Age 18

"Move! Move! Êow gleng a scandlicnes!" 

Jill rolled her eyes and pushed her hair back from her face before taking her stance again. 

Facing off against a 'disposable' opponent, a captured 'ducal loyalist' from Rosaria that she'd been facing all week, Jill set her shoulders back and shook her sore ankle out. It had been hours now that she'd been standing in the training yard with the warriors. Exhausted and hungry, few cared. Even Jill had learned to put it to the side of her mind and focus through it. After all, years of training had to pay off in some way. 

She held her rapier up to her face and swung it down, ready. 

Two years ago, after meeting the other Dominants and having Waloed as a potential enemy to the Iron Kingdom, Imreann had shoved a sword in her hand and demanded she be prepared to fight no matter what. 

"Get that filthy mutt out of here! Clive, if you put a weapon in that girl's hand, she'll turn on us all. She's from that savage warlord province; put nothing past her. She'll grow up to be a killer." 

Even five years later, Anabella's words still haunted her. Two more years of training, and a sword had begun to become an extension of Jill's own arm. It moved with her, acted as her hand would. 

At night, she would remember sitting in the hay bales with Joshua as they watched Clive train. How she would cheer for him, how she loved to watch him. He'd take her aside when they were alone and he'd let her help him train. She remembered sitting on his back as he lifted her, how he'd picked her up once and swung her around to prove that he could. 

She missed him. 

But in many other ways, she was glad Clive was dead. Because what would he think of her if he could see her now? He would be appalled at who she'd become. 

As was she. 

"Fight!" one of the Iron Blood trainers yelled. One of the few words he knew for her, though Jill could understand their tongue rather well thanks to Marleigh. There were still times she couldn't identify what they were saying, but she caught most sentences, though she refused to speak any words aloud, refused to let anyone know that someone had been kind enough to teach her. If she had one goal in life now, it would be to keep the women safe, and that included Marleigh. 

Jill raised her blade and stepped quickly into her opponent, deflecting his blow and striking him in one swift movement. 

The Ironblood scowled. "More!" And in his native tongue, he turned, laughing to his companion. "[Let's make this bitch pay.]" 

Jill cracked her neck and prepared herself, taking steadying breaths to calm her racing heart from all her exertion today. 

From behind her, three men ran out with swords raised, and she saw a ball of fire fly at her face from the front of her. 

She sidestepped, her hand raised to engulf the fireball as firmly as she could before redirecting her ice-covered one at the three men before it could melt and her hold on it could slip. They landed on their backs, screaming as they were burnt, but Jill didn't have time to focus on that. Poor focus during training was met with consequences. So, she kept her eye on the Bearer while the others struggled to get up. 

Fire and ice clashed in the air, and she doused what flames she could while redirecting others to give herself an opening to shoot sharp icicles at the Bearer, letting them land harmlessly through his clothes before slamming them into the ground, pinning him down. She turned her attention back to the other men, and froze the ground beneath one of their hands, leaving him trapped. The other two rose to their feet and charged at Jill. She parried one attack and redirected his blade at the other man before scampering away to recompose herself. She felt her body wracked with chills, and she needed to shake it off. She watched as the man fell to the ground, bleeding from where she'd redirected the attack. That much blood meant he would be allowed to stop, at least. 

With two more opponents, Jill quickly froze the hilt of his sword, watching it slip from his grasp as he moved to swing. Jill twirled into him, pressing her sword to his throat and nicking his skin for both their sakes before returning her attention to the last opponent, who was just unsticking his hand from the floor. He at least made Jill pay attention. But even then, a few well-met blows of the sword led to a victory for Jill, and she sheathed her sword. 

And felt a whip crack across her back. 

"Tôhwon êow âlîefednesâlecgan ðæt heonone?" Jill was reeling from the shock of it and couldn't understand the words, sucking in a stoic breath before waiting patiently for her next order. 

"What else would you have me do?" she asked, raising her brow. 

"Keep train!" one spat, swinging his sword and knocking Jill's from her hand clean across the floor. She shook her hand out and sighed as she headed over to the weapon. 

A man bent down and grabbed her sword off the ground, holding it out for her. "They're unnecessarily cruel. You were doing well." 

Surprise radiated through her at the fluency of the common tongue coming off someone from the Iron Kingdom. Rare was it that any but a few priests even learned the continental languages. It had her wondering if he was perhaps a convert or if his parents had been taken while he was young. 

"I should hope I am, after two years with this thing." She took her sword from him. "Thank you." 

"Your powers are frightening as well. But in a good way. I'm glad you're on our side," he said with a smile. 

Jill narrowed her eyes. "Thank... you?" Rare were kind words, and Jill was skeptical of any sent her way.

He held out his hand, no hesitation, no wariness. “I’m Henry. I’m afraid, though I know who you are, I don’t know your name.”

“Jill.” She took his hand, bracing herself, preparing herself. Something was bound to happen. 

But nothing did.

“Should you ever want a sparring partner, I’m training as a Crusader.”

Jill looked around, still suspicious. “I’m not supposed to spar with any of you. Only prisoners, just in case I injure someone.”

Henry shrugged. “Well, it could be our secret, I’d you’d like. Or… I mean there are other ways to train.”

In an instant, Jill was transported back to when she was a little girl and Clive had comforted her with the same words. 

Founder, she finally took a good look at Henry. His black hair- or was it incredibly dark brown; she couldn’t tell- hung into his eyes slightly, as Clive’s did. His eyes were a chocolate brown unlike Clive’s piercing blues, but they bore the same kindness. 

This man… he looked to be the age Clive would be. Was… was it Clive’s spirit from the grave come to find her? To rescue her from her solitude? 

Clive had promised to come back to her. Was he here now?

“Perhaps,” Jill said, remembering he’d offered to train with her. “But today I’m meant to be back here in a few hours. They’d have me train more.”

Henry nodded, offering her a bow. “If you’ll be here, then so will I, My Lady. I will see you then.”

And she did. Henry appeared at her training sessions with a smile on his face, grinning as he watched her. For days, he stood at the sidelines, offering her encouraging words until the Ironblood snapped at them both and demanded they get back to their work. 

It wasn't until Jill heard the door to her cell open that she even registered him as anything more than a constant presence. 

Jill's eyes creaked open, and she scurried back, hands furtively pulling at her cuffs to try to get them off of her before Henry could reach the cell. 

But he just knelt down. "Stop! I'm sorry! I'm not here to hurt you!" 

"Why are you here?" she demanded, her guard never wavering. 

"No reason! I found out where they were keeping you and I wanted to come by to see if you needed anything." His eyes darted around the small room, then lingered on each bar of her cell. "This... isn't where you normally stay, is it?" 

She held up her cuffed hands. "Yes. This has been my room for years now." 

Stepping further inside, he ran his hands along the bars. "Do... do you want me to pick the lock? I know how." 

A small smile crept onto her lips. Apparently, not every Ironblood wanted her caged. "No. We'd both just face repercussions for it." 

"Oh." He leaned against the wall. "Do you mind if I stay and talk to you, then?" 

"Why would you?" 

He snorted. "I like you, Jill."

Her brows furrowed further. "You don't know me. I'm the Dominant of Shiva, a blight on the world. A killer. A monster." 

"You're human to me," he said simply. 

And with that, Jill's face softened, and she sat by the bars of her cage, telling stories with Henry until guards began to wander the halls in the early morning hours and he was forced to run back to his quarters. 

For what felt like the first time in years, Jill fell asleep with a smile on her face. 

"I can't say I'm not happy for you, Jill," Marleigh said as she put several dishes away. Jill handed her dry plates as she listened. "But are you sure this is wise?" 

"What?" 

"He's... well, he's one of them, for one. I've yet to meet any of these demons with a soul. None of them live on this island. And for another thing, look at you and I. We cannot speak in public for long, we cannot be seen together. When I bring you food, you must hide it. Getting close to this boy will just put him in the same position." 

Jill deflated. "Well, thank you for your support, Lady Marleigh." 

"I'm not trying to begrudge you a friendship or support, Jill. far from it. You, more than anyone else in this world, deserves friendship. But don't let it cloud your vision of sense. If you get close to him, it does put him in danger. You want to make sure he is aware of that. Let him decide what he's willing to do." 

"He's been coming to my room for nearly a week now to just sit with me and talk. I've told him of my years of torment. I think he knows what could happen to him." 

"Make sure it's clear, that's all. If this boy is truly to be someone in your life, he needs to know the risks to truly be there for you." Marleigh closed the cabinet door. "I would not trade knowing you for anything. Nor would I trade a moment of our time together for anything else. But I'm no fool, Jill. I know what would happen to me should we be found out. I know that they will use me to get to you, and I know it will be painful for us both. There is no illusion on my end."

Jill sighed heavily. "I understand." 

"I'm sorry, girl. I am not trying to make you feel bad for having a friendship. I merely wish for your safety above all things." 

"I understand. I do, truly." 

Marleigh sighed and grabbed Jill's wrist. "Is he cute? You've told me of his family, his aspirations, and his favorite foods, but you've not told me how he looks." 

A small smile crept to Jill's lips. He looked like Clive. Was that not the best way to describe him? "He's very attractive. He reminds me of what I imagine Clive would have looked like if he were still here."

"Oh, Clive." Marleigh teased. "Now that's a name you haven't said in some time." 

"I think of him often. Of all of them. Even the empress. I never thought I'd miss her indifference and spite, but her brand of cruelty was far more tolerable. I wished on Metia and did this to myself, Lady Marleigh. I wished to be taken from Anabella. And I was." 

"You cannot blame your childhood wishes on a star for the cruelty of our captors, Jill. It's not your fault. It's not." 

"It feels that way. I wasted my wish. Perhaps she might have brought them back to me had I not wished to be spared from Anabella." 

"'Perhaps', 'maybe', these are words you don't need. Focus on the future. That man you told me of may get you out of here. The other Dominant." 

"Words like 'may' have no place in my future," Jill teased with a smirk. "I doubt they even remembered me the next day. It's been years. My only hope now is a young death." 

"Jill!" 

"What other escape do you see?" 

"Learn to prime and fly from this place! Don't look back! We'll be safe, just go!" 

"I would never forgive myself for a massacre here because I wanted to stretch my wings. I'll do what I can to keep everyone safe." 

"Even at your own expense?" 

Jill nodded. "Even then." 

Henry led Jill down a long hallway, checking the corners before urging her to follow him. She felt like a small child once again running through the Rosalith Castle halls with Joshua and Clive while they giggled. Jill didn't laugh now, but she did smile, especially when he took her hand and led her through a door. 

Jill was hit with an evening breeze, and she turned her face into it, relishing the coolness on her face as it tickled her hair. 

"You look beautiful," Henry said, watching her. 

Jill turned to him curiously. "What?" 

"You do. I've never seen anyone as beautiful as you are, Jill." 

Her lip tipped up, and she leaned against the parapet. "I don't feel it." 

"How can you not?" he asked, taking the space beside her. There was something warm about his presence. Something intoxicating about his words. A light in the dark that warmed her in the cold. He was her only light to appear in years. Especially when he took her hand. 

At first, she pulled away, unaccustomed to the softness of a touch other than Marleigh's. But he held her firm and watched her knowingly until her hand relaxed in his. 

"Jill, my life has never made sense until I met you." 

"Henry, please." She scoffed and shook her head. Ridiculous. 

"It's true. You know, when I was young, I used to wish on Metia? I would wish for a woman I could see myself spending my life with. Someone who was easy to talk to. Who understood me. That's you, Jill. I think you're my soulmate." 

"Henry... I don't... I don't even really know you well. I mean, I've no sense of time in here, but we've known each other for, what, a month or so?" 

"And it's been the clearest month of my life, Jill." He squeezed her hand. "I want to help you escape. We can make it look like you were kidnapped. Come with me, Jill, and we can run away together forever." 

Hesitating, she felt his grasp on her hand tighten, and hers in response did as well. 

"Jill, come with me. I love you." 

Her eyes widened. "You what?" 

"You're perfect as you are, and these Ironbloods are trying to change you. Run away with me. Let me get you out of here." 

He loved her? 

She couldn't help the flutter she felt in her chest as she thought of what life could be like in a home where she was loved and wanted. Where the only touches were kind and the words were soft. Where she'd never need to see the bars of her cell again, nor the pain of her shackles. She'd never feel the crash of a whip on her skin, nor see the threat of hundreds of women dangled in front of her. She'd be loved. Was that not everything she could ask for? 

"Henry..." 

He kissed her. 

She gasped and tried to pull away again, but he held her in place until she relaxed. Her eyes stayed wide open, staring at him as he pressed his lips firmly to hers. She felt like a small child again, awkward and nervous. Did she even want this? 

