Flame Eyed Strangers in Awakening: OC x Lucina

The Bloodline Awakens

As the night air grew still around the campfire, Robin studied the three newcomers with a mixture of curiosity and caution. His tactician's mind was already calculating how their skills might fit into the Shepherds' strategies, but another part of him couldn't tear his gaze away from the dark-haired woman whose eyes seemed to mirror his own.

"Tharja," he said, testing the name on his tongue. "My... sister?" The words felt foreign, disconnected from any memory he could recall.

The dark mage stood slightly apart from the others, her gaze intense and unwavering as she observed Robin. "Half-sister, to be precise," she corrected, her voice low and melodic. "Same father, different mothers. I've been searching for you since you disappeared three years ago."

Cordelia moved closer to Robin, her hand finding his in silent support. The pegasus knight's crimson hair caught the firelight as she studied the family resemblance between her husband and this mysterious newcomer.

"You'll have to forgive my husband's confusion," Cordelia said diplomatically. "His memories remain... incomplete."

Tharja's eyes narrowed slightly. "So the rumors were true. A memory spell, perhaps? Or something darker?" Her fingers twitched as if already preparing to unravel whatever magic had ensnared her brother's mind.

Frederick cleared his throat, ever vigilant. "Perhaps such discussions could wait until we've properly addressed our tactical situation. Gangrel's forces grow bolder by the day."

Chrom nodded, though his thoughts seemed distant, occasionally glancing toward where Lucina stood at the edge of the camp. The slip of "Father" still hung in the air between them, unaddressed but impossible to ignore.

"Agreed," Chrom said finally. "Baron, you mentioned knowing Emmeryn? How exactly?"

The Dark Elf straightened, his silver hair gleaming in the moonlight. Unlike the others of his kind who had joined the Shepherds earlier, Baron wore elaborate armor bearing insignias of rank.

"I served as her diplomatic escort when she visited our realm two summers past," Baron explained, his accent more refined than the other elves. "We discussed potential alliances against shared threats—the risen being chief among them. When communication ceased several months ago, I was dispatched to determine what had happened." His expression darkened. "I fear Gangrel's aggression may be driven by forces beyond human ambition."

Libra, who had remained quiet, finally spoke. His gentle voice belied the battle scars visible on his exposed arms. "I've studied the ancient texts extensively. The risen appearing now match descriptions from the Era of Shadow, when Grima nearly consumed the world." The priest's eyes fell on Robin. "There are... connections I believe we must discuss, though perhaps not tonight."

"More secrets," Lissa muttered, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm beginning to think every new ally brings a mysterious past with them."

"Speaking of mysteries," Tharja said, returning her focus to Robin. "Your wife's aura is... interesting." Her lips curled into something between a smile and a smirk as she observed Cordelia. "Strong magical potential lies dormant within her bloodline. Your children would be exceptionally gifted."

Cordelia's cheeks flushed nearly as red as her hair.

Before anyone could respond, Lucina approached the circle, her masked face turned toward the forest. "Something moves in the trees," she warned, her hand already on Falchion's hilt.

Chrom rose immediately. "Risen?"

"No," Lucina replied, her voice dropping lower. "Something... different."

As if summoned by her words, a raven landed at the edge of their camp, its feathers unnaturally dark even against the night sky. Around its neck hung a small scroll sealed with wax bearing Gangrel's insignia.

"It appears," Robin said grimly as he stood to retrieve the message, "that Gangrel is ready to make his next move."

Baron and Tharja exchanged meaningful glances, while Libra quietly began a prayer to Naga. Whatever revelations about their pasts would have to wait—the future was rushing toward them faster than any of them had anticipated.

As Chrom beckoned Lucina away from the group, the tension in his shoulders was evident even in the dim firelight. The prince's jaw was set with determination, finally ready to confront the mystery that had been hanging between them since her startling slip of "Father" during battle.

Lucina hesitated, her hand instinctively rising to adjust her butterfly mask, ensuring it still concealed enough of her features. With a reluctant nod, she followed Chrom toward a small clearing just beyond the camp's edge.

Odyn watched them depart, his keen elven eyes noting details others might miss. The way Lucina moved—graceful yet measured, like someone carrying both royal human blood and elven heritage. The streaks of lavender and crimson threading through her predominantly blue hair caught the moonlight in a way that stirred memories of his homeland's nobility.

"Those ears aren't just for show," Odyn murmured, turning to his sister. "And those eyes... that's Verithan orange if I've ever seen it."

Sarai wrung her hands, her worry evident as she watched the pair disappear into the shadows. "Do you think he knows? I mean, about everything?"

"Doubtful," Odyn replied. "But he's about to learn something, that's certain." He nudged his sister with an elbow. "You should follow them if you're so concerned. Or is it curiosity that's really eating at you?"

Sarai shot him a withering look. "This isn't about curiosity. If she's who I think she is—who she must be based on those features—then this conversation affects all of us. The alliance, everything."

