The Remnants of Serios wandered. Hallucinations about the horizon as they marched through dunes of sands. Spiked plants laid about, dotting the landscape. The sun ever bright, beaming hot waves across the coarse landscape.

Expeditions into the sands came back, with so few supplies. Even as their boat was undamaged, the few remaining flying knights noticed an increased activity of Alymrian raider ships. At least they brought some supplies.

As Rhea closed her eyes, keeping herself away from the sun, her heart yearned for home. So quick, all of this happened. The weapons that her brothers and sisters spoke of, unspeakable spears falling from the heavens, destroying everything in a fireball. The nightmare they spoke up was true, finally seeing it with her own eyes.

What of the rest of the students? What of Garrag Mach? The bones of her family? Those who dwelled in the Abyss? So many questions, but no answers.

It was only when Cyril knocked on the door did she open her eyes.

"Yes?"

"Lady Rhea? It's Cyril. It looks like we found that thing Bishop Seteth was searching for."

Emerald eyes glistered briefly. Following the war, her brother Macuil fled to the North, wanting nothing to do with newly established Church of Serios headquarters near their old home. Perhaps those memories were too painful to think back on. Perhaps his disdain for humanity had lessened over the years. An exile to the desert could do some wonders.

Still wearing her robes of the Archbishop, her shoes dug into the sand. So coarse and irritating. Some of the knights stripped themselves of their armor to bare the heat. Fresh water needed to be rationed between them. No hunting for various plants unless checked with some of the more knowledgeable knights.

As her entourage arrived by her, she nodded. "The fabled Wind Caller… Let us see what it has guarded for a millennium."

Catherine nodded, barking to the assembling Knights. "We're moving out. Those not on the expedition, guard our makeshift base."

Rhea took her march, flanked from all sides by her trusted knights. Her most-trusted knight Catherine confidently stride ahead, sword at her hip. Shamir, eyes on constant vigilance. Alois leading the frontlines. When she closed her eyes, the same air as before. Establishing the Empire with Wilhelm. The constant battles, and territorial controls. Bargaining with smaller crooks and lords, all to consolidate power.

It was a simpler time.

The soft sink of sand, the beaming heat from the sun, she wondered why her brother retreated into this desolate place. There were so many islands dotted around Fódlan, so many she could have ordered 'off-limits' by Church edict. Did Macuil really hate humanity?

Just over the dunes, she spotted the familiar green tints of her family. Young Flayn waved her hand as Seteth looked on ahead. Soon enough, they reached over.

"So how far is this… what, Wind Caller?" Catherine asked, shielding her eyes.

"We believe the Wind Caller's nest is around those ruins." The bishop pointed to some outcropping stone structures. Rhea took a look herself. None of these looked like they were built by her brothers or sisters. Perhaps they were ruins by another civilization?

Regardless, the Knights moved on ahead. The green-haired trio lagged behind, just out of ear-shot.

"Did Macuil notice you?" Rhea asked.

"Unfortunately, no. Yesterday, I noticed the ruins, but he was not there. But a few of the artifacts I glanced at were ours."

"And you didn't take them?"

"We are being polite."

"He's family. He'll understand."

"I'd rather not go about angering our last brethren, thank you."

Flayn remained silent, a nervous look on her face. She had not seen Uncle Macuil since the battle against Nemesis, drifting into a regenerative sleep from her wounds. Out in plain view of the ruins, the Knights of Serios halted. Alois toying with his axe, looking around.

A low rumble shook the sands. A growling roar shrieking over the dunes. The air reverberated, several knights kneeling over from the mass air currents. Sand kicked into dizzying spirals before them.

Standing between the cyclones of dust, a bronze dragon stood proudly. Sandy winds picked up around its body, forcing knights to stand their ground. Eyes glared at every one of them, sensing their intent. Their fear or foolishness. A low grumbling hiss passed its peak-like mouth, like grinding blades on a wheel.

"Oh great Wind Caller!" Seteth stepped forward, holding his hands above his head. A sign of peace and reverence.

"We are Knights of Serios, beckoned from our home in Garrag Mach. Our beloved continent of Fódlan is under siege of dark forces, the very same that started the War of Heroes."

The dragon sniffled.

"Saint Macuil traveled to these lands, knowing that the darkness would one day return. We ask of you to guide us to the relics he left behind so we may retake our homeland."

Fluttering its wings, the winds died down around it. Heavy claws and hind-legs dug into the sands. It spoke, gravelly and worn.

"No."

"Ah, thank you very much, this…" Seteth processed what he said. "'No'? What do you mean 'no'?"

"I will not relinquish Macuil's reliquary."

"May I ask why?" Seteth's eyes strained, face twisting at his brother's stubbornness. He was always the pessimist, but never to the point of never helping family.

"I sense trouble brewing. Blood. Tainted blood."

"Tainted blood?" Rhea stepped forward, furious. "Which blood do you speak of Dragon of the Desert."

"The blood of Serios." It snarled back. "Macuil retreated to these lands to escape from the problems of Fódlan, not be dragged into them. For that, his relics shall not step on Fódlan's soil ever again."

"Blood of Serios?" Hanneman looked around. There was nobody that bore the Crest of Serios here. Only the descendants of the Hresvelg family bore the Crest, and Saint Serios was recorded to have no children. So where did these powers come from? Was the Hresvelg family more spread than they initially believed?

Seteth remained still. He knew it. He knew it since they arrived at Garrag Mach. The Cardinal Forces, the Church's secret knights and spies were all augmented with Rhea's blood. They were gifts, she referred to them. Forces to combat those in the shadows.

What little good it did for them now.

"Wind Caller, we appeal to your humility to –"

The dragon growled, gales shooting through its beak. "Enough. I will hear no more of your rabble."