Henry pulled away and smiled. "Was that your first kiss? You seemed tense." 

Her fingers ghosted over her lips.  Suddenly, she was back home in Rosalith sitting on a bed with her best friend. 

"Would you..." she bit her lip. "Alright... here goes... would you kiss me, Clive? I want a memory of a first kiss with someone I care for. And I do care for you, Clive. You're my closest friend. You're everything to me."

It had been stiff and awkward, two lips pressed together with neither knowing where to go from there. But Jill closed her eyes as another tear dripped down her cheek, eternally grateful that he'd done this for her. That she was worth enough to him that he would let her have this memory. 

Clive had sat back and smiled, as blush spread along his cheeks. "That an alright memory?"

Jill had been no better, feeling heat all along her face and neck. "Yes. Thank you, Clive. You've no idea what that meant to me." 

Even then, she'd felt like kissing Clive again, even if, at the time, it would have been just to see how it felt to do it again. With Henry, she felt the comfort of another's presence, but could live if she'd never kissed him again. 

"No... I had my first kiss when I was younger. My best friend." 

He almost seemed disappointed. "Oh, well, I must have just surprised you." 

"You did." 

He kissed her again without warning. 

Jill felt him pull her closer, and she found herself automatically wrapping her arms around him, holding him tight. She tried to pull away from his kiss so she could just hold him, but he didn't seem to understand, chasing her lips in his excitement. 

She turned her head. "Henry. Would you... just... hold me?" 

He hesitated, surprised, before pulling her into his arms, his hand running through her hair. "I can do that." 

This time, she sank into him, into his warmth, comforted by his presence. By his kind touch. 

"I want to go home," she whispered, pressing her forehead into him. 

"To your room? Or to Rosalith? Or the North?" 

"Rosalith." 

"We can go there. We can marry in a small chapel and live in a cottage away from war." 

She could think of far worse fates. "It sounds nice." 

"Tell me when you're ready, Jill. I'll get you out." 

"Now."

He chuckled. "That's a bit too soon. Let's do it in three days, Jill. Let's get out of here." 

She had nothing to prepare for. No belongings to pack, no clothes to ready. She could run the moment he called on her. 

There was only one person she'd had to say goodbye to. But she was terrified.

When she'd told Marleigh, she'd gotten the pushback she expected. "You don't even know him! You could both be killed if he can't do this! Jill, don't do something so brash!" 

She knew it was from a place of love, but Jill had to try. Because in truth, there was one big difference between Marleigh and Jill that Marleigh just didn't understand and never could grasp, no matter how much Jill explained: Marleigh cared if Jill was alive. Jill, on the other hand, could find nothing worth living for in here. 

Escape was her only option to find the will to live again. She wanted to remember the smell of grass, the touch of flower petals, the lap of the sea on her ankles. She wanted to remember what spring felt like, sneezing and all. She wanted to remember strolling through a market and buying an apple because she could. 

In here, she knew pain, cold, heat, and fear. 

She sat in her cell with her hands cuffed waiting for Henry to appear through her door. It felt like hours until the door crept open, and he snuck in wearing a cloak over his clothes, another draped over his arm. Without a word, he hurried and picked the lock to her cell and then was quick to undo the cuffs. She rubbed her wrists before he handed her the cloak, and she threw it over her shoulders, pulling the hood over her noticeably silver hair before taking his outstretched hand.

Not a word passed between them as he led her through unfamiliar halls that she'd never seen before, parts of the castle she'd never been allowed in. It grew hotter and hotter until they descended several steps and Jill had to shield her eyes. 

"The volcano?" she asked hesitantly. She clenched her fingers. In such heat, she could feel her powers further from reach than ever. "Is there no other way?" 

Henry shook his head and tugged her alongside him. "We'll be safe. There's a back entry through here that leads to a lesser guarded path to the sea. There's a boat waiting." 

She clasped his hand in both of hers, trying to stop her shaking nerves as they ran.  

But he pulled her to a halt as a scarlet scorpion stepped in front of them, its tail threateningly sharp and raised as others appeared. 

"I don't think I can call Shiva in here," she said, stepping back. 

"I brought these," he hissed, hurriedly pulling a thin sword from his belt that she hadn't noticed. She was so intent on escape, he could have been wearing a ball gown and she'd likely not have noticed. He pulled his own sword out and handed her the thin rapier she was used to training with. 

It was her first time using a sword on a creature outside of training, but she was surprised by how naturally it came to her. She glided forward, stabbing one scorpion in the eye before kicking it off her sword. She did try to call ice to her, but it was more effort than it was worth, so she stuck to her rapier, smoothly cutting the legs off one side of a creature before taking two more down. 

Henry seemed to have gotten one or two of the beasts himself, but she cleaned the blade with her cloak and poked a hole through the fabric so she could 'sheathe' it. With a nod to Henry, they continued. 

Until she saw figures standing in front of the exit. 

"Founder!" she hissed, grabbing Henry's arm and pulling him backwards. But she crashed straight into the waiting arms of a crusader. One for her, one for Henry. "No!" she shouted, her eyes on the blue night beyond the cave just out of reach. She looked at Henry, at his resolved stillness in the arms of his captor. But they were right there. 

Jill fought back with a will she hadn't known in years. She was too hot to call Shiva, and was too tightly restrained to grab her sword, but she flailed, threw her weight around as best she could, kicked, screamed. 

And then a haunting voice silenced her. 

"Rabid... like the beast she is." Imreann stepped forward and pulled the hood off of Henry. Jill's had fallen in her struggle. "A little birdie caught wind of your plan and informed us. Such a pity you didn't feel like keeping anyone safe, Dominant." 

She screamed, begging Shiva to come to her. If she could just freeze the men guarding her path to freedom. If she could just freeze the water she would walk on outside and run across the sea. She needed to cool down so she could reach past the heat. She needed her powers. Please, she prayed. 

The guards dragged her and Henry closer to the entrance, and she realized that the ones standing in her way were not soldiers, but priests, and each of them was chanting something too low for her to hear. 

"What's happening?" she demanded, though she knew no one would answer her. 

Henry was pushed forward, and he walked into the center of the priests, held on his knees. 

"Henry! Get up!" she screamed, kicking and squirming until the guard holding her was forced to adjust his grip. "Move!" 

His eyes were at peace as he looked up at her from the ground. 

And Jill watched Imreann plunge a dagger into his back. 

"No!" she screamed, her mouth wide. He was one of them, and they didn't hesitate. Not for a second. 

"[Bring her]," Imreann said, twisting the knife against the point of his finger. 

The chanting grew louder and Jill felt something stir in her body, like a fluttering of wings agitating her stomach. And then despite the heat, she grew colder than she'd ever felt in her life, teeth chattering. 

She glanced at Henry, watched the labored rise and fall of his chest. "You're torturing him!" she screeched, hearing Shiva's voice edge hers. 

"And who's fault is that?" Imreann snarled, before he, too, began to join in the chanting. 

Jill felt something split inside her, like a migraine in physical form, splitting her skull and cracking down like ice. The hands on her suddenly let go, and she turned to see what had made them so wary of her, only to see a long cape floating in the air behind her. Ice lined the end of the fabric, and she reached out to grab it curiously, only to see that her hand was like solid porcelain, decorated with more ice etchings, as well as ornate sleeves made as firm as bone, jutting out like cracks. 

The guard looked on, terrified, and she turned to Imreann. 

"What-" she started, but the voice didn't come from her lips, and Imreann made no indication that he could hear her. But his face was a mix of horror and disgust. 

She took a step, and her foot didn't touch the ground. 

Another. 

She was flying. 

She was Shiva. 

Eyes narrowed, she turned first to the guards behind her and flicked her wrist in their direction, sending a gust of snowy wind to send them flying off their feet until they disappeared into the distant lava. And then, she turned her attention to Imreann. 

Jill spun, feeling like her feet were in skates, and power swelled up in the air around her, ice crystals forming from the steam and humidity she was creating. A million projectiles as small and abundant as dust were ready to hurl at the man of her nightmares. 

But as she went to fling them, to end his life for good, she saw someone pushed into his arms, and he pulled the bloody knife out and held it to her throat. 

Marleigh. 

Jill let the sharp weapons fall harmlessly to the ground like snow, coating over the lava as she lowered herself to the ground, though she refused to unprime. She towered over the others, but for all her power, the sight of Marleigh in the arms of Imreann left her helpless. 

"I see I have your attention, Shiva," he spat. "The ritual of Priming has worked. Now you cannot say that you don't know how to Prime. You listen to me, you abomination, you will fight for me. You will not escape this island. You know the consequences. And a price must be paid." 

He pushed the knife into Marleigh's throat, and Jill sent Shiva away. "Stop!" she cried. "Stop, please!" 

Jill's wide eyes locked with Marleigh's. Hers were stone, firm, unyielding. Brave. 

"It seems our Henry was correct, then." 

Jill's brow furrowed. "How do you mean?" 

Imreann smiled wide. "Oh, you didn't think we chose this woman at random, did you? Henry saw you two speaking together. Much as he told us about your escape." 

"What?" 

"Oh, Dominant, what a pathetic excuse for a human you are. His sacrifice here today? It was his decision. He wanted to serve the Mother before his death, and to do so, he offered to help you Prime. You filthy abomination... how did you not realize that this was a trap? As if anyone could truly love a monster like you." 

Jill stepped back, staring at Henry. His body had stopped moving, and he lay in a pool of his own blood. "No." 

"You imbecile." 

Jill collapsed to her knees. "Let her go," she whispered, defeated. "I will be your monster, Father. Just... let her go. Don't hurt any of them." 

"Have you learned your lesson, Dominant?" 

"I have." 

"Get up." The irons were clapped onto Jill's wrist. "You'll train again tomorrow, and you will prime when I tell you to do so. We're going to war, and you will win it for us, do you understand?" 

"Yes." 

Jill looked over his shoulder. Escape had never looked so far away.  

Chapter Text

Clive- Age 23

"Any of you bastards ever been somewhere as glorious as this?" Jude asked, walking backwards to talk to Clive, Tiamat, and Biast. He gestured to the glorious, large buildings that surrounded them each, towering apartments, bustling markets, brothels, bakeries. It was hardly anything like the dirt and rock stone Clive was so used to sleeping on, nor the trees and beasts that had become his company to keep for years now. Jude kept walking, pushing Tiamat ahead when he hesitated to get a look at wares in one of the stalls. "Course you fuckers haven't. You're Branded. None of you seen anything this nice before in your sorry lives." He glared a warning at Clive. 

Oriflamme bustled around them, life thriving in their surroundings. Vendors yelled out their wares, though silence fell in favor of cold glares when the “bastards” passed. In Oriflamme, there was not a kind eye upon a Branded, and Clive could feel that acutely. 

Jude led the three men into a cathedral, towering tall, stained glass , marble floors. Oriflamme did not do things by halves. It was far grander than any palace Clive had seen, and he grew up in a castle. 

The men followed quietly, though, letting their eyes take in the wonder as they trailed Jude’s steps. Until he stopped in front of a door.”

“You in first,” he said to Clive, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him forward. With caution, but without hesitation, Clive opened the door, his hand hovering by his sword. But they were met with an empty room with a single wooden partition in it. Clive gave a signal to wait, circling once around the partition before beckoning the others inside. Jude closed the door. 

“Stay behind there,” Jude said, leading them to where they waited. And waited. 

Soon, though, the door to the room crept open again. Footsteps approached and then stopped. “Are you here to confess, My Child?”

“Here to atone for sins not yet committed.”

The voice on the other side was older, and he cleared his throat, but other than that, there was a long stretch of silence that held far longer than Clive would have liked. But finally, the older man spoke. "Men of the Rock are in the city. They make for rather boisterous visitors in taverns, though the courtesans are eating rather well from the gil in their pockets. But at night, they will make for the palace while His Radiance is at a strategy meeting with the heir, Prince Dion. The Empress and the young princeling will be guarded by a bare crew, and the Men of the Rock seek to use this opportunity to ignite a war. Their belief is that the Titan will vastly outmatch Bahamut, and that there is no cause for concern, especially given that an alleged alliance between Dhalmekia and Waloed. We cannot let them amass that much power. Do you understand?" 

Jude glanced at his Branded, who each nodded. "Understood." 

"May Greagor guide you." 

There was a soft shuffle, and then the sound of the door opening and closing. 

Jude turned to Clive and the others. "There you have it. You're to stop a war. Aren't you lucky bastards? Don't be seen, and get it done, or you three will cast the world into a darkness the likes of which you've never seen. And then it's the noose for the lot of you. So don't you fail me, you hear? Don't fail Sanbreque." 

