Echoes of a Shattered Timeline: Bonds Across Time
The combined camp of Shepherds and their future children buzzed with activity as preparations for the final confrontation continued. Yet amid the tactical planning and combat training, quieter moments revealed the complex web of emotions that connected these travelers across fractured timelines.
None drew more curious glances than Odyn and Lucina, particularly when they were seen together—the Exalt's daughter from a doomed future and the dark elven prince whose death had marked a turning point in her timeline. Their interactions, careful and measured yet charged with unspoken meaning, became a source of fascination for the other future children, each viewing the pair through the lens of their own experiences and timeline variations.
Severa
Severa paused in the middle of sharpening her sword, her gaze fixed on Odyn and Lucina as they studied a map together, their heads bent close, voices low. The slight brush of their hands as they both reached to indicate a location did not escape her notice.
"Hmph," she muttered, returning to her blade with unnecessary force. When Cordelia glanced her way questioningly, Severa rolled her eyes. "It's nothing."
Later, when Robin found her alone by the supply tent, Severa's carefully maintained indifference cracked slightly.
"In my timeline, she never stopped mourning him," she admitted, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "Even with the world falling apart around us, sometimes I'd catch her looking at that stupid crest he gave her, like it was the last light in the darkness."
Robin waited, sensing there was more.
"It's weird, seeing them now—both alive, both younger than I am." Severa's expression hardened into its usual scowl. "They better not waste this chance. Not after everything we sacrificed to get here."
Noire
The timid archer hovered at the edge of the training field, watching as Odyn demonstrated an elven archery technique to Lucina, his hands gently correcting her stance. The princess's usual composure slipped momentarily, a genuine smile brightening her face at something he said.
"Th-they look happy together," Noire whispered to no one in particular, twisting her cursed amulet between nervous fingers.
Tharja materialized beside her daughter with characteristic stealth. "You're watching the princess and her elf," she observed bluntly.
Noire jumped. "I-I'm not spying! I just..." She trailed off, then gathered her courage. "In my timeline, after Odyn fell, Lucina became... harder. Like all the softness burned away. She was still our leader, still brave, but..."
"But?" Tharja prompted when Noire faltered.
"But she never laughed again," Noire finished simply. "Not once."
Tharja considered this, her dark eyes calculating. "Interesting. Perhaps I should prepare a suitable protection hex for the dark elf. For the sake of morale, of course."
"Mother!" Noire gasped, then caught the subtle curve of Tharja's lips. Whether it was an actual joke or merely Tharja's idea of kindness remained unclear.
Brady
"Aw, would ya look at that," Brady muttered, his gruff voice failing to hide his sentiment as he watched Odyn present Lucina with a small wooden carving—a miniature Falchion crafted with elven precision.
Maribelle, never one to miss an opportunity for instruction, peered over her teacup at her future son. "One does not comment on private exchanges between nobility, dear. It's frightfully uncouth."
Brady snorted. "Nothin' private about it when they're standin' in the middle of camp," he retorted, but his expression remained soft as Lucina carefully tucked the carving away. "Ya know, she used to tell us stories about him—'bout all of you, really, but him especially. Said he was the first to believe her when she came back in time."
"Is that so?" Maribelle prompted when Brady fell silent.
"Yeah." Brady rubbed awkwardly at his eyes. "In our time, there weren't many happy endings. It's nice, y'know? Seein' what might've been. What still could be."
Maribelle's expression gentled. "Indeed," she agreed, setting aside her usual decorum to briefly touch her son's arm.
Cynthia
"It's just like the epic romance tales!" Cynthia exclaimed, peering around a tent flap to watch Odyn and Lucina practicing sword forms together. "The princess and the foreign prince, united across time and space by the bonds of true love!"
Lon'qu, uncomfortable with both the subject matter and his future daughter's enthusiasm for it, shifted awkwardly. "They are... effective combat partners," he offered stiffly.
Sumia shushed them both gently. "We shouldn't be watching," she admonished, though her own romantic heart clearly appreciated the scene.
Cynthia turned to her parents, her expression suddenly earnest. "You don't understand—in our future, Lucina never had this. She carried everyone's burdens, but no one carried hers." She glanced back at the pair, her usual exuberance tempered by memory. "I used to try to make her laugh, to be the hero's sidekick bringing light to dark moments, but..."