"Then go," Odyn insisted. "They won't notice you. Not with your training."

After a moment's hesitation, Sarai nodded and slipped away, following the path Chrom and Lucina had taken. Her footsteps made no sound as she moved between shadows, her elven heritage granting her natural stealth that even the most seasoned human scouts envied.

Meanwhile, in the clearing, Chrom had stopped and turned to face Lucina. The moonlight filtered through the trees, illuminating the tense scene.

"I think it's time we spoke honestly," Chrom said, his voice lower than usual. "On the battlefield, you called me 'Father.' And while I've tried to convince myself it was simply a slip of the tongue in the heat of battle..."

He paused, studying what little he could see of her face behind the mask. "But there's more to it than that, isn't there? Your sword is identical to Falchion—a blade that cannot be replicated. And now that I look at you properly, there's something familiar in your features, despite your..." He gestured vaguely toward her pointed ears.

Lucina remained silent, her breathing becoming shallow as the moment she had both anticipated and dreaded finally arrived.

From her hidden position among the trees, Sarai watched intently, close enough to hear their words but careful to remain undetected. What happened next would either confirm her suspicions or complicate the alliance in ways none of them had prepared for.

With trembling hands, Lucina removed the butterfly mask that had hidden her identity for so long. As it fell away, she stood exposed beneath the moonlight, her face finally revealed to the man who would one day be her father. The mask's absence brought an unexpected sense of relief, as though she'd set down a burden she'd carried for too long.

"There," she said, her voice steadier than she expected. "Now you can see the truth."

Chrom's eyes widened as he took in her features—the Brand of the Exalt clearly visible in her left eye, glowing faintly in the darkness. But it was the elven characteristics that left him speechless: her subtly pointed ears, the uncommon coloration in her hair, and those eyes—Ylissean blue rimmed with an unmistakable Verithan orange that seemed to burn like embers.

"You're my daughter," Chrom whispered, the realization hitting him with full force. "But how? And why do you have..."

He trailed off, his mind racing to connect dots that seemed impossible.

"I come from the future," Lucina said, the words pouring out now that the dam had broken. "A future where Grima has been resurrected, where darkness has consumed nearly everything. We fought—all of us—but it wasn't enough. So some of us were sent back, to change things before they become irreversible."

She paused, seeing the question in his eyes that he couldn't bring himself to ask.

"And yes, my mother... she's here, among your allies now. That's why I look..." She gestured to her elven features.

From her hiding place, Sarai pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp. The pieces suddenly fit together with crystal clarity—why she'd felt drawn to protect this mysterious swordswoman since their first encounter, why something about Lucina's fighting style reminded her of movements she herself had perfected through centuries of training.

In the clearing, Chrom's expression shifted from shock to wonder, then to a tentative joy.

"You're my daughter," he repeated, this time with certainty rather than question. "With..."

"With Sarai," Lucina confirmed softly. "Though in my time, you didn't find each other until later. Events are already changing. I don't know what that means for my future—for me."

Sarai felt her heart racing, a sensation she hadn't experienced in decades of her long elven life. The revelation that this warrior woman was her daughter—a daughter she hadn't yet had, with a man she had only recently met—was overwhelming. Yet alongside the shock came a surge of protective instinct that confirmed the truth of it.

"I didn't mean to tell you," Lucina continued, her composure beginning to crack. "Any of you. I was just supposed to change things from the shadows, but when I saw that risen about to strike you down..." Her voice broke. "I couldn't lose you again."

Chrom, still processing everything, did what came naturally. He stepped forward and embraced his daughter—this impossible child from a future he now desperately wanted to prevent.

"You won't," he promised. "Whatever happened in your time, we'll change it. Together."

As they embraced, Sarai remained frozen in place, witnessing a future she had never imagined for herself unfolding before her eyes. The elven woman who had always been defined by duty now saw a new path—one that apparently led to a family with this human prince, and a daughter who carried both their bloodlines.

A daughter who had traveled across time to save them all.

Sarai emerged from the shadows with a carefully composed expression, stepping into the clearing as if she'd only just arrived. The moonlight caught the silver accents in her dark elven armor, illuminating her face as she approached the embracing pair.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, her tone betraying nothing of what she'd overheard. She allowed her eyes to linger on Lucina's exposed face, taking in the features that now held such profound meaning. Her gaze fell upon the young woman's tears. "I saw you both leave camp, and when you didn't return..." She let the statement hang in the air.

Chrom and Lucina separated, both turning toward Sarai with expressions that mirrored each other in ways that would have been obvious to anyone looking closely enough. For a moment, the resemblance between father and daughter was unmistakable, despite Lucina's elven characteristics.

"Sarai," Chrom said, his voice carrying a new warmth when he spoke her name. There was a flash of uncertainty in his eyes, as if he wasn't sure how to proceed with the knowledge he now possessed.