"'Don't fail me,' he says, like we plan on dying," Biast muttered as they pushed their way through the crowded streets of Oriflamme. With their uniforms on, they were just more Branded soldiers in the way. No one cast them a second look as Tiamat, Biast, and Clive tried to find the Men of the Rock. From the brief, it seemed that they didn't hide themselves during the day, at least, and they still had a few hours until nightfall. 

"Shut it," Tiamat hissed. "We won't fail him. Lest our necks be on the chopping block. And that's the last thing we need."

"He only wants us to stay alive," Clive insisted, sliding around an angry merchant organizing a shelf. 

"You're just his little bitch," Biast snorted. "You do anything he says, and you defend him like he ain't one of them." 

"He's been good to me. Unlike others." 

"You're just a tool to him, Wyvern," Tiamat muttered. "You think you're anything more than that, and you're just deluding yourself." 

"Even tools have value." 

"When they're useful." 

Clive couldn't argue with that one. Instead, he focused on the seemingly endless sea of faces that passed him by. Brunettes, blondes, blue eyes, brown. What was he looking for besides a uniform? 

He tapped Tiamat. "There's a tavern." 

Tiamat stopped and nodded. "Right. We split up, each take a tavern. Meet back at the main gate in an hour to check in. If you do find them, keep on them and send up an elemental signal in an hour so we can find you. Search well, but if they aren't there, move on. We want to cover as much of this shithole of a city as we can." 

"Yes, sir," Clive said, backing away towards the tavern he'd spotted. 

Clive pushed his way inside, fighting off an assault of arms that refused to make room for the likes of a man with a mark on his face. Clive looked around, saved only barely from the evilest of looks by his Sanbreque uniform armor he wore. 

Countless battles had Clive been in by this point in his life. He had to have taken thousands of lives, both of beast and man. He had survived and endured the massacre of Phoenix Gate. Yet walking through a crowded tavern in the capital of Oriflamme had to top his list of most frightening experiences. 

The hush of silence that fell as a Bearer walked masterless inside a tavern was far too intriguing in itself to talk over. But Clive kept his head down and eyes up as he searched for any sign of the Men of the Rock. 

“Excuse me,” he said to the barkeep.

“Uh-uh! I ain’t havin’ no trouble! You talk to your master or mistress and have ‘em come talk to me.”

“I’m merely looking for Dhalmekian soldiers who may have passed this way.”

“Did you not hear the man, Branded,” a tall man spat. "Get the fuck out until you're back here with your mistress." 

“I don’t think it can hear,” another said, crossing behind Clive’s back to block the door. Clive’s fingers itched to reach for the hilt of his sword and burned to call the Phoenix’s Blessing to his fingertips. But either action would result in nothing more than his death. And he had business to finish before he would allow himself a peaceful end. 

“I was mistaken coming here,” he tried, turning only to meet with the broad chest of another. “My apologies for disturbing you.”

One of the pushed Clive backwards. “What, you can hear now when you couldn’t hear ‘I’m tell you to get the fuck out before?”

“Who do you think you are, Branded, that you can speak without being spoken to?”

Clive felt a hard shove to his back and he lurched forward. His mouth stayed shut, but he groaned as he realized with the next shove what was about to happen. Again.

Fist after fist connected with him as he ducked down but took the impacts. Each one slammed harder into him, knees and fists bruising him until his legs collapsed, forcing him to the floor. He felt a knee under his chin, but all he could do was close his eyes and force himself to endure. Endure and survive. Don't react. Don't hurt the citizens. It would get him nothing but trouble. 

He felt it again and again, punishment inflicted on him just for existing. Much like his mother had done to him for years, he was forced to take every hit, to stand still and bear it. Bear it like a Bearer. 

He felt the flames of the Phoenix rise to his hand, but he slammed his fist down to feel the sting, to keep him from making the wrong mistake.

Everything hurt. 

By the time the group had moved away from him, Clive was kneeling on the floor trying to steady himself, the taste of metal still strong in his mouth as he tasted blood from a split lip and dripping bloody nose. But he wiped it away and told a deep sniff in before pushing up and blinking pain away. 

Clive got up, and left the tavern, only too ready to do it all again at the next.

It's been said that insanity is doing the same thing over and over while expecting different results. Clive, however, would call that slavery. 

He forced himself to hobble into the next tavern to ask about the stone soldiers, forced himself to endure the next round of beatings when he was met with no information, and then forced himself into the next tavern because his orders demanded he do so. 

All to no avail. 

An hour into his search, he hobbled towards the main gate, spotting Biast waiting with a blackened eye, before he sensed aether in the air and turned around just in time to see a chimney spout a suspicious amount of smoke. He turned to Biast, who nodded, and they both hurried silently towards the signal. It came from a tavern.

Clive noticed a swirl of smoke around his ankle as he walked, and he stopped Biast, turning them towards the source down an abandoned alleyway. Tiamat stood with his arms crossed, and his brow raised. "The fuck happened to you two?" 

Clive simply shot him a glare, but Biast bit the bait. "You sent us into hell and expected any less?" 

"Hell," Tiamat spat. "You ain't seen hell yet." He jerked his head to the side. "They're in there, eating their fill. Like they don't expect to have another meal." 

"We'll be seeing to that," Clive muttered to himself, his hand resting lightly on his blade at his side. 

And so, in the shadows, they waited. 

When the Stone Warriors left the tavern, bellies full and sloshed with enough ale that they were still functioning but clearly tipsy, they took back to the streets, where Clive, Tiamat, and Biast followed. They returned to the main gate, lurking in the growing shadows of nighttime as the Stone Warriors strode up the the guards without hesitation. 

And were let through. 

Tiamat jerked his head back in surprise. "They're in league or they're Kupka's men themselves. Either way, we can't lose them. Wyvern, go. We'll take care of the gate." 

Clive nodded and ran around to another alley, quickly scaling the pipe along the side of one of the buildings. He planted his feet on the shingles of the roof and ran straight off the roof, jumping with as much force as he could. The wall was still a distance away, but he called upon the phoenix to shift him along the rest of the way, and he barely managed to grab the edge, but he was able, and pulled himself up, searching the darkness to see the group of figures heading towards the palace, hugging the left wall. 

He hopped down and clung to the shadows, moving like a wisp as he followed their slow ascent up a hill and into the first courtyard. His hand burned as he kept a trail of smoke behind him for the others to follow, but when he felt a gloved arm clasp his shoulder, his hand reached for his sword, only to relax as Biast passed him with Tiamat in tow. Clive let the smoke die.

The Men of the Rock turned into the gardens, and Tiamat grabbed Clive and Biast by the collar. "Get them before they take the Empress' guards. We want it to look like none were here." 

Clive nodded and grabbed his sword off his back as the others did as well, following the soldiers into the deserted hedge maze. Tiamat gestured for them to split up into the hedges, and Clive dutifully took the left path, quickly encountering a hulking Dhalmekian soldier moving swiftly though the leaves. Clive was hesitant to use his fire magic amidst the flammable bushes, so he kept low and hurried onwards, stepping quickly until he was right behind the brute. He grabbed his dagger from his belt in his dominant hand and sheathed his sword before grabbing the back of the man's armor and pulling him down, quickly shoving the knife into his throat and then slicing it for good measure. 

Clive was good at these types of kills. For years, he had been sent to kill this person and that one. Clive even knew to angle the body so no great pool of blood would give him away. He set the body aside for now and made his way further into the maze to help with the other three soldiers who had entered. 

He passed by Tiamat, both drawing swords on the other, steel cool against their throats before lowering their blades. Clive gave an affirmative nod to say he'd taken one down, and Tiamat returned it, to say he'd taken his own. They continued on, seeing Biast on the ground in the distance over a body, and Clive walked on into the hedges. There, he saw the entryway that led to a fountain within the garden, and standing in the path with his hand raised was the final Stone Warrior. Clive drew his sword once again, and in one fell swoop, lopped the head off the man of the rock, kicking the body off into the hedges so the blood wouldn't stain the visible grass. He hurried and did the same with the head, relieved that he'd managed to move fast enough that only a little remained. Clive looked around to make sure no one had seen him. 

No one had. As always, he'd gone unnoticed, even when in plain sight. 

And worse yet, unnoticed by the same woman who'd overlooked him all these years. 

Annabella Lesage sat on the edge of the fountain with a baby boy in her arms, letting him splash in the water as they both smiled and laughed. 

He'd... never recalled seeing his mother laugh so genuinely. 

There were a few more wrinkles on her face, and she dressed less like a westerner these days, but Clive couldn't help but take a step forward. Towards his mother. 

The smile he'd always longed to see made her look bright and beautiful, inviting and warm. He could imagine that once, before he'd been a disappointment, she might have looked at him the same way she looked at the blonde baby in her arms. With love and affection, a love filled with hope for the future. A baby who could be everything Clive never could, and who could replace everything Joshua was. A new beginning. 

As though Anabella sensed him, she glanced towards the hedges, clutching the baby tightly against her. "You there! Branded!" she spat, standing up and backing away, "What are you doing watching us? You've no right to look upon my boy! Get back to your post immediately!" 

Clive offered her the Sanbrequois salute, a soft smile on his face. He never thought being the source of her ire could feel so good, but it made him feel like a boy again, before everything had gone wrong. It felt good, for once, that his beating was only a soft verbal slap. How had her words hurt him so terribly as a boy? The hardships he'd endured since then had him facing far worse. 

She spun on her heels and returned inside with her son, head held haughtily high. 

"Wyvern!" Tiamat hissed. "Did she see you?" 

"Yes, but she thought I was just a bearer guard," he said, spinning so he could lift the body from the bushes. "There's a head in there." 

Tiamat snorted. "I figured." 

With two trips, they brought the corpses down to the river, and Biast held his breath for a moment before stamping his foot, creating a large hole in the ground. They dumped the bodies in, covered it back up, and returned back to camp to rest their bruised body. 

"Report?" Jude asked as Clive, Biast, and Tiamat stood in front of him at attention, and Tiamat stepped forward, recounting the mission as Jude jotted notes down. 

Clive stared at the back wall of the tent, eager to rest for the night. But it wasn't to be so. 

"--when she saw Wyvern." 

Jude's head snapped up, and his eyes narrowed on Clive. "She saw you?" 

"She didn't recognize me, Sir." 

Jude stood quickly and crossed the length of his tent to Clive, gripping beneath his chin so firmly that Clive felt it hard to breathe. "And why would she recognize a fucking Branded like you?" 

"I meant... not as... an intruder." Clive fought through breathlessness to get the words out, but Jude squeezed harder. 

"And what if she had, eh? You think that woulda gone over well?" When Clive didn't answer, Jude slammed his fist into Clive's face. "I asked you a question, Branded!" 

Tiamat and Biast flinched, and Clive staggered to keep his balance. "No, sir, it wouldn't." 

"I can't believe you let them get so fucking close to the Empress in the first place, you sorry excuse for a soldier!" Another hit. After the beatings he'd sustained earlier, Clive fell to the ground, and Jude kicked him instead. "You're Branded! You do what I say, when I say it, and how I say it! I told you not to be fucking caught, yet here you are telling me that the Empress herself saw you. Of all fucking people." He kicked Clive again. "Get your sorry ass out of my sight. You're on next watch for that." 

"What?" Clive accidently hissed. He'd been up for hours, was sore, beaten, angry, all of it. 

Jude grabbed Clive tightly by the hair and pulled him up. "You think you're better because of how you were born," he hissed in a hushed whisper. "But I don't give a fuck who you were. You're going to remember your place in this world, and it's under my fucking boot. No more leads for you until you learn how to behave properly. Like a good little dog. Because right now? You're nothing but a wild animal; you might be strong, but you're unpredictable and rabid, and you'll infect the pack. We put those dogs down. Do we need to put you down?" 

"No, sir," Clive grumbled. 

"No, I didn't think so. Show me you can handle your role, you bastard." 

Clive lay on the floor, his eyes closing for a moment, reveling in the peace of the in-between. Reminding himself how nice it felt to be reminded of his childhood, if only for a few moments. Remembered how he'd suffer without leads on the second Dominant of Fire without Jude's help. And so, like a good Bearer, he took a breath, stood up, and bore it. 

Chapter Text

Jill- Age 21

"Let's go!" 

Jill felt the pull against the chain on her wrist as she wearily followed the Ironblood through the hard rocky soil of Ironholm. Her feet were sore from the long walk along the coast, and she watched the water crash dangerously along the rockline as a storm brewed in the distance, though from the wind, she could tell it wasn't going to offer them any relief other than a mist or spray and an ominous air to follow with the rest of their poisonous campaign. 