"But?" Sumia prompted gently.
"But some wounds even a hero can't heal," Cynthia finished, uncharacteristically solemn. The moment passed quickly, her bright smile returning as she bounced on her toes. "But now? Now we're rewriting the story! The tragic ending becomes the triumphant middle chapter! True love conquers time itself! Heroes united against the darkness!"
Lon'qu sighed deeply but didn't contradict her, a hint of fondness breaking through his stoic demeanor.
Kjelle
Kjelle observed the training session with professional assessment, her arms crossed as she analyzed Odyn and Lucina's combat forms with a critical eye.
"Their styles complement each other," she noted to Sully, who stood beside her with similar posture. "His elven techniques balance her Ylissean swordplay. Tactically sound partnership."
Sully nodded in agreement. "They move well together. Like they've been training as a unit for years."
From Kellam's seemingly empty spot came a thoughtful voice. "But you're not just analyzing their fighting styles, are you?"
Both women started slightly, having forgotten his presence. Kjelle recovered quickly, her expression hardening. "In my timeline, we learned to separate personal feelings from tactical necessity. Bonds of affection are vulnerabilities on the battlefield."
"Sounds lonely," Kellam observed quietly.
Something in Kjelle's rigid posture softened imperceptibly. "It was necessary. After we lost Odyn, Lucina... changed. Became all about the mission, the goal. We followed her example."
"And now?" Sully prompted.
Kjelle watched as Lucina successfully executed a complex elven maneuver, earning a rare, warm smile from Odyn. "Now... maybe we can learn to be warriors without sacrificing everything else."
Keira (Daughter of Khanna and Frederick)
"Their form is acceptable, but their guard drops when they make eye contact," Keira observed clinically, her dark elven features set in an expression of rigid discipline that mirrored her father's perfectly.
Frederick nodded in solemn agreement. "A potentially fatal lapse in concentration."
Khanna, watching both her husband and future daughter with knowing eyes, allowed herself a small smile. "Perhaps there are moments when vigilance may be briefly suspended," she suggested, her usually practical tone softened.
"Impossible," Keira and Frederick responded in perfect unison, then glanced at each other in surprise.
Later, when Khanna found her daughter alone, meticulously checking her armor, she noted the young woman's gaze occasionally drifting toward where Odyn stood with an arm protectively—perhaps unnecessarily—placed behind Lucina as they navigated a crowded section of camp.
"You approve more than you admit," Khanna observed quietly.
Keira straightened, caught in her observation. "I..." she began stiffly, then her shoulders lowered slightly. "In my timeline, after we lost him, she became like a sword—all sharp edges, no sheath. Effective, but..." She trailed off, struggling to articulate the complex emotion.
"But lonely," Khanna finished for her.
Keira nodded once, sharply, then returned to her armor with renewed focus. "Distractions on the battlefield are deadly," she stated firmly. "But... perhaps having something to return to after battle makes a warrior fight more effectively."
Khanna smiled, recognizing in her daughter's reluctant admission the same journey both she and Frederick had navigated—the careful balance between duty and connection.
Laurent
"Fascinating," Laurent murmured, adjusting his glasses as he observed Odyn teaching Lucina the proper pronunciation of an elven blessing. "The socio-cultural implications of cross-species cultural transmission in relation to temporal displacement create an unprecedented field for study."
Miriel nodded approvingly at her son's analytical approach. "Indeed. The variable of romantic attachment further complicates the observational parameters."
Xander, having arrived from Albanahr to meet his future son, raised an eyebrow. "You believe their attachment is romantic in nature?"
Laurent cleared his throat. "Based on observational data from multiple timeline iterations, the statistical probability of a significant emotional bond between Princess Lucina and Prince Odyn approaches ninety-seven percent, with a margin of error of approximately three percent."
"You kept statistics on your friends' romantic attachments?" Xander asked, somewhere between impressed and concerned.
Laurent adjusted his glasses again, a rare hint of emotion breaking through his scholarly demeanor. "In our future, such bonds were among the few bright points in an otherwise bleak existence. I... catalogued them. For historical purposes, of course."
"Of course," Miriel agreed, though her tone held unusual gentleness.