Rhea's eyes widened. A thousand years ago, she had hoped that Macuil's temper would cool. In those days, a squall laid underneath a stoic face, but he was never this outwardly aggressive. Seteth stamped his spear into the ground. "How dare you…"

"What did you say?"

"How dare you?" He yelled back, pointing the spear back at him. "Macuil would never turn his back on Fódlan, the land of his forefathers!"

"And what do you know of Macuil? The man who never passed his Crest to anybody but himself?" The dragon stomped back. Its head lowered down, creeping closer to his face. "You presume to know a lot about me younger brother."

Flayn wormed herself between the two. "Both of you, stop it!"

"Little Cethleann…" Even with a beak, a visible frown lingered on its face. "I thought you still slept."

"I'm awake now. And both of you should stop fighting. Can you see it's just like the start of the War?"

Several of the knights overheard. Whispers between them before one of their lieutenants stood up. "Cethleann? He means 'Flayn', right?" Alois mused aloud. Other knights murmured between each other. Uncomfortable glances each between their Archibishop and the dragon. Meanwhile, Catherine's hand trickled down to Thunderbrand's hilt.

Thunderstrike Catherine was the first one to step between the dragon and the archbishop. Brandishing her blade at the beast, its crimson glow echoing from the odd sphere in its hilt. The dragon growled, eyes slivering to small daggers. There was a venomous hatred there, a glare would melt even the foundations of the great castles. Claws digging into the sand so much, the dragon sunk deeper still.

Shamir slowly reached for an arrow; eyes narrowed on the dragon-bird-thing. She hadn't a clue what was going on, but it looked like they weren't going anywhere with this meeting. If these things can help them, then they should take them by force.

Finally, the dragon relented, scowling once more before turning back to Seteth and Flayn. Their anxious faces drawing closer than before. "This is for family." He stressed.

"You dare speak of family, and brought this army here… And told them nothing?" He snarled. "This is just like it was before, but without a fledgling nation to back you up!"

"Wind Caller, be reasonable. For Rhea's sake, I beg you, show some –"

"Absolutely not. She made this bed; she can fix it herself. How long do you think could coddle her merely because she's mother's favorite?"

"She is meant to be the best of us!"

"And she has failed."

"Where is your sense of family?!"

"Dead as most of them should be!" An eye glanced up to Catherine's blade. "Dead and buried. Do not think my time away has dulled what I see before me."

The rest of the knights waited, anxious for more information. Finally, the brother and sister team turned around. Alois and Hanneman tried reaching to them but only met shaking heads.

Stepping around her protector, Rhea stood between the lines. The dragon held its chest high looking down. A fire lit in her eyes. Ancient magics and power of an age long since forgotten. When the Nabatean's walked the world unshielded from the cruelty of mankind.

"Wind Caller, as the lead authority of the Church of Serios, the Archbishop of the church, I demand under the will of the Goddess to surrender those items!"

Macuil stared back. The soft patter of sand blowing between the dunes. Grumbling rolled up its belly, like gravel pounded by hammers and armored boots.

"You have no power here. And I don't care, archbishop Rhea. The tainted blood I've smelt has broken an ancient oath sworn by Saint Macuil. To see it passed like some kind of candy is unthinkable."

A vein popped on Rhea's forehead.

"And he would not forgive so easily. So take your little army and your fat ass, and get the FUCK of my desert."

Quick veiled shock lit Rhea's face, just as Catherine jumped between them, blade at the ready. "Hold up! You best retract your statement for –"

"I will not speak to the descendants of murderers who brandish my brother's bones like some twig!"

Silence deafened the desert. Even the smallest desert spiders froze on the dunes. Catherine looked at the dragon then back to her sword. To the dragon and back.

"… What?"

Macuil looked over to Seteth and Flayn, their eyes and faces twisted to utter disbelieve. Everything that they fought for, brought to question from a single sentence. The old dragon scowled before picking up its arms and body.

A battle cry that called to arms. Apparitions of the fallen, the damned, and cursed rose from the sandy graves, clad in old armors. Swords of the ancient past surrounded them with other pike and axe.

"You've had your fun. Flee now, warriors of Serios. If not, then I shall take your life as punishment!"

Mini tornadoes sprouted, tossing sand about. "BEGONE!" It bellowed as the knights nervously clutched to their weapons.

"R-retreat!" Rhea shouted. Seteth and Flayn looked to her. "Everyone fall back! We must go without Macuil's relics!"

Inching furtherer back, the Wind Caller held its ground, eyes darting to the stray knights that swarmed to protect their archbishop. Carefully, they backed away, seeing a breach in the sand walls and phantom soldiers.

The three Nabeteans met the eyes of their scornful brother. Soldiers forming a phalanx before their charge, the dragon turned away. Just as they breached the end of the wall, the winds loosened.

Gone were the ruins, buried under the mounts. The soldiers and armor disappeared, as if they were never there. And the dragon, disappeared along with its relics.

Hanneman looked to Manuela. Teacher to teacher, they turned to the archbishop, longing for an answer. Shamir gazed over. The knights turned to their charge, wondering what the dragon said.

But no words were exchanged there. Under the beating sun, several knights whispered to themselves. If their journey ended here, where would they go? Were those treasures actually going to help take back their homeland?

Discontent spread like a small fire as Seteth walked among them. "Bishop."

Somebody called out. It was Shamir. "Care to explain what is going on? Come clean with everything going on?"

He winced, binding his hands into fists. Flayn gulped, feeling eyes poised to all of them. Some of the knights wondered if the high-ranking members of their remnant army knew what was going on.

"… We'll set up camp tonight. Then we'll talk. To everybody."

From the scattered words they picked up. The feeling of We are lost in the dark, believing in nothing but a Dark Dawn…

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