In front of her, Jill watched two young girls no older than she'd been when she'd been taken clasped together by chains around their ankles. One girl carried a small toddler boy who also bore a heavy chain attached to them, though his hooked through the neck of his shirt rather than to any small body parts of his. He'd gotten to crying from the weight of it several miles back, and the girl had carried him since. It made Jill sick, and she longed to turn Shiva's gaze on the Ironblood. But she looked more carefully once again at the girls, at the spikes that pressed into their throats from 'decorative' jeweler that she'd been blessed to never wear. Should any of the Ironblood near them so much as trip into them, the spikes would kill the girls. No, Jill had to protect them. Had to protect the soldiers and priests who surrounded them. She had to save her enemies to keep these children alive. 

That's how it always was, now. 

Since that day years ago when Marleigh had been held in the filthy arms of Imreann with a knife to her throat, since she'd been turned on by the boy she'd thought could offer her salvation, since she lost her governess as a child, since she lost her home and her friends and her family... Jill had one purpose in life anymore. Life was not made for living. It was made for surviving. That one day, she might be killed by conquering heroes and the women of Rosaria would be set free. That the Ironblood would be set upon their enemies merciless blades and wiped from existence. She would gladly go to hell with them if it meant their end. But until that day, she was their monster, and she would use the power she had to protect the Rosarians until her last breath, whatever that might mean for her. 

Like now, she'd trudged out of her cell with her hands bound by the magic-suppressing cuffs and had watched the children being dragged away from their mothers, screaming, crying. Her heart had hurt, but she'd stayed quiet, kept her eyes on the ground, and followed on the long walk.

Invaders had appeared in their lands. And Imreann had not been happy. 

It seemed that Sanbreque had arrived to finish the job they'd started nine years earlier. Their conquest of Rosaria hadn't been enough for them; now, they were after the Iron Kingdom. And for all Jill cared, they could have it. 

But her eyes settled on the backs of the children once again, and she was resolved. They needed Shiva to drive back the intruders. The most she'd been told was that Bahamut wasn't among them, not this time. 

And now, as they dragged her up the hill that overlooked silver armor of the enemy lined up in perfect formation, Jill swallowed her nerves. This was her battlefield. 

"Behweorfan!" one of the Ironblood hissed at her, removing the cuffs from her wrists. 

She gasped, turning to her captor. “You want me to go in there alone? Are you mad?”

His hand raised to strike her, but the booming voice of Imreann stayed his hand.

“Don’t! She will suffer for her insolence later. We need her intact for this.” His eyes narrowed on her. “Dominant, you will lead us to victory or these innocents will die. We’ve more in the back of the company should you try anything.”

“Please, Jill!” the younger of the girls said, turning around. “I don’t want to die.”

“And you won’t,” Jill promised, pushing past Imreann and pulling the rapier from her belt. “Not because of me.”

She started down the hill, skidding the whole way until she was solidly on her feet and walking towards the entirety of the enemy. There were no soldiers at her back. When they said she would lead them, they’d apparently meant it literally. But she didn’t care. All that mattered was doing everything she could for the Rosarians. 

The leaders of the Sanbreque army looked at her curiously, but sounded the advance on her as they marched smoothly in her direction. 

Jill held her blade up to her face and swiped it away, preparing her sword arm. Years of training amongst the cruelest teachers had prepared her. No longer did she cower in front of a sword as she had when she’d trained with Clive out of fear of Anabella. No longer did she know the meaning of fear related to herself. Her arm stayed wide from her body as she kept her steady pace.

When she was close enough, Jill closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and stabbed her rapier into the dirt, using the impact to amplify the magic she called forth. Two great walls of ice appeared in front of the army, creating a funnel they had to go through to reach her. A narrow alley was more manageable, and Jill raised her blade again. 

Loosening her hand, Jill continued forward, letting the battle cries of the Sanbrequois army sing in her ears. 

A handful of armored men pooled through the gap, their movements faltering when they saw a single unarmored female standing before them, each slowing to a near halt before adrenaline took over and sent them rushing towards her again. For years, her masters had taught her footwork, had taught her to slide along a battlefield like ice. She sidestepped the first man who reached her, and her rapier found the gap in his armor, sending him to the ground before he could swing his sword. The death caught the others off guard, and Jill used the advantage, stabbing at one's throat while she sent spikes of ice from her hand and under the breastplate of another soldier. She spun, the pommel of her blade banging into the helm of the next warrior that she sent ice at  as he staggered off to the side while her blade struck true in another. She cast ice along her body just in time for two sharp swords to slide neatly away from her skin, and both soldiers were met with their deaths as well. 

Jill continued forward, pushing her long hair from her face. She sent a large brick of ice into the center of the valley she'd created, and let it shatter into a thousand shards, bodies strewn along her path as she continued. 

Her hand began to throb as she kept pulling at the aether within herself. She was thankful for the years of harsh training, though, as this was nothing compared to the endurance the Ironblood had forced from her. She'd trained in a volcano, holding a droplet of ice in her hand without letting it melt as she sat there all day, sweating and dehydrated until they'd taken her out and she'd passed out on the stones. She'd been forced to jump from ice platform to platform amidst the boiling lava, holding each piece sturdily enough that she would not plummet to her fiery death. She'd been left standing with her arms out in front of her all day, receiving a hard lash to the back each time her arms lowered when she'd failed to hit several moving Bearers in a training exercise, only to watch them killed in front of her for her failures. 

Jill was no stranger to endurance. She was no stranger to death. And she was no stranger to pain. 

A sword stuck her side, just against the thin plate of mail she had hidden beneath her dress, and she immediately froze the weapon against her, sending the soldier flying off his feet. She struck out with his own sword, lodging it in deep between his ribs before casting them both aside. 

The next warrior she met dropped his sword and backed away. She focused her attention on the ones closing in, spattering the area with a spew of frozen glass shards that left men gurgling, and she calmly continued forward, huffing from the effort of that one. The man running from her disappeared in a massive horde of soldiers tightly packed shoulder to shoulder as they marched in synch towards her. 

Jill sheathed her sword as she watched their slow progression through her ice wall. And with a start, she ran full force towards them. 

They stopped in shock, the first row holding out their spears in preparation for the collision with her body, but it never came to be. 

Jill jumped into the air, her feet never landing. She felt ice flow through her veins, overtaking her entire body as it stretched, relieving an ache from a body longing to be set free. Shiva's voice whispered coolly against her neck, offering her aid in a language no average human could understand. Jill was no more, encased in her own chrysalis of ice whilst Shiva broke free. 

The world around her sharpened a thousand times; even from the sky, where she floated above and her cape raged with the wind she caused, she could see the fear cast on the faces of the thousands of men staring up at the sky. She felt Shiva's crown heavily atop her head just seconds before she flipped forward and let the walls she'd created shatter into a hundred thousand pieces. She watched them hit the soldiers nearest to them before calling the shards back up into the air to surround herself like a blizzard, casting herself in a haze of snow and ice before thrusting it all forward with a might that could have shattered boulders. 

The screams were the hardest to tolerate. Shiva's power was swift and precise, deadly and accurate. There was little the soldiers could do but watch as the last seconds of their lives ended in a haze of white. Jill knew that when she controlled Shiva, there was nothing that followed but death. Shiva was not a tool for good, not a savior nor a deity. She was a monster. A beautiful, terrifying monster. 

How she hoped one soldier could find the courage to throw his spear with all his might, to break through her solid barrier, and to pierce the monster's heart. To end it all here and now. To let Sanbreque take Imreann's life and to see him crumple into a ball beside her corpse. She would accept a death beside Imreann if it meant he followed her into the depths and darkness where they would wander forever without the light of the Crystal, where the Founder would never find her, where Metia would never shine. As she listened to the cacophony of screams, she knew that such a punishment was well worth it as bodies dropped like rainfall. 

Jill's heart clenched as she realized the depths of her destruction before remembering one pivotal detail: these were the people who destroyed her family all those years ago. 

Rage took over the entirety of Shiva's being, sending giant crystals of ice thundering down from the sky. One man looked up, dropped his spear, and ran. Jill pushed Shiva forward, flying over him and the others, sending a spray of ice over them before letting them shatter the bodies into nothingness. 

That could have been the man who'd killed Lord Elwin Rosfield. For six years of her life, the man had been her father, and since then, she'd known no other. There had been no hair ruffles, no birthday outings, no kind smiles. Could it have been at the hands of this soldier? 

She turned and saw a commander. Had Anabella met with him to plot the death and destruction of her sons and husband? To have planned out the coup that destroyed Jill's entire life? Did this commander lead the forces that might have torn a ten year old boy from his bed on a night that led to his death? Jill cast a vicious icicle through his heart, one that knew no armor's defense's. 

The air tingled around her, and she saw a dragoon with his lance raised as he jumped into the air, prepared to end her. Had Clive dodged this same attack as he ran through Phoenix Gate trying to find his brother? Was this dragoon in the right place, preventing Clive from getting to safety on the night of his death? Had this lance been what pierced Clive's heart? Jill charged straight at the dragoon, feeling the pierce of the lance across her arm just before she grabbed him and sent them both hurtling towards the ground. The dragoon landed firmly on his back and did not stir again, while Jill flipped off her feet and back into the air. 

Then, there was a rush of wind, a roar carried on an echo. 

Jill looked up to see a great dragon rushing towards her. No, not just a dragon, she realized at it grew closer.

Bahamut. 

Beams lit up along his wings, and Jill hastily dove out of the way, thinking quick and diving towards his troops. She glanced behind her to see the beams of light explode on the ground where the remaining soldiers began to retreat. She followed them closely, ensuring that any beam that might hit her would hit his troops. 

Bahamut roared as he retreated, and Jill skidded to a halt in the air, rushing back the way she came as she watched the Dragon King's Megaflare prime in it's wings once again. But this time, she was too late. 

A host of the Ironblood were hit, bodies soaring into the sky before unceremoniously hitting the ground with a loud thud. The rocks were painted red on both sides, and Jill threw herself towards the front of the non-retreating Ironblood where she could see Imreann holding the chains of the screaming children as they tried to escape. 

Around him, priests chanted, and soldiers held their ground. Fear was not easily instilled into the Ironblood, and fear of the abominations of aether especially was almost unheard of. No man of the Iron Kingdom feared an eikon. The Crystals would protect those they deemed worthy of protection. 

She watched Bahamut hover menacingly over the soldiers, his wings causing a great wind. All she could hear on it was the screams of children, both from the front with Imreann, and several others from scattered throughout the troops where they'd brought backup hostages for her to worry over. 

Megaflare readied again, and Jill looked around desperately for something to do. Never had she fought an Eikon before. Never had she even seen Joshua prime. Bahamut loomed massively over her, and she felt her heartrate speed up. His wings lit up again, and Jill threw herself above Imreann and cast out a wall of ice. The beams hit it hard, and the impact of it took Jill down hard. She hit the ground, creating a small body-size dent in the rocks as she watched snow rain down from her broken shield. And she watched Bahamut follow, its claws landing perfectly to trap her beneath him. 

Jill could feel herself panic. For as much as she longed for an end to her suffering, the end was not a pretty sight, and her body fought against it, still clinging to the hope that one day, Metia might truly answer her prayers and set her free. She closed her eyes and felt the chill in the atmosphere from the distant storm, felt the drizzle and mist. And she sent out a devastating cold front directly over her. 

The air turned solid, heedlessly pelting Bahamut with heavy sheets of glacier-sized bricks onto his head and body. She called them towards her, forcing them down harder and harder until Bahamut was staggering about, unable to take the relentless assault. He took to the skies once again, and Jill followed, keeping up the attack until he breached the clouds where the air was clear. 

Jill grasped at the cloud below and sent ice shards back at Bahamut, reminding him that she controlled a versatile element. Though none of them hit him as he dodged, she could sense his frustrations with his smaller opponent. 

But for once, Jill felt strong. Like her size had little to no bearing on her ability to fight a dragon. Though Jill had never fought an Eikon before, she could sense the calm within Shiva every time she felt it build up within herself. Jill might not have done this before, but Shiva had been in countless battles with Eikons over the years. And it showed. 

Bahamut dove back below the clouds, and Jill followed, casting out a protective wall where she could see Bahamut heading. He smacked her with his wing and pulled up, roaring again. 

And with a frustrated gust from his wings, he returned to the Sanbquois army, retreating over a hill where she could no longer hear him. 

She realized a sensation within her, like a tickling presence, disappeared as well, and she watched the remaining hundred troops retreat with Bahamut back towards their ships on the coast. 

Too nervous to change back, she waited as Shiva for the longest time, even flying higher to be sure, but when Shiva finally told her to let go, Jill floated back to the ground, her feet touching the rock with a gentle tap from her boots. 