Laurent's gaze returned to the pair, his expression momentarily unguarded. "In eighty-four percent of observed timelines where Prince Odyn survived beyond the fall of Ylisstol, Princess Lucina demonstrated a twenty-six percent increase in expressed optimism and a thirty-two percent decrease in tactical recklessness."
Neither Miriel nor Xander commented on the implications—that their scholarly son had been keeping close watch over his friend's wellbeing in the best way he knew how.
Inigo
"Well, well," Inigo remarked with a characteristic grin as he observed Odyn presenting Lucina with a small bloom of rare elven night flowers. "The stoic prince has quite the romantic streak. I might need to take notes."
Olivia blushed deeply at her son's boldness, while Naevin merely raised an eyebrow, his elven features composed as always.
"Perhaps some matters are not for public commentary," Naevin suggested quietly.
Inigo's smile faltered slightly. "You know, in our time, there wasn't much to smile about. Dancing, flirting—it wasn't just habit, it was... necessary. A reminder that we were still alive, still human despite everything."
Olivia's expression softened in understanding. "You brought joy to dark places."
"Tried to," Inigo corrected, his usual charm giving way to something more genuine. "Lucina carried the weight of the world. Few of us saw her truly smile." His gaze returned to where Lucina was carefully tucking the delicate bloom into a pocket near her heart. "She deserves this—deserves him. Deserves the chance they never had."
Naevin studied his future son with new appreciation, recognizing that beneath the flirtatious exterior lay a depth of compassion he had not initially perceived.
Nah
"Time is not a single river, but countless branching streams," Nah observed quietly, her eyes far older than her apparent years as she watched Odyn and Lucina bent over tactical maps, their shoulders touching. "In some streams, they found each other. In others, they lost each other. In mine..."
"What happened in yours?" Nowi asked, unusually subdued.
"In mine, his death broke something in her," Nah said simply. "Not obviously—she was still our leader, still fought with everything she had—but something vital was missing. As if part of her had already passed beyond the veil with him."
Alek frowned at this grim assessment. "And now? Seeing them together in this timeline?"
Nah's expression lightened slightly, her dragon-heritage lending an ancient wisdom to her features. "Now I see possibilities. Different streams converging, perhaps. A chance for them to create a new path altogether."
From anyone else, such philosophical musings might have seemed pretentious, but from the half-manakete, half-elven child who had seen centuries compressed into her brief life, they carried the weight of genuine insight.
Gerome
"Sentiment is a luxury we cannot afford," Gerome stated flatly, his face hidden behind his mask as always. Despite his words, his gaze lingered on Odyn adjusting Lucina's stance during archery practice, their postures mirroring the careful distance they maintained in public—close but never quite touching.
Cherche smiled knowingly. "And yet you watch them with such attention."
"Tactical assessment only," Gerome insisted.
Gregor chuckled. "Is okay to admit warm feelings in heart, yes? Even masked man can appreciate happy reunion."
Gerome's scowl deepened, but he didn't walk away as he might have done. After a long silence, he spoke again, his voice lower. "In our future, after he fell at the Eastern Palace... she changed. Became harder, colder. Still Lucina, still our leader, but... different."
"Different how?" Cherche prompted gently.
"Like she'd locked away part of herself," Gerome admitted reluctantly. "The part that could be hurt by losing someone again."
He turned abruptly, making to leave, but paused for one final observation. "If his presence makes her stronger, it's tactically advantageous. Nothing more."
As he strode away, Minerva chirped softly at Cherche, who nodded in understanding. "Yes, I agree. He cares more than he's willing to admit."
Owain
"Behold!" Owain proclaimed dramatically, one hand clutched to his face in his characteristic pose as he watched Odyn teaching Lucina an elven meditation technique. "The legendary star-crossed lovers, united by fate's decree despite time's cruel attempts to separate them! My sword hand trembles at the epic tale unfolding before our very eyes!"
Lissa giggled, thoroughly enjoying her son's theatrical assessment, while Roy maintained a more reserved expression, though his eyes betrayed amusement.
"Do they know?" Lissa whispered. "About Marth and Morgan being their children in another timeline?"