Lucina straightened, quickly wiping away her tears. "I was just..." she began, then faltered, looking to Chrom for guidance on how much to reveal.

The tension in the clearing was palpable as the three stood in a triangle of unspoken truths. Chrom's gaze moved between the two women—one he was beginning to care for deeply, and another who represented a future he hadn't dared to imagine until now.

"We were discussing some matters about the upcoming conflict," Chrom finally said, respecting Lucina's apparent wish to maintain her secret. "Marth has... unique insights that could prove valuable."

Sarai's eyes narrowed slightly, her centuries of diplomatic training allowing her to maintain her composure despite the flush she felt warming her cheeks. "I see," she said, noticing how Lucina's eyes—so similar to her own in color—couldn't quite meet her gaze. "And these insights required removing your mask?" she asked, directing the question to Lucina.

"Some truths are easier to share face to face," Lucina replied carefully, the cadence of her speech carrying hints of Sarai's formal elven diction.

Chrom stepped forward, placing himself slightly between the two women in a gesture that seemed both protective and unifying. "We should return to camp. There's much to discuss with everyone regarding Gangrel's message."

As they began walking back, Sarai fell into step beside Lucina, stealing glances at the young woman's profile. The complicated tangle of emotions—confusion, wonder, and an unexpected surge of protectiveness—threatened to overwhelm her usually steady demeanor.

"You fight well," Sarai said quietly, breaking the silence between them. "Your technique... it reminds me of the ancient forms taught in Veritha's royal guard."

Lucina's steps faltered for just a moment. "I had a good teacher," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ahead of them, Chrom's shoulders tensed, clearly listening but choosing not to intervene.

"Perhaps we could train together sometime," Sarai suggested, her heart beating faster as she made this small, significant overture.

A smile flickered across Lucina's face—the first genuine smile Sarai had seen from her. "I'd like that... very much."

As they approached the camp, the weight of unspoken words hung between them, along with the promise of a future that seemed both impossible and increasingly inevitable.

Chrom suddenly paused, causing both women to halt beside him. They stood just beyond the edge of the clearing, the camp's distant firelight barely visible through the trees. The prince's expression was resolute as he turned to face Lucina.

"Wait," he said, his voice low but firm. "Before we return to the others..." He glanced at Sarai, then back to his future daughter. "Should we tell her the truth? About who you really are?"

The question hung in the air between them. Lucina's eyes—those unmistakable blue-orange eyes—widened slightly before meeting Chrom's gaze. After a moment of silent consideration, she nodded slowly.

"Yes," Lucina said, her voice steadier than before. "Considering... recent events, she deserves to know." There was a meaningful emphasis in her words, perhaps alluding to the growing connection between Chrom and Sarai.

Sarai looked between them, her centuries of diplomatic training suddenly insufficient for maintaining her composure. "Tell me what?" she asked, though something in her expression suggested she might already suspect.

Chrom stepped closer to Sarai, his movements deliberate and gentle, as if approaching someone who might flee. "Sarai, this isn't just Marth. Her real name is Lucina." He paused, gathering courage. "She's my daughter, from a future where Grima has been resurrected and the world lies in ruins."

Sarai's eyes widened, though she maintained her poised stance. "Your daughter," she repeated carefully. "I see. That explains the Brand in her eye."

"There's more," Chrom continued, his gaze never leaving Sarai's face. "She's our daughter, Sarai. Yours and mine."

The words seemed to suspend time itself. Sarai's carefully maintained expression finally cracked, her lips parting in shock as she turned to look at Lucina with new understanding.

"My... daughter?" Sarai whispered.

Lucina nodded, her own composure wavering. "In my timeline, you and Father found each other later, after Gangrel's defeat. But things are changing already—events are unfolding differently." She hesitated before adding, "I've revealed too much already, but I couldn't keep lying to you both."

Sarai moved forward as if in a trance, her hand reaching out to touch Lucina's face. Her fingers traced the line of the young woman's jaw, stopping at the pointed tip of her ear—so similar to her own.

"The elven features," Sarai murmured. "Your hair with streaks of crimson like certain Verithan houses... the orange in your eyes." Her voice grew stronger as realization continued to dawn. "You carry both our bloodlines."

"I do," Lucina confirmed softly. "I am the first of my kind—half Ylissean royalty, half Verithan elf. In my time, it caused... complications. But it also gave me strengths I needed to survive."

Chrom watched the two women—one he was falling for, and one who represented the future of that love—with wonder and uncertainty.

"I understand now why I felt drawn to protect you," Sarai admitted, her hand falling back to her side. "Why something in me recognized you, even before I knew."

A moment of silence passed between the three of them, heavy with implications of a future that was both predetermined and uncertain.

"We should return to camp," Lucina finally said. "The others will be wondering where you've gone, and there's still Gangrel's message to address."

As they began walking again, Sarai fell into step beside Chrom, their hands brushing