Shiva was gone, and Jill was exhausted. 

Imreann stormed his way towards her and grabbed her by the hair as she heaved for breath she hadn't the time to catch. 

"Do you see what you did? You filth! You let our people die on purpose!" 

"Our people?" she gasped as she choked for breath. She clutched at her side as a horrible pain shot through her and she collapsed back to the ground. The injuries she and Shiva had sustained were finally making themselves known. "I saved your people!" 

"We lost good men to that beast! You could have stopped it!" 

Jill tried to push herself up once again, and this time, she begged for Shiva's aid. She felt herself tingling with energy as Shiva was ready to assist yet again, and Jill felt herself cool down significantly, her hands turning white. She was semi-priming. 

Imreann took a step back, turning over his shoulder as his voice trembled. "Cuff the bitch!" 

Jill surged forward, but her arms were grabbed by two soldiers and forced together too quickly for her to react. The cuffs clinked into place, and her power bounced throughout her body, leaving her screaming in pain as it offered no release. A lash crashed down against the backs of her legs and she collapsed, still screaming. 

Imreann bent down in front of her and grasped her chin with his sharp nails, leaving bloody marks. "You are a monster. Let me show you what you're good for." 

He forced her chin to the side, and Jill could see thousands of bodies strewn about the ground, dismembered, riddled with holes, bleeding, stuck on ice shards... a massacre. 

Jill felt a tear drip down her cheek, and she glanced behind her to the children still chained together. There was nothing but fear in their eyes. 

Imreann pulled Jill to her feet and shoved her forward, preparing her for a long march back despite her pain and exhaustion. "You're a rabid animal, and you'll be treated as such. Your training will continue upon our return." 

Jill went to argue, but clamped her mouth shut and fell to her knees instead. 

"Up, bitch." 

Jill blinked slowly and focused on Imreann. And what she saw shocked her. 

Fear. 

Chapter Text

Clive- Age 26

"Welcome, ya' Bastard!" 

Biast clapped Aevis on the back just as he swallowed the swill the tavern called ale. 

It was a celebration, after all. After years of operating as a trio, Clive, Biast, and Tiamat finally added Biast to their ranks after their most recent few successes. Jude figured more members of the team would mean more efficiency, and Clive wasn't going to argue, though for a group of assassins, he thought the more of them there were, the more likely they were to get caught. But he'd seen Aevis in action several times, and there was no doubt in his skills. Merely doubt in the leadership that made the decisions that would inevitably lead to their doom.

But how could Clive complain? He was here in Oriflamme in an underground tavern where Bearers were free to drink themselves under the table, should they find a way to sneak themselves from their masters. The Bastards were on a mission, though, and one that didn’t start until the next day at that. So Clive and the others basked in the poor quality ale that they were so rarely allowed to indulge in, and sat back, enjoying the music that drowned out the sounds behind the walls of the courtesan Bearers who serviced the others for a small price that only few slaves could afford. 

Clive knew many of the men and women who snuck in here were not law abiding citizens. You had to be mad to sneak from a master in order to earn a few hours of time to oneself. Which meant that many a customer in here was also willing to engage in petty theft for the sake of time spent in the loving embrace of another. 

“Aye, back again?” a courtesan asked, coming over to their table. She eyed Biast with a wink and ran a hand through his hair. “I got time if you do.” 

“Oh, I do.” 

She looked to the others. “Who’s the new one?” 

Biast glanced at Aevis. “Oh, he’s a friend. Just joined our company. Got anyone for him?” 

“What’s your preference, sweetie?” she asked kindly, turning her head to look at the other free courtesans wandering the room. Her Mark was thick and dark, and Clive couldn’t help but cover his own with his hand as he observed hers. 

Aevis sat forward and grabbed gil from his pocket, ensuring he had enough before continuing. “That blonde one there free?” 

She nodded, calling over an older man who leaned against the table with a smile. “Whose company am I enjoying?” 

Aevis handed him the gil and turned back towards the table. “Right, lads. I’m off.”

“Be back in this room by daybreak,” Tiamat warned, his eyes looking between Aevis and Biast. “Have your fun.” 

Aevis hurried away with his courtesan, but Biast lingered. “You two should join the fun.” 

Clive snorted. “Not my idea of fun.” 

“Nor I. Go on.” 

With a shrug, Biast and the courtier headed off, leaving Tiamat and Clive at the table. 

Tiamat took a sip of his drink. “I never known you to like these places, Wyvern. Why’s that?” 

Clive glanced up. “I don’t know. No reason. You?” 

Scoffing, Tiamat took another drink. “Someone’s gotta be the leader here. Trust me, I’d indulge if it weren’t me in charge of you boys.” 

“Care for me to take over for you? I’ll gather the others in the morning if you want to head off?” 

But just then, Clive's attention caught on a girl as she walked by their table, short silver hair pinned back to show off her sharp cheekbones. And as though she sensed Clive's gaze, she turned chocolate eyes on him, smiling so the brand on her cheek pinched kindly in her dimple. 

"Jill?" he found himself saying, the name spilling from his lips before he could stop himself. 

She leaned against their table. "No, but I can be, if you want." 

Tiamat scoffed. "You're as taken as the others. Go on. Have some fun with your Jill. I'll round you boys up in the morning." He tossed a coin to the courtesan and kicked Clive. "Go on. Have a good time. You never do." 

"I- I don't..." 

The courtesan pulled Clive up by the arm and started leading him down the hall towards an empty room. "Talia's my name. Yours?" 

"W-Wyvern." 

“Let me take care of you, Wyvern.”

She pushed him into the room and onto the bed where Clive fell back with a thump, his hands supporting him as he landed. "I'm alright, Miss. Miss Talia. Thank you. But I think... I'm really okay." 

"Everyone thinks that until they meet me." She pushed her silver hair off her shoulders. "Who's Jill? Is she someone you want me to be?" 

Clive choked as her earlier offer returned. Of course he wanted her to be Jill, but only in the most literal of ways. In this moment, his imagination couldn't conjure images of the young girl he'd been in love with as a young woman, let alone a woman in a house of ill repute. But if it meant she'd survived that night... wouldn't he have wished it for her? To have found her here? If their eyes and their mannerisms hadn't been so different, maybe he could have pretended, if only for a night. 

No, he scoffed just as quickly as the thought came to him. He couldn't. He'd failed her, same as he'd failed all the others. He didn't deserve even a night with a fake Jill. 

"Jill's dead," he said finally, turning to Talia. 

"Was she your wife?" 

"If only." Clive leaned his head forward, catching it in his hands. "Founder, how could life have been different if she had been? She might have come with us to Ph... to... well... she might have been with me and I could have helped her escape. Or she might have even left the night before and been on the road rather than... if I'd gone to my father sooner..." 

Talia sat beside Clive on the bed. "You've a lot of regrets, don't you, Wyvern?" 

"More than I can count." He leaned back, mussing up his hair in frustration. "Because, you see, no matter how good a swordsman I was, my presence didn't keep my father or brother from dying. And it didn't keep me from being sent here. So maybe... maybe my presence could have saved her, at least. Worst it could have done would have been to doom her to the same fate she suffered." 

"Were you two in love?" Talia's hand lightly touched Clive's shoulder, her fingers pressing reassuringly firmly into his skin. 

"No. We were best friends. I loved her, but... we weren't in love. But we would have been. I asked my father to marry her." 

"What did he say?" she unclasped his shoulder pauldron.

"He was happy. We were too young, but when we were older, he'd have arranged it." 

She began to unclasp his chest armor, and he flinched. "No. Please. I don't want... that." 

She didn't stop. "That's not why I'm doing this, Wyvern. I'm not going to push you. But you're here for the night. Get comfortable, at least." 

"I'm not... I'm not comfortable sleeping with you." 

"I know. I heard you. I understand. But Wyvern, you understand where you are, right?" 

He looked around the room. "A... pleasure house?" 

"Not just. This is a sanctuary. Bearers come here to feel the love they have been denied their entire lives, or have had ripped from them unjustly by fate. They come here so someone else sees them as a human and not just an object." She pressed her hand to his brand, and he flinched. "Your friend didn't just buy a night of orgasms. That's not our only purpose. We're here to remind you that you are human. And in truth... that we are as well. So, we'll take off this armor, and you'll tell me more about this Jill. How old were you two? When did you meet? And then tomorrow, I'll tell your friends you're the most generous lover I've ever had and I screamed into the pillow all night long." 

Clive chuckled, pushing his hair back as he nodded. "Alright." 

Talia returned to Clive's armor and Clive closed his eyes, focused on her soft fingers helping him, reminding him of the way the maids would help him undress after a training session. A session with Lord Rodney where he'd hold his training sword tightly in his hand and revel in the skill he gained each time he held it firm. And that reminded him of how Jill was always out on the bailey watching him, cheering him on; easily his biggest supporter, having faith in him when he had none himself.

"Jill had silver hair. Short, like yours. Like moonlight." 

"Tell me about her." 

Clive leaned back against the bed, barely registering that she'd gotten all his armor off, hardly noticing that the sweet hand running through his hair as it guided him to her lap wasn't Jill's the day of his last birthday with them all together, where she'd let him lie on her lap while she soothingly brushed her fingers through his hair, letting his eyes drift closed. He didn't remember that sort of peace until now, leaning into Talia's hand with a soft, contented moan. 

"Can I confess to you?" 

"All your sins." 

He huffed out a bemused chuckle before falling still and uneasy. "I can't... remember the sound of her voice. It's there, tugging at the back of my mind, but no matter how hard I pull, I can't drag it from the recesses. It's out on the fringe, along with so many other details about her. She's been my source of sanity for years, memories of her and my... my brother. I just think of them when I need a smile in the dark, and I see her face pulling me aside to pull a prank on my mother, who was just... the most wretched woman. I can still feel my heart remind me I'm not dead when I think of how I took her to a field of her favorite flowers only to be washed out by a thunderstorm and we hid drenched and teeth chattering in a nearby cave until we were able to leave again. I can remember holding her in my arms as we laughed, but I can't feel her anymore. I can't remember if her cheeks were dimpled or not when she smiled. Or her eyes, the sweetest eyes I'd ever seen... were they grey? Were they an ice blue? I can no longer remember. I just... can't. They're my most precious memories and they're faded and worn from overuse."

Talia brushed hair from his eyes. "Sounds normal to me. You were a boy. Now, you're a man. Other things have crowded your mind since she died. But it's not the color of her eyes that matters, it's how she looked at you, and you at her. That you can still feel, can't you?" 

"What if I lose them? What if I cling to them so tightly that I crush them and lose them forever?" 

"Can you remember your first steps? From when you were a baby? I'll bet that was an important event you thought at the time you'd remember forever as well, but other things have managed to replace it." 

Clive sat up, running his hands through his hair. "I have another confession." 

"What is it, Wyvern?" 

"I'm pretending you're her." 

She smiled kindly and pulled his hand into hers. "I figured." 

Clive tried not to look into her brown eyes. It broke the illusion for him that there was a chance in hell that his Jill was still alive in front of him. 

"Then I have a favor to ask." She waited patiently while he swallowed thickly and looked away. "Can I kiss you? I'd... like to say goodbye to her... properly. To the Jill in my head who is so intent on disappearing on me." 

"She will never disappear on you, Wyvern," Talia said as she leaned in and gently ran her hand along his brand. His stomach clenched as he returned the kiss, his hand reaching for her neck. His first kiss since he was 15 when last he was with Jill. And if he had his way, this was his goodbye to her, his final kiss. 

He let his hand hover just beyond her skin before dropping it and pulling away, his eyes unfocused and fixed vaguely at a spot on the wall. 

Talia used her palm to try to guide Clive's attention back to her, but he resisted, so she let her hand slide back into her lap. "Is there anything else you'd like to say to her?" 

Clive shook his head. "No. No... there's nothing more. She's gone. Like all the others." 

"Wyvern," she asked, toying with the string of her blouse. "Are you sure?" 

He gave her a quick glance, lifeless eyes drifting over her chest and back up to her face without a hint of interest. "I'm sure." 

"Alright. Get some rest, then." 

It took a long moment for Clive to slip under the sheet and rest his head back on the pillow, but it wasn't long before he felt that hand in his hair once more. He cracked his eyes open, and he could see Jill watching him, waiting for him to sleep while she keep a vigil over him. 

And he got the best rest he'd gotten in ages that night.

Chapter Text

Jill- Age 25

Clive- Age 28

"Are you alright?" Marleigh moved a strand of Jill's hair aside to see a large bruise that spread along her cheek and onto her jaw. "Oh Jill." 

Jill jerked her head away, though like every other motion she did, it was monotonous and slow, like a great weight was attached to her body and it was a struggle to move an inch. Marleigh dropped her hand and knelt in front of Jill. 

"This isn't going to be your life forever, Jill. One day, you will defeat them all." 

Jill stared blankly at the wall, unblinking as she gazed at the uninteresting stone. The amount of time a day the once bubbly girl spent lost in her thoughts or silently doing more than simply existing were growing more and more numerous. It worried Marleigh. 

She placed her hand lightly on Jill's knee. "First, you have to defeat that which is inside you bringing you down." 

"Would that Shiva would simply die." 

"Don't say that. You and Shiva are one and the same." 

Jill glanced at Marleigh blankly, but it was enough to get the message across. "They want me back down there in an hour. Apparently we're leaving again." 

"To go where." 

"Does it matter?" 

"Jill." 

Jill took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. "I don't believe I'll be coming back this time, Lady Marleigh. But your kindness has meant everything to me." 

It was hard to read any depth to her words with the shallow look in her eyes, there but not quite. 

"You've said that the last three times they've taken you and you come back just fine." 

Jill stared at the wall once more. Had she ever returned unscathed? Each battle, every child they tore from a mother's arms cost her a piece of her soul, one that had already blackened and withered into naught but the ash of a remnant fire. 

As if on cue, the sounds of young voices screaming, torn from the cells she once slept in sounded through the kitchen, and Jill felt another piece of her break off and shatter in a heap on the cold ground like the ice she was truly made of. 

"Tune it out," Marleigh said softly, trying to encourage her as Jill slipped deeper and deeper inside herself. 

"Don't you understand that I can't?" Jill snapped. Her fingers tightened on her knees and Marleigh flinched away as cold radiated off of Jill and frost spread along the rags of a dress she wore. But Jill barely noticed. "I can't do it anymore, Lady Marleigh. I refuse to reach my birthday and still be trapped in this wretched life." 

Marleigh smiled. "Good. I have faith in you, Jill. You will get out of here by then." 

But Jill simply swallowed hard and looked away, unwilling to disappoint the only one who'd cared for her all these years. 

She had no intention of going anywhere else. 

Clive could still feel the pain in his ribs as he stared at the flames of the camp fire. The wound he'd sustained during his last mission with the other Bastards, as they'd self styled themselves after it had been shouted at them enough times, when he'd been stabbed by a small knife that managed to sink in in the gap at the base of his shoddy armor. Biast had carried him out of harms way to finish the fight, but Clive had sustained enough damage that he could barely move on his own. Now, all he could feel was the lingering of a healing wound. 

Biast was beside him , his attention as rapt in the flames as Clive's. Across from them, Aevis sat whittling a piece of wood between his gloved fingers, occasionally glancing up to look around out of habit before looking back to his work. 

"Oye!" Tiamat called, a grim look on his face as he approached. "Get up." 

The three of them stood, realizing the reason for the formality was that Jude was in tow, his face frozen in a sadistic grin. "You've been chosen for a special mission." He placed his hand on Clive's shoulder and squeezed painfully hard. "A special mission for my special Bearers. Shiva’s Dominant has been spotted among the Iron Blood on their latest campaign. The battlefield that the Dhalmeks march toward to meet them is the Nysa Defile. You four are to make your way there and eliminate the Dominant. You’re not to interfere in any other affairs; the Dominant of Ice is the only target. It would not do to get Sanbreque involved in a war so needlessly. Eliminate her. I don’t care how.” 

Tiamat crossed his arms and addressed the other three Bearers. “She’s described as a medium height with hair silver as snow. That’s all we know of the Dominant, aside from the fact that if she attacks with ice, it’s likely her.”

"Shiva's Dominant uses ice? I'm stunned," Biast muttered, earning a chuckle from Aevis. 

Clive glanced at Jude. "We know for certain she'll be there?" 

"She was spotted on the move. End this Iron Kingdom crusade before it reaches the capitol. Should you complete this task, I'll have... information you've been looking for. Find me when you've eliminated her and we can talk." 

"Sir?" 

Jude bent to Clive's level and pressed his finger hard under Clive's chin. "They've found the second Eikon of Fire. Now how hard will you work to hear more?" 

"They've found him?" 

"Aye. And he may not be there for long. Best get a move on before the information's no good." 

Jill could taste the blood on her lip after she faltered her step on the long march once again. Burning legs kept her from walking any faster, yet she felt the pull of chains against her wrist. "Let's go, you abomination!" 

Unblinking, Jill pushed on, her eyes boring into the short hair of the child being dragged in front of her. It was all they could do to keep her at their side. The children who would share her fate, children who'd be needlessly sacrificed if she failed to keep Imreaan happy. She sniffled and continued on without a word until the entire army stopped to make camp. 

She greedily drank the water they gave her, grasped the bowl of gruel in her chained hands and ate it hastily. She slept uncomfortably bound, like winter's bitter grasp. 

Awoken by a kick to the stomach, she moaned into the dirt before glaring up at the soldier who stirred her from her miserable slumber into a worse awakening. 

"What?" she asked, fluent in their language after all these years, all fight drained from her voice. It was as though she was responding to a gentle nudge, calm and collected, unaffected. 

"Titan has been reported among the Dhalmeks. Prepare yourself to prime, bitch." 

Jill rolled her eyes and pressed into her side, feeling the firm skin of her curse beginning to spread further. Each time she primed, she was closer to a miserable, painful death. Though at this point, she couldn't help but wonder if that wouldn't be welcome. To feel again, even pain, would be the greatest final blessing the cruel earth of Valesthea could bestow upon her in her final moments. A small smile tipped her lip up ever so slightly at the thought of finally being released from the numb hold she'd been kept in for years.  That there might be some way to feel once more. 

When was the last time she'd truly felt anything? 

Her life was watered down to training and beatings, to being carded around like the abominal weapon she was. She was left out to dry in the fiery volcanos, to wither in the heat, and burn in the flames. She was there to be used until she was no more. 

The happiness of her childhood had been so fleeting. She longed for the sting on her cheek from the back of Anabella's hand. She would have done anything to be back there, forced to stitch and sew and cook and clean when she'd rather be watching Clive at the bailey. 

Clive. 

Her icy heart broke at the thought of him once more. To think of what he went through at Phoenix Gate... all she could do was pray his life had been taken far from that of his family's so none of them would have had to witness the others'. 

Joshua.

She could almost remember what it felt like to laugh with them, to stay out playing past their curfew, to picnic just outside Rosalith and watch the moon on the balcony at night. 

Elwin. 

It took everything in her to remember the feeling of warmth, of love and care, of family. Yet all she could muster was a faint buzz in her chest that fizzled out after she focused for too long. 

What was life worth when all of it was taken away? She was a husk, no more than the stone she'd petrify to one day. But perhaps she could hasten it. Perhaps she could end it sooner. Jill knew how to fight, but when the fight was taken from her, when she'd lost the one thing she had to hold on to, she was left with nothing more than emptiness. 

"Help me! Help me, Clive!"

Clive sat up with a cold sweat covering his forehead in a sticky fine sheen that had his unruly hair matted to his face. 

"You having nightmares again, Wyvern?" Aevis scoffed. "C'mon, man up. I have dreams too, we all deal with that shit." 

Clive had barely blinked himself awake before he tuned Aevis out. He didn't need to hear his prattling so soon after the break of dawn. Clive rubbed his face. "Greagor, Aevis, put your cock away, this isn't a pissing contest. I didn't ask."

Tiamat snorted as he leaned against the rock wall of a cliff with his eyes closed. "We'll get moving soon. That'll shut you both up." 

"Shame we're here to kill the Dominant," Aevis muttered. "She sounds pretty. Something else that gets my cock up anyway." 

Clive rolled over and ignored Aevis' snickering, focusing instead on Biast's heavy breathing, still lost in sleep. Biast could sleep through a trip down a morbol's gullet, so it was hardly a surprise he was still out like a light. 

Tiamat leaned heavily against the rocks. "Wyvern, what information is Jude giving you? Is it worth our heads?" 

"More like motivation, that's all. We'd get this assignment regardless." 

"Hrmm. I don't like not knowing what my charges are doing." 

"I'm not doing anything," Clive said, kicking Biast, who finally stirred. "I'm just trying to kill a few dominants." 

"One dominant at a time, Wyvern." 

Aevis sat forward. "Imagine if they let us go after that Waloed trio? Weaken the enemy. Got Ramuh, Garuda, and Odin. I'd sure like to meet Garuda. Word is her dominant is--" 

"Would you shut the fuck up, Aevis?" Tiamat said, kicking his boot. "Not everyone wants to hear your every horny thought all day." 

"You'd die if you met the king," Clive muttered. "Besides, I think they only have two. One of them isn't in Waloed's services any longer." 

"How do you know?" 

Clive raised his brow at Aevis. "Because I fucking pay attention to things that could cost me my life." 

Biast started chuckling as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. "Fucking fine thing to wake up to. Politics, my arse." 

"Alright," Tiamat said, kicking dirt over the embers of their fire. "Enough of that. Let's go." 

The sound of battle sang out all around her, leaving her attention to jump from side to side. She had a host of guards surrounding her, but she was unable to tell if they were there to protect her from the Dhalmekians, or to protect themselves from her. 

"What are you waiting for?" one of the soldiers yelled at her. "Prime already! Wipe them out!" 

Jill daren't tell them just how difficult it was to prime on command when she was kept in as poor condition as she was. Exhausted from their march, left to stand while the others slept, hungry for more than the meager scraps they were willing to feed her. The Iron Blood knew she needed her strength, but in the past when she'd tried to tell them that their treatment of her made it more difficult for her Eikon to come forth, they'd accused her of cowardice and feigning powerlessness in order to avoid their torment of her. Her blood was as cold as she could command it and yet still Shiva would not appear. 

Damn you, Eikon, Jill cursed just as she felt a fist connect with her stomach. 

"Prime!" 

"I'm trying!" she spat in the tongue of the Iron Blood. Her glare was as cold as the rest of her. But she was weak. How she longed to scream as she felt the ice just out of reach. Her body was more like to fall over before turn to Shiva for assistance. 

A guard grabbed one of the children they'd brought for this exact purpose and forced the young girl to her knees with a knife to her throat. "Prime or this child dies." 

Jill's lip twitched as rage filled her. This time, she felt Shiva stir with a promise of violence that could only be aimed at the Dhalmekians rather than her own captors. But before she could do anything, the ground began to shake violently. This wasn't the sound of chocobo claws racing against the dirt and rock. It was an earthquake that shook the very walls of the canyon. 

"Founder," Jill muttered as she watched the stone turn to life. 

Titan. 

Even the Iron Blood let go of the girl and turned to watch, slack jawed and horrified at the sight. 

The earth shook again, sending Jill staggering forward. Shiva swelled within her, and she looked up at the growing Eikon with vision tinged blue. The air turned cold, and she felt herself rise off the ground before she began to feel the air swirl around her, colder and colder until suddenly, something snapped and Jill no longer felt the ice. Instead, it was a part of her. 

Higher and higher she rose, Shiva firmly in control of the situation, taking Jill's human body and transforming it into something beyond words. She was power. She was destruction. 

She was a monster. 

The ice in the air shattered and Jill opened her eyes, immediately casting forth a shield to protect herself from the assault from the ground all the while her gaze was fixed on Titan. 

Jill couldn't help but scoff inwardly. This beast was who Anabella had planned to marry her off to when she was just a young girl. Hugo Kupka was the man she could have called husband, and now here he was ready to kill her. 

Clive would have laughed at the irony with her before standing beside her to rid herself of the mountainous man. No matter how large Titan was, Jill knew Clive would have stayed by her side to fight with her. The thought gave her courage. Courage that she wasn't alone. That perhaps Clive were here with her on this battlefield. 

She was not afraid. She didn't need courage to face a fear of death. 

She needed it to face her fear of life. 

But Clive wasn't here: Titan was. 

Jill was prepared to face Titan... especially if it killed her. 

Clive bent at the side of the cliff beside the other Bastards. His head still hurt from being unconscious. He almost regretted that he missed most of the fight between Shiva and Titan, but the dust had settled, and he stood in the wake of a battlefield he'd been lucky to have survived. 

Unlike Biast.

No. There would be time to mourn later. For now, he had to focus. Focus on the task at hand. 

It was quiet, save for the rhythmic clang of armor. Titan had gone back to rest for sure, and Shiva... well... that was what Clive was left to find. 

"Down there!" 

Clive turned his attention to the source of the jangling armor: the retreating host of Iron Blood. 

"So, Titan has knocked the fight out of our Ironblood friends..." Tiamat stroked his chin as he watched the soldiers retreat. "But where are the rest of them? That can't be the main host." 

"Wait!" Aevis hissed, eyes wide. Clive looked at him for a moment before following his stare. He was watching a young woman stumbling amidst several soldiers. Clive squinted, trying to get a better look, but all he could see was the tattered dress of the woman and... chains? That couldn't be right. But Aevis nodded. "Our fortunes have turned, Sergeant. It's her."

"The Dominant?" Tiamat asked, shock unhidden. His thoughts had to be akin to Clive's own. "Are you certain?" 

Clive watched the woman stumble again, shoved, coughing. Long silver hair donned her head, reminding him of the steel of armor more than a sheen of snow. 

After years of living in Rosaria, where the Phoenix was revered, and in Sanbreque, where Bahamut was a prince, it still shocked him to hear that Shiva was nothing more than an abomination to the Ironblood. The girl looked more slave than anything. He knew the feeling. 

But Tiamat was satisfied enough and drew his sword...

And led the charge.

"If you've no ice left in you, then steel will have to serve!" 

Jill licked blood from her lips and grabbed the rapier in front of her, scurrying to her feet. The children would not die on her account. 

She watched three assassins cut through the Ironblood, and a satisfied smile spread along her face. "Let this be the end," Jill muttered, readying herself to meet the end of a blade. There was nothing left in her, but damned if she didn't go down without at least putting up a fight. If they wanted her, they'd have to best her first. And if she won... well... it would be her last victory. That much she vowed. 

Three bearers descended on the host around her, and Jill did nothing but watch as her captors were taken down one by one. It was almost satisfying, to watch the Ironblood be so brutally and swiftly ended. If only she'd had that same courage. But her eyes wandered to the children off to the side, and she steeled herself as a bearer ran at her with fire in his palm. Glancing off to the side, she saw other Ironblood grab the child captives, oh so precious to them for their sacrifices, and run up the steep cliff, likely to call upon reinforcements.

This could be it, she thought wistfully. She didn't have to raise her hand to block the flame flying towards her. She didn't have to suffer any longer. 

But something of the looks in these Bearers' eyes... one with lighter hair looked at her with such rage burning behind thunderous eyes. She raised her hand and called ice to her palm, swatting the fireball away as she stared at the man taking down soldiers one by one. 

Assassins. She was not going to be taken down by someone with that look in their eyes. She'd spent too many days, too many nights, every day for thirteen years, facing that look. Now, she would not hesitate to finally unleash her rage. 

The black haired Bearer summoned a wall of fire to shoot out in her direction, but she skidded along ice she sent to the ground to dodge out of the way, running towards him with her sword raised. His strength was immense, and he wasn't tired from fighting Titan, but she knew he wouldn't be faster than her. She deflected his blow with her rapier and swatted at his back, meeting with a plate of armor. She snarled. Even Bearers for... it looked like Sanbrequois armor... were treated better than she was. At least he had armor. All she had on was a flimsy rag of a dress. 

A second brunette assassin ran at her, and with a combination of speed and ice, she fended off both Bearers at once. From the corner of her eye, she could see the third assassin taking out the last of the Ironblood. 

If she was going to die, she was going to do it thoroughly.

There was no strength left in her to prime, but she raised herself off the ground and shot ice out in every direction, watching as it shredded fabric from the brunette's armor. The black haired Bearer turned abruptly and stared to head towards the third man, but he shoved an Ironblood off him. 

"Wyvern, you focus on the target!" 

The black haired man, Wyvern, nodded and turned back to her. She sent an icicle at him.

He dodged, but in the most peculiar way.

His outline was left in flames, and he appeared in front of her in a second. She nearly didn't raise her sword in time to parry, left so dumbfounded as she was. She'd seen that move in the past. But where? Certainly not with the crusaders. They abhorred magic. Then where? 

A red wing appeared in front of her, and this Wyvern moved like the creature he was named for, slippery and fast, vicious and unstoppable. It pissed her off in a way so unimaginable. She sent forth all her ice at him, sending him flying into the dirt, skidding along his back. 

But two people were on her once again, and she realized that she was left alone. She could probably find it in her to prime, but that would only attract the attention of Titan once more. No, she hated needing Shiva. The Ice Queen would not aid her now. If Jill was going to die, it would be on her own terms, not Shiva's. 

One hit her in the leg with the heel of their boot, and she stumbled to the ground, watching all three assassins descend upon her. She called up a protective cover of ice that the three hacked at while she was down. Rubbing her leg, she pushed her hair from her face and drew the ice into her, raising off the ground once again. 

"Orders, Sergeant?" the brunette said, backing up as the air froze. 

"Stop gawping and move!" 

She aimed for the leader, a glacier's worth of ice falling onto him, cutting his forehead wide open. 

"Fucking Eikons!" he hissed, wiping blood away. 

She hit the brunette in the gut. "Eikon?" he screamed, grunting through the pain. "She's not even fully primed!" 

Jill scoffed and turned her attention back to Wyvern, gliding towards him with her sword outstretched. 

He dodged just in time, and she spun on him, eyes narrowed as she huffed. More ice. More ice. 

"Die already!" the leader screamed, charging at her at the same time as Wyvern. 

"I will not have their blood on my hands!" Jill shouted, dodging them both and focusing again on the brunette. 

"I'll gladly have your blood on mine," he hissed, managing to cut her arm with the tip of his blade. 

Jill covered it with a layer of ice, as cold as the stone skin she could feel tingling with the telltale signs of spreading. 

Wyvern was in front of her with the blinding speed she'd seen when he'd dodged her, and his boot connected with her stomach, sending her onto her back. 

"Keep her down!" the leader shouted. 

Wyvern stabbed his blade into her abdomen, but it bounced off, hitting the stone hard skin just so. She screamed, still feeling the point press into her, and scampered to get to her feet, only to earn a knee to the face, sending her back to the ground. 

"I hit her..." Wyvern muttered, confused as to why his blade didn't pierce her skin. Lucky, she thought, that the Bearer had clearly yet to experience the petrification of the curse. 

"Then take her head!" 

Jill summoned a blizzard around her, knocking two of them off their feet, but Wyvvern cast fire around himself, turning ice to rain, drenching him, but doing little else to harm him. She managed to her own feet and charged once more at Wyvern, and he at her. Her world was spinning, coldness embracing her with loving arms. And she realized it was because this time, his sword had managed to connect with her, the other side of her abdomen, blood seeping out. Her last thought was to seal the wound with a layer of ice, so much so that she felt it dripping from tears that spilled down her cheeks. Wyvern knocked her sword from her hand and she watched it clatter to the rock.

"At last..." she breathed a ghostly smile gracing her lips as the world blackened and she'd no longer be forced to endure this world any longer. This Wyvern... she'd have to thank him in the afterlife. 

Visions swirled behind closed eyes: Marleigh's warmth chasing away the cold. Her childhood. The faint memory of her mother and father's smiles. Joshua's laughter as he sat with her on the bailey. Torgal's soft yips as his tongue wagged along with his tail while he chased butterflies. Lord and Lady Murdoch. Lord Rosfield. The adults she'd long forgotten who'd cared for her in Rosalith castle. Cooks and chefs who'd snuck her food. Her maids who'd helped her dress. 

Clive. 

What a life she could have had if things had turned out differently. He'd offered her his hand to prevent her own marriage to the Titan she'd just faced. If that life had played out... if she'd spent her life beside her best friend... if they'd grown in a world that hadn't been destroyed in a massacre at Phoenix Gate... if she hadn't been taken by Ironblood.

If. If. If. 

She supposed there was little left to do now but let herself drift off to dreams of that life and let them carry her away into the next life, one where maybe she'd be graced with far better circumstances. If not, she'd weep for that girl. She'd weep for Jill Warrick in any lifetime. 

For at last, Jill Warrick was dead. 

Chapter Text

Jill Age 25

Jill was cold. 

Was death meant to be cold? 

She'd always heard death described as a warm embrace, yet she was chilled to her bone.

Something heavy sat atop her, and she twitched, feeling the scratch of fabric against her arm. Surely in hell, there would not be clothes to wear amidst the flames? She had no hope left in her that after all she'd done that the Founder of all people would allow her into their afterlife of the undying. 

"Tarja, look! She just moved!" 

"Fetch me the herbs then!" 

The weight was pulled off her. 

"Fuck, the wound is festering! Get the knife, quickly!" 

Get up! Get up!

Jill stirred once again, this time feeling pain. Pain in the beyond? Perhaps she had managed to land in eternal hell.

But this time, she forced her heavy eyes to lift, and above her, a woman stood with a knife in her hand blocking out Jill's entire line of sight.

Her body took over, and she began to flail, to try to get away.

"Rodrigue! Hold her down!"

"No!" Jill shouted. She was suddenly awash with visions of the Ironblood forcing her down onto an alter, of Imreaan approaching her with a knife. Of Shiva preventing her final sacrifice. "No!" Jill shrieked again. Ice gathered around her and she sat up, forcing the man off of her limbs and shoving the woman away.

"Stop! Stop!" the woman shouted. "You're safe! We're not here to hurt you!"

Jill's eyes snapped to her, and she could feel her body on the edge of priming. Shiva waited dangerously close.

Jill raised her hand, watching it turn white, ready to shoot an icicle straight through the woman's heart.

"Clive Rosfield brought you to us! You're safe!"

As if she'd been punched in the gut, Jill jolted forward, and Shiva suddenly vanished deep within her. She could still feel her body ready to semi prime, still feel herself holding on to the world with but a grip, but Shiva had stepped back.

"How dare you use that name!" Jill hissed. "I am no fool!" She glanced around. She was in a room on a slab. Her body reacted, throwing herself to the ground a bit painfully.

"Don't do that! You'll open your wound!"

"Why am I not dead?!" Jill demanded. "I should be dead! I was ready to die!"

"You were brought here for us to save your life."

"How dare you take that from me! That was my only escape! My only... it was my way away from here! You want Shiva! I won't let you use her! Sanbreque already has a dominant! Use Bahamut for your little games!" 

"We are not with Sanbreque!" The woman placed the knife down and held out her hands to show she was unarmed. "My name is Tarja. You're in a hideaway within blighted lands. All countries forfeited this territory. We are not with Sanbreque, nor Dhalmekia, nor the Rosarian provinces. You are safe." 

"Are you Ironblood?" Jill asked, her arm still raised, ready to strike. 

Tarja pointed to her cheek, a large scar that covered most of her face. "Would the Ironblood keep a Bearer with them? I have removed my Brand, but I am still thus." She summoned magic to her hand, a sparkle of nothing but aether. 

Jill's hand fell slightly. "Who are you?" 

"I am a healer. You were gravely wounded, but Cid, Clive, and Goetz brought you back. Do you remember?" 

"Who?" 

"What's the last thing you do remember? And please, sit back down. I can see blood on your shift. Let me stitch you back up." 

"No. No, I won't be healed." 

"Too late. I'm too good at my job, Jill. You're not going to bleed out, but you may pass out and I will stitch you up whether you want me to or not. My job is to heal."

Jill's eyes widened. "How do you know my name?" 

Tarja let her arms fall. "A Bearer named Clive brought you in. He told us your name." 

"Clive?" 

"Rosfield." 

Jill recoiled like she'd been hit again. "That's not possible. Clive Rosfield died thirteen years ago." 

"So everyone thought. But he was just here a few days ago. I saw him myself. Phoenix blessing and all, Cid said." 

"Cid?"

"Our leader. He's a dominant... like you." 

Jill stepped back. "I'm in Waloed, aren't I? You've taken me to that demon king Odin! You're all liars!" 

Shoving Rodrigue out of the way, Jill raced to the door and stumbled outside of it before collapsing to her knees. She looked around, her eyes and mouth agape. This was not Waloed. 

She sat in the midst of ruins she'd seen across Rosaria as a child, of ruins of the fallen. And inside was the bustle of a small city, people packed inside, carrying boxes and logs of decayed trees. An older woman shouted at them, told them to move faster or she'd die of old age. A blacksmith chuckled while he drank wine, leaning against a wall. This was not the Iron Kingdom. It was not Waloed. 

"Where... am I?" she asked once more before her vision spun and she passed out once more. 

This time, when Jill woke up, she was alone. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and sat up, pushing a blanket off of her. She was in a light shift, one that was far too clean to be hers. There was a throbbing pain in her side, and visions of the three assassins came flooding back to her, reminding her why she was in pain in the first place. But... how had she gone from that to this? How was she alive? She remembered falling at the feet of the black haired man. She remembered being unable to get up. She'd seen her life flash before her eyes. What had happened in the interim? Was this real? Or was this a dream before death? Was this death? 