"SILENCE!" Owain hissed, though his volume hardly decreased. "The cosmic revelation of their future progeny must occur at the dramatically appropriate moment! The heavens themselves await the perfect convergence of celestial bodies to illuminate this most profound of connections!"
Roy placed a calming hand on his son's shoulder. "Perhaps with less volume," he suggested gently.
Owain nodded sagely, then continued in what for him constituted a whisper—which was still perfectly audible to those nearby. "In the bleak future from whence I came, the princess carried the burden of lost love alongside the weight of a dying world. Yet did she falter? Nay! Her legendary fortitude sustained us all in the darkest hours!"
His theatrics subsided briefly, genuine emotion breaking through. "She deserves happiness in at least one timeline. They both do."
Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the moment of sincerity was gone, replaced by his usual dramatic flair. "And lo! It falls to us, the children of shattered time, to ensure this sacred timeline remains intact! My sword hand hungers to smite any who would threaten their destined union!"
Astrid (Daughter of Lyra and Vaike)
"Their footwork is decent," Astrid assessed critically, her fighter's eye evaluating Odyn and Lucina as they sparred. "But their awareness drops whenever they're within arm's reach of each other."
Vaike laughed boisterously. "Teach sees what's happening there! That ain't about fighting technique!"
Lyra, more reserved than her future husband but equally perceptive, observed her daughter's reaction carefully. "You disapprove?"
Astrid snorted, adjusting her axe. "Tactical weakness is tactical weakness."
"Or tactical strength," Lyra countered smoothly. "Partners who anticipate each other's movements, who fight for each other as well as themselves."
Astrid frowned, considering this. "In my timeline, after Odyn fell... Lucina became formidable. Unstoppable, even. But..."
"But?" Vaike prompted, unusually patient.
"But reckless," Astrid admitted. "Like she didn't care if she survived, as long as the mission succeeded." She shrugged, feigning indifference. "Watching them now—seeing them both alive, both whole—it's... good. Tactically sound."
Lyra and Vaike exchanged knowing glances over their daughter's head, recognizing that her gruff assessment hid deeper feelings than she was willing to admit.
Cade and Karrin (Twins born to Kivara and Stahl)
"Ten gold pieces says they announce formal courtship before we face Validar," Karrin declared, her dark elven features set in a mischievous grin as she observed Odyn and Lucina sharing a quiet moment by the perimeter of the camp.
Cade, her twin brother, shook his head. "Not taking that bet. Too obvious."
Kivara approached her future children with narrowed eyes. "Are you wagering on the personal affairs of royalty?"
Both twins straightened immediately, their expressions shifting to careful neutrality. "Tactical assessment only," they responded in unison.
Stahl chuckled as he joined them, a half-eaten apple in hand. "I think it's nice. Everyone deserves a little happiness, especially with what's ahead."
Karrin's composure broke first. "In our timeline, she never smiled. Not really. After Grima rose, after we lost so many..." She glanced at her brother, who nodded for her to continue. "Lucina was our leader, our hope—but she carried it all alone."
"Not just Odyn," Cade added quietly. "She lost her father, her kingdom, her future. But his death... that was the turning point. After that, she became all about the mission."
"And now?" Kivara prompted, her usual warrior's discipline softened by maternal concern.
Karrin gestured toward the pair, where Lucina was actually laughing—a rare, unguarded sound—at something Odyn had said. "Now we have a chance to create something different. A timeline where they don't lose everything. Where none of us do."
Vienne (Daughter of Lynnia and Virion)
"The composition is exquisite," Vienne sighed, her artistic eye appreciating the tableau formed by Odyn and Lucina as they stood beneath a flowering tree, their profiles illuminated by the setting sun. "The contrast of light and shadow, the complementary postures, the subtle tension of proximity without contact..."
Virion nodded enthusiastically. "Indeed! A portrayal worthy of the finest romantic ballads!"
Lynnia, ever practical despite her elven appreciation for beauty, raised an eyebrow at them both. "Perhaps we should not be observing private moments."
Vienne smiled, a perfect mirror of her father's charming expression. "In a camp this size? Truly private moments are as rare as genuine Rosannean silk in a border market."
"A most apt simile, my dear," Virion approved, while Lynnia shook her head in fond exasperation at their shared dramatic tendencies.
Vienne's expression grew more contemplative as she continued to sketch the scene before her. "In my timeline, I only knew them as the Princess and the Fallen Prince—characters from the stories we told to keep hope alive in the darkest times."
"Stories?" Lynnia inquired.
"Of the brave princess who traveled through time to save her world," Vienne explained, her hands never ceasing their work on the sketch. "And of the elven prince who believed her when no one else would, who fought beside her until he fell defending the Eastern Palace." She glanced up, her artist's eye capturing the careful way Odyn's hand hovered near Lucina's without quite touching. "The stories never mentioned this part—the unspoken connection between them."
"Perhaps," Virion suggested gently, "because those who told the stories never witnessed it themselves."
Vienne nodded, adding final touches to her sketch—a drawing that captured not just the physical reality of the two figures, but the invisible threads of connection between them. "I think I'll title it 'Possibilities'," she decided. "For that's what they represent, isn't it? A possibility none of us thought could exist."
Elden (Son of Saibyrh and Ricken)
"The magical resonance between them is fascinating," Elden observed, his youthful appearance belying the scholarly precision of his assessment. "Her Ylissean bloodline and his elven heritage create complementary magical signatures."
Ricken, still young himself and delighted to have a son who shared his magical interests, leaned forward eagerly. "You can see magical signatures?"
"A technique Mother taught me," Elden explained, nodding toward Saibyrh, whose gentle smile acknowledged the credit.
"In dire times, unconventional skills become necessary," the elven healer explained. "Elden showed remarkable aptitude for sensing the magical connections between individuals."
Elden returned his attention to Odyn and Lucina, who were seated side by side studying ancient texts, occasionally pointing out passages to each other. "In my timeline, after Odyn fell, Lucina's magical signature changed. Became... muted somehow. Less vibrant." He frowned, struggling to articulate the complex concept. "As if part of her life force had dimmed."
"And now?" Ricken asked softly.
"Now?" Elden's expression brightened. "Now both their signatures are stronger when they're together. Like complementary spells enhancing each other's effects. It's actually quite remarkable from a theoretical perspective."
Saibyrh placed a gentle hand on her son's shoulder, recognizing that his scientific analysis was his way of processing the deeper emotional implications. "Perhaps some bonds transcend even time itself," she suggested.
Elden nodded thoughtfully. "A hypothesis worth investigating further."
Grimm (Son of Henry and Syll)
"Nya ha! Look at those two lovebirds circling each other!" Grimm cackled, his father's distinctive laugh perfectly replicated as he watched Odyn and Lucina exchanging what appeared to be serious words, though their close proximity suggested otherwise.
Syll, maintaining her professional guard's stance despite being off-duty, shot her future son a quelling look. "Respect for privacy is a virtue."
Henry grinned, completely unoffended by the rebuke. "Aw, but they're so FUN to watch! All that tension! Like waiting for a hex to finally pop!"
"EXACTLY!" Grimm agreed enthusiastically. "It's the best kind of suspense! Will they or won't they confess their undying love before we all potentially die horrible deaths fighting Grima?"
"Grimm," Syll admonished, though a hint of reluctant amusement softened her tone.
The young dark mage's perpetual smile dimmed slightly, a rare moment of seriousness crossing his features. "You know, in my timeline, we had this saying about Lucina: 'Heart buried with the fallen prince, hand gripping the future's sword.'"
Henry's smile faltered as well. "That's... actually kind of sad. Not the fun kind of sad with dramatic wailing, but the quiet, empty kind."
Grimm nodded. "After we lost Odyn, she never faltered, never stopped fighting—but something vital was missing. Like she'd performed some kind of soul-splitting hex on herself to continue functioning."
Syll studied her future son with new appreciation for the depth beneath his cheerful exterior. "And seeing them now? Both alive, both whole?"
Grimm's wide smile returned. "It's like watching a counter-curse work in real time! Absolutely fascinating! I'm taking detailed notes for future reference—purely for academic purposes, of course!"
"Of course," Syll agreed dryly, exchanging a knowing look with Henry.
Ellie (Daughter of Hailfire and Gaius)
"Sweet," Ellie remarked around a mouthful of candy, observing Odyn slipping Lucina a small carved wooden token—a good luck charm from Albanahr traditions.
Gaius, sharing sweets with his future daughter in a rare quiet moment, nodded approvingly. "Kid's got style. Subtle, but meaningful."
Hailfire, the dark elven vanguard who rarely relaxed her warrior's vigilance, allowed herself a small smile. "The prince has always been more expressive through actions than words."
"In my timeline," Ellie offered, unwrapping another sweet, "Lucina kept a carving just like that. Wouldn't let anyone touch it. Said it was from someone important who'd been lost."
"And now?" Hailfire prompted when Ellie didn't continue.
The young woman shrugged, affecting casual indifference that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Now they've got a second chance. Makes all this time-traveling business worth it, seeing stuff like that."
Gaius studied his daughter with the perceptive eye that made him an excellent thief. "You care more than you let on, don't you, Cupcake?"
Ellie shot him a look that was pure Hailfire in its intensity. "Don't call me Cupcake," she retorted, but there was no real heat in it. After a moment, her expression softened. "Lucina was our leader, our hope when everything else was lost. She deserved better than what our future gave her."
She popped another candy in her mouth, her casual tone returning. "Besides, they're cute together. In a stuffy, royal sort of way."
Takeo (Son of Baron and Say'ri)
"Honor demands we avert our gaze from private matters," Takeo stated firmly, though his eyes remained fixed on Odyn teaching Lucina a formal elven court bow, their movements a careful dance of traditional precision.
Say'ri nodded in solemn agreement. "Indeed. Yet one cannot help but observe the harmony of their movements."
Baron, the stoic elven warrior who rarely revealed emotion, watched his future son with quiet assessment. "Your critique is noted. Yet you continue to observe."
Takeo straightened, his Chon'sin heritage evident in both his appearance and bearing, though elven features added an otherworldly quality to his serious countenance. "In my timeline, we spoke of Princess Lucina as 'she who carries the world.'" He paused, choosing his words with careful precision. "After the fall of the Eastern Palace, after we lost Prince Odyn... she changed. Became like a blade without a sheath—always ready, always cutting, never at rest."
"A warrior must sometimes be thus," Say'ri observed, though her tone suggested understanding rather than approval.
"True," Takeo acknowledged. "Yet a blade kept always unsheathed eventually dulls or breaks." He gestured subtly toward the pair, where Lucina was attempting to replicate an elven formal greeting, her serious concentration broken by a rare smile at Odyn's gentle correction. "To see her now—with moments of peace amid preparation for battle—it brings... satisfaction."
Baron studied his son, noting the careful control that hid deeper emotion. "You care for her wellbeing."
"She was our commander, our hope," Takeo replied simply. "Her strength carried us through the darkest times. If finding such moments of... connection... strengthens her for the battle ahead, then it serves our cause."
Say'ri and Baron exchanged knowing glances, recognizing in their son's formal assessment the same careful balance they maintained—between duty and personal feeling, between warrior's discipline and human connection.
As evening fell across the camp, the future children gathered around their own fire, separated from the main group by an unspoken understanding. Though they had found their parents—or versions of them—they remained united by experiences no others could fully comprehend.
"Strange, isn't it?" Severa remarked, breaking the contemplative silence. "Seeing them all alive. Seeing them together."
"Not just alive," Kjelle added. "But younger than us. Unburdened by what's to come."
"Unless we change it," Lucina reminded them, joining the circle with Odyn beside her—close but still maintaining the careful distance they always kept in public. Marth and Morgan flanked them, the twins' existence still an adjustment for everyone, living proof of timeline variations.
"We will change it," Marth declared with conviction that echoed his mother's. "That's why we're here."
Morgan nodded in agreement, her hand unconsciously touching the Dragon Crest on her forehead—the mark she had inherited from Odyn. "All of us, from different broken futures, united in this one intact present."
"A most epic convergence of heroic bloodlines!" Owain proclaimed, one hand dramatically clutched to his face. "The children of shattered time gathered to reforge destiny itself!"
Unexpected laughter rippled through the group—a rare moment of genuine mirth binding them together. Even Gerome's lips twitched beneath his mask.
"Tomorrow we face Validar," Lucina said as the laughter subsided. "Tomorrow we begin to rewrite our futures."
As the fire burned low, these children of doomed timelines shared stories of the parents they had lost, the worlds they had seen fall, and the hope that had driven them across time itself. And watching Lucina and Odyn—seeing the careful way they leaned toward each other without touching, the glances exchanged when they thought no one was looking—each felt a quiet certainty that perhaps, this time, the story might have a different ending.
A Moment Among Women
The night air carried a gentle warmth as the women gathered around a smaller fire set apart from the main camp. Shields and weapons had been set aside, replaced by cups of tea and the rare comfort of unhurried conversation. Future daughters sat alongside their mothers—a scene that would have seemed impossible mere months before.
Lucina found herself caught in the middle of the circle, acutely aware of the meaningful glances being exchanged. She had intended only to stop by briefly, but Say'ri's daughter Midori had gently pulled her down to sit on a log, and now departure seemed impossible without drawing even more attention to herself.
Severa waited until Lucina had taken her first sip of tea before striking. With a trademark smirk curling at the corner of her mouth, she leaned forward.
"So, Lucina," she drawled, loud enough to capture everyone's attention. "When exactly were you planning to tell us about you and the elven prince?"
Lucina choked mid-sip, nearly spilling her tea. "I—what? There's nothing to tell."
The circle of women erupted in knowing laughter.
"Please," Severa continued, rolling her eyes. "I've seen fewer lingering glances in actual romance novels."
"Mother is correct," Keira observed with Frederick-like precision. "Your tactical awareness decreases by approximately thirty-two percent when Prince Odyn enters your immediate vicinity."
"That's not—" Lucina began.
"I've been sketching you both," Vienne interrupted gently, holding up a small leather-bound notebook. "The composition of two people unconsciously moving in orbit around each other is quite captivating."
Lucina felt heat rising to her cheeks. "We're allies in a war. Nothing more."
"Oh?" Noire surprised everyone by speaking up, her usual timidity replaced by unexpected conviction. "Then perhaps you wouldn't mind explaining why you keep that wooden carving he gave you under your pillow?"
A chorus of delighted gasps followed this revelation.
"Noire!" Lucina hissed, betrayed.
"S-sorry!" Noire squeaked, shrinking back. "It's just—we share a tent, and—"
"The sacred token of affection!" Midori, Takeo's sister, proclaimed with a theatrical flourish worthy of Owain. Her normally serious demeanor—inherited from both Say'ri and Baron—gave way to rare enthusiasm. "In Chon'sin, such gifts are considered declarations of intent!"
"It's just a carving," Lucina protested weakly.
"A carving that took him three nights to complete," Karrin pointed out, the dark elven daughter of Kivara and Stahl leaning forward with a mischievous grin. "I know because I was on watch duty. He worked on it by moonlight."
Lissa giggled, nudging her future daughter-in-law. "I told you they were perfect for each other! Didn't I say it from the beginning?"
"Indeed, the alignment of compatible souls was foretold in the stars," Astrid deadpanned, though her eyes twinkled with rare humor. "Or so Owain would say."
"It's not like that," Lucina insisted, though her protest sounded hollow even to her own ears. "We're focused on the mission. On changing the future."
"Changing the future doesn't mean you can't have one of your own," Sumia offered gently, her romantic heart clearly invested in the discussion.
Lucina looked to her stepmother for support, but Sarai merely smiled, one hand resting gently on her swollen belly where Chrom's second child grew. "The bonds we forge in difficult times are often the strongest, Lucina. Even your father would agree with that."
"Strong bonds improve combat effectiveness," Kjelle added with characteristic practicality. "Tactically sound."
"So," Severa pressed, clearly enjoying Lucina's discomfort, "when are you going to tell him?"
"Tell him what?" Lucina asked, attempting dignity despite her flushed cheeks.
"That you're in love with him, obviously," Cynthia burst out, unable to contain herself any longer. "It's so romantic! The princess and the dark elven prince, bound by fate across shattered timelines!"
"I'm not—" Lucina began, then faltered. The circle of women waited, uncharacteristically silent.
Nah broke the silence, her ancient eyes kind despite her youthful appearance. "In some timelines, you found each other. In others, you lost each other. In all of them, the bond existed."
"Perhaps," Laurent's mother Miriel suggested with scientific precision, "empirical declaration of emotional attachment would yield optimal results."
"She means you should tell him how you feel," Ellie translated around a mouthful of candy.
"I know what she means," Lucina sighed, looking down at her hands. "It's just... complicated."
"Love usually is," Olivia offered quietly, her usual shyness overcome by empathy.
"It's not just about us," Lucina tried to explain. "The fate of the world—"
"Will still be there tomorrow," Cherche interrupted with gentle firmness. "But moments of happiness? Those are rare treasures, especially in wartime."
"Besides," Severa added, her teasing tone softening slightly, "after everything we've been through—everything you've carried—don't you deserve something for yourself?"
Severa leaned forward with a wicked grin. "Just kiss him already!" Then her eyes widened in mock realization. "Oh wait—from what your aunt Lissa told us, you already have. A time or two, if I recall correctly?"
Lucina's face went from pink to crimson in an instant, her eyes darting to Lissa in horror.
Lissa covered her mouth, but couldn't hide her giggles. "I may have mentioned spotting you two by the old oak tree last week..."
The group erupted in delighted exclamations and renewed teasing, while Sarai watched with a gentle smile, one hand protectively cradling her pregnant belly. There was genuine warmth in her eyes as she observed her stepdaughter's embarrassment—not mockery, but appreciation for this rare moment of normalcy amid war preparations.
"I—we—it was just—" Lucina stammered, uncharacteristically flustered.
Cynthia suddenly jumped to her feet, her expression serious despite the excitement dancing in her eyes. "Wait, everyone!" She held up her hands dramatically, commanding attention. "Let's talk about what's really important here."
The circle quieted, all eyes turning to the pegasus knight.
"We're chasing down Validar, who now has the Fire Emblem," Cynthia stated, her tone surprisingly tactical for a moment. Then her serious expression dissolved into pure enthusiasm. "Which means we might not have much time left! Before we face him, Lucina and Odyn need to make it official!"
Lucina blinked. "Make what official?"
"Get married, of course!" Cynthia exclaimed, bouncing on her toes. "You two should just get married already!"
A chorus of agreement erupted around the circle, voices overlapping:
"A battlefield wedding! How romantic!" "Tactically sensible. Improved morale for all troops." "I could design the ceremonial attire!" "Chon'sin has a beautiful warrior's binding ritual..." "Your father would approve, I'm certain." "Odyn's mother would be thrilled—she mentioned it to me just yesterday."
Lucina's mouth fell open as the women around her began planning a wedding that, until thirty seconds ago, she hadn't even considered. Her face flushed an even deeper shade of red as she stammered through protests no one seemed to hear.
"I—but—we haven't even—this is too—we're in the middle of a war—"
"The perfect time for a wedding!" Lissa declared. "Remember when your father and Sarai married during the Plegian campaign? It gave everyone hope!"
"And the way Lon'qu and I found each other during the darkest days," Sumia added dreamily, smiling at her daughter Cynthia. "Love finds a way, even in the most difficult times."
"I could prepare the blessing potions," Tharja offered with an unusual smile that made several women edge away slightly.
"B-but we haven't even discussed—I mean, I don't know if he—" Lucina continued to protest weakly, though no one seemed to be listening.
Sarai reached over to pat her stepdaughter's hand gently. "Perhaps we should allow Lucina and Odyn to make such decisions themselves," she suggested, her voice calm amid the excitement.
But her reasonable suggestion was quickly drowned out as planning continued:
"The ceremony could be at dawn!" "I'll handle the flowers!" "Elven or Ylissean traditions?" "Both, obviously!"
Lucina buried her face in her hands, overwhelmed as her future—quite literally—was being arranged without her input. Yet beneath her embarrassment, a small, private smile formed. The thought of a future with Odyn—a real future, not just surviving day to day—was something she had scarcely allowed herself to imagine.
Perhaps these women, in their enthusiastic matchmaking, were reminding her of the most important truth of all: they weren't just fighting against a doomed future; they were fighting for the chance to create a new one.
"Tomorrow," Severa mouthed again across the circle, eyes dancing with mischief.
And despite everything, Lucina nodded.
To be continued in Chapter 21: A brief Respite; Lucina's complex feelings and... A WEDDING?!