The man, shoulders heaving, a gleaming silver greatsword in his hand, threw the sacred weapon aside in disgust- growling at his target- a large crystal, the size of a pumpkin- literally oozing with dark magicks.

Turning on his heel, he left the room he kept it in- locking it tight and fast, before slumping into a chair outside- where a whole hoard of gleaming weapons stood on ornate racks and soft cushions.

He sat there, slumping forward and placing his head in his hands- here he was, his last hope, the holy blade of Alondite, dashed like a bird beneath a boulder.

Now what was there?

Now what was there?

Growling, he looked around the room.  Every last weapon here was extremely powerful- strong enough to have been recorded in the annals of history.

Armads.  Adhulma.  Excalibur.

Nothing, worked.

He had been so close, too.  Close to eradicating everything that was wrong with this world.  So close to finally shattering the wretched object at the center of every conflict that appeared in history and legend.

The Dark Stone.

He let a long sigh escape him- as all of his hopes swirled around the drain.  That was it.  Every last hope of his was gone- the best he could do would be to seal the stone away where hopefully, nobody would find it, and where it would never see the light of day…



He sat completely upright- and dashed away- looking for a book.  A very particular book…with a very familiar crest of flame on it.  He looked through it- and the more he looked, the more he laughed- and the wider he smiled.

He had his way.

It wouldn’t be easy.

And the very act of acquiring the materials…

Would end in his death, certainly.

But that didn’t matter.

If SHE had a world without darkness…that’s what mattered.

He spoke his next words with a low chuckle.

“…I’m going to steal the Fire Emblem.”