Or was she alive? 

There were only a few beds in the room she sat in. It was clean, though everything looked old, from the walls to the ceilings to the equipment she could make out. She swung her feet out of the bed, placing them on the cold stone, flinching from the sensation that felt so real. This was all so real. It had to be real. 

She placed her hand on her side where her curse was, felt the cool skin, felt the hardness of it. How was this happening? In the empty room, she pulled her shift up to see where she'd been hit, noticing bandages covering her arm and abdomen. This was real. 

Where was that woman? She needed to know more. 

Jill stumbled towards the door and pushed it open into the din of the wide atrium. She could hear arguing about apples in the distance as she made her way towards a set of stairs and gazed over the side. Her eyes took a moment to adjust. Something about the way the light filtered into the room had her blinking in astonishment. The place was huge; vaulted ceilings soared upward and had her craning her neck to see the top, a small reservoir ran through the floor. It was multileveled. Even in all her childhood misadventures with Joshua and Clive, she'd never explored fallen...

Clive!

She gasped and began to scan the faces of every member in the hideaway. If the healer was not lying, and if she wasn't dead, Clive told them who she was. He was here! She had to see him with her own eyes to believe. There was just no way... no way he could have survived. 

Then again, how had she? 

Time and time again, Jill had dodged death, most notably as a child when she'd first called Shiva, and most recently when she was at the mercy of assassins. Perhaps Shiva had been the one to save her again? 

"Jill!" The red headed healer ran up the stairs towards her, her arms light as she guided Jill away from the overlook. "You shouldn't be up."

"What is this place?" 

"It's alright. You're safe here. I promise. Come on, let's go back." 

"Where's Clive?" Jill tore her arm from the healer's hand. "Where is he? You said he's alive!" 

"He's out right now with Cid on a mission. He'll be back." 

Jill grasped her head in her hands. "What's happening? I was supposed to be dead! And now you expect me to believe my childhood friend was not killed in a massacre none survived? I have met Cid the dominant before. Years ago, he tried to recruit me with Garuda. How am I not in Waloed? How am I not in Dhalmeka? I'm not In Rosaria, nor am I in the Iron Kingdom. Am I between worlds? Am I waiting for the Founder to take my hand?" 

"You are not dead, Jill. I saw to that personally. You're just confused. Come sit and I'll explain." 

Jill let the healer take her by the arm and lead her back towards the small infirmary room, let her help her back into bed and under the covers. Jill reached out. "Your name again?" 

"Tarja." She smiled and began mixing something into a vial. "This will help calm you. It's like a tea. A cold tea, but a tea." She handed it over to Jill and crossed her arms, watching as Jill drank. "Now, where to begin? Cid left the services of Waloed years ago. He's been tracking you. Don't I know he's been tracking you; he comes back all battered and bruised following your trail. He has been trying to find you for some time. He tried to help Garuda, but she turned him down in favor of serving Odin." 

"I'm not in the business of serving Ramuh," Jill spat. 

"I'm not asking that. I'm saying he was looking for you and looking to see if anyone had been born as the phoenix so he could protect them here. Rosaria is not the same place it once was." Tarja sighed. "Cid's been gatherin' up Bearers to give them a safe place to live. He's done a lot since leaving Waloed. And he was on your trail when he found you and Clive." 

"Clive?" Jill asked, still unsure if she should believe this. Her heart begged her to trust in this stranger's words, but her head pleaded for common sense. 

"Told us a little of what happened so we'd know how best to treat you. Apparently, he was tasked to kill you, but killed his companion when he realized it was you. Or, I think his exact words might have been 'I didn't know it was Jill'. And he said that over and over. An apology if I've ever heard one, not that you could hear." 

"He tried to kill me?" 

The black haired man. Wyvern. The way his body all but faded into flames and he disappeared. She'd seen that before. Seen it long ago in a bailey time and time again. 

"Oh gods. Clive is alive?"

"He is. Sometimes, miracles do happen." 

Jill felt her eyes suddenly drop like lead. Tarja took the cup from her hands. "I forgot to mention the tea will make you sleep a bit. You still need your rest. I'll fill you in a bit more when you wake up, alright? But rest easy, Jill. You're safe." 

"Imreaan?" 

"What's that?" 

But Jill's head slumped over and she drifted off into a peaceful rest. 

"Your curse has spread a fair bit. I've never seen such a large patch on one so young. It's the size of Cid's, and he's been a Dominant for far longer than you." 

Jill pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and hugged it tight as she watched Tarja sitting on the end of the bed. "Thirteen years of priming can do a number on someone. Joshua only primed once in his life."

"That is an awful lot. When I was still enslaved, my masters worked me to the bone and still, my curse is barely the size of yours." 

"Aren't you concerned with what you do here? There are so many injured, you must be concerned about it spreading more." 

Tarja smiled. "I don't use magic to heal. We're in the deadlands, remember? I learned traditional healing. That tea you've been drinking? There's nothing magical about it." 

"That's incredible. I thought only the Ironblood did that nowadays." 

"Some practices are worth holding on to." 

Jill tapped her own cheek. "Do you do this to the others with magic or no?" 

"No. Cursebreakers get their brand removed like any other: a knife and a steady hand. One wrong move on our part could kill them. Only Rodrigue and I perform the procedure. We're the only ones I know of who know how, though I did write it down in case we meet an untimely end."

"Don't even think like that, Tarja," Jill chided. 

"Are you the--" 

The door burst open and Rodrigue stepped in. "They're back!" 

Tarja and Jill both jumped to their feet. Tarja grabbed Jill's robe. "Here. I'll go fetch Cid and he can explain everything." 

Jill's mouth dropped open. "I... can you bring Clive? I have to know. I have to know if it's him." 

Tarja nodded and handed the robe off. "Cover up unless you want him to see you in your shift." 

Jill pulled it on as the door closed and she sat on the bed focusing on her breathing. 

Clive. Her Clive. This was the moment of truth. Could Metia have answered her prayers from so long ago? Could it be him? 

The seconds were agonizing in the empty room, waiting in silence as she strained her ears to hear outside the door. She fiddled with her coat, let her fingers run through the fur, feel the individual strands that kept her so comforted in her moment of uncertainty.

She hadn't felt nerves like this since she was a child. She'd felt fear and anticipation many times in her days in the Iron Kingdom, but there was something about this fear that left her chest fluttering, like it wasn't the worst sensation in the world. And the last time she'd felt that was going out to the Bailey to watch Clive train, eager to see him again even after so few hours apart. 

That flutter in her heart... if felt so childlike. Like she were a child again. 

The door swung open, and Jill whipped her head around.

There in the doorway was the Imperial Bearer who bore such familiar fighting styles. The Imperial Bearer who'd nearly killed her. Who should have killed her. 

But with every step he took into the room, his face relaxed, eyes widened, and she could suddenly see the boy she once knew breaking through the hardened mask. Past the Brand that marked his face, she saw the wide blue eyes that had shimmered at her so often, the hair that once was so perfectly done every day and now hung around his face like a wild mop. The softness crept into his face, lines appeared at the sides of his eyes and with the broadening of his smile. 

Jill gasped for air as she suddenly struggled to breathe. He was here. Clive. Clive, her Clive, stood in front of her. Tears brimmed at her eyes as he pulled the large sword off his back to set to the side, and she bit her lip to steady her emotions. 

"It's true then. It really is you." Her voice cracked, and Clive sat down beside her.

"It is." 

His voice. Deeper than she remembered, but distinctly his. She felt the tear drop over the edge of her cheek. "Clive!" 

Like the crash of thunder, she and Clive met in the middle to crash into each other's arms. 

Holding him was like taking the first breath she could manage in thirteen years. His arms started limply around her before gradually tightening until she was crushed against his armor. None of her cared. For once... for perhaps the first time... she didn't mind being discomforted by pain. She pressed more into his armor, uncaring of the dig into her skin. 

He smelled like the forest, like wind and rain clung to him. He smelled like the faint hint of a burning campfire, like the days he'd returned with Joshua from expeditions with the archduke. 

He felt firm beneath her fingers, there was flesh beneath her arms. 

"You're alive," she breathed. 

She could hear that she wasn't the only one struggling to come to terms with their survival. Clive's breath caught as he pressed his arms tighter against her. "So are you." They held each other, unwilling to let go for the longest stretch of time. Jill melted into Clive's warmth, a warmth she hadn't felt in years. Even Marleigh couldn't provide her the comfort of her past, but holding Clive was like running through hay bales while the farmers tied to ready them for the animals; it was climbing across rooves and holding hands in the moonlight while they giggled devilishly. It was an old comfort that she couldn't replicate with anyone else. Clive breathed his warmth into her. "I still can't believe it." 

His hand moved dangerously close to the hard patch of skin on her waist, and Jill pulled away, lest he feel it. Both were reluctant, fingers brushing the other until the last moment they had to release the other. 

Clive recovered himself first, looking her over. "Are your wounds healed?" 

"Yes. Tarja told me what happened. You saved my life." 

"After nearly taking it. I had no idea." His hand reached forward to take hers, but his fingers curled at the last moment, resting on his own knee instead. "Forgive me, but... how did you ever come to be there, Jill? Fighting for them?"

She had a million of her own questions she wanted to ask him as well. About his Brand. About fighting for Sanbreque. About Phoenix Gate. But she supposed they had to start somewhere. 

"The Ironblood. They invaded not long after the news arrived about Phoenix Gate." Jill pushed a stray hair from her face, jolting her back to the present as she began to be lost in her thoughts from that night. "Rosaria had lost her leaders. The duchy was in chaos. The iron Kingdom saw our weakness and pounced upon it. they killed the men... and captured the women." 

She could see Clive swallow thickly, his breathing harder, his fingers clenched. "And took you back to Ironholm." 

Jill closed her eyes and could remember running through the halls of Rosalith Castle, of seeking shelter in Clive's room, of having no sense of how to protect herself. She could still feel the hands holding her down as she was chained, and worse, the hands that held her down as a child sacrifice the day she'd awoken. How dark and bleak the world had been, and only now, she could see that there were still colors left upon the walls. 

"I thought they meant to have their fun with me before the end." She shuddered. The slab covered in blood, the hands holding her down. "But the end never came. My powers awoke and everything changed. It all happened so fast." And so horribly, miserably slow. For thirteen years, life had become nothing but a slow crawl towards the end. She was crawling with hands and feet bound, blind by darkness, held down by weights. Yet still, she crawled on. 

She recounted her choice, or rather lack thereof, and watched as Clive's face continued to fall the more she told him. Part of her wondered if she should spare him the details, but one look at the brand on his face offered her some twisted sense of comfort. She knew that there was one other person in this world who would always understand her, whether she wanted him to or not. And she could see that he had a story to tell all the same as her, and that he understood the fall from grace, the agony of living and the pain of breathing. 

"And they call us Dominants." 

Jill's ears twitched as she looked at him, at the hollowness of his eyes as he stared at the floor. That was no slip of the tongue. 

"What?" And when he didn't answer, she swallowed thickly. 

Dominant? 

Clive? 

Who was even left out there? Clive was a Dominant? Of? Leviathan the Lost? 

No. She must have misheard, she reasoned. Clive had been tested as a baby and hadn't shown any signs of powers or of bearing an Eikon. So no. No, Clive wasn't... 

Clive wasn't the Phoenix. 

That was all they'd tested him for. The telltale signs of the Rosarian Dominant of Fire. Clive wasn't the Phoenix, but surely he could still be Leviathan, right? Because Clive would certainly offer Jill empathy, but not at the expense of making up a story. 

Perhaps he meant Dominant in some other way. Perhaps, by personality? Was he saying Jill had a dominant personality and so too did Clive? 

That made no sense. What was he talking about? 

"What happened Clive?" She paused. Founder, that was a loaded question. She wanted to know so much. She wanted to know everything. "What happened at Phoenix Gate." 

And he told her. He told her everything. From his role as the second Dominant of Fire, to Joshua's death. He told her of how his mother's soldiers dragged him away, told her of his Brand. He told her about Jude and how he'd enticed Clive to do his bidding in search of information about Joshua when he'd still yet to understand that he was Ifrit. 

And Jill listened, held his hand, watched him cry. Let him. Her heart broke as he went on, how he blamed himself over and over. She wished she could hug him, hold him as she used to. But as much as she felt at ease in his presence, that time of comfort had passed and she was naught but a stranger to him as he was to her. The boy she knew had died at Phoenix Gate, she realized. But from the flames, a new Clive was born. 

One who was hurt as badly as she was. One who needed someone as badly as she did. 

This Clive wasn't the boy she knew. But this was the man she was ready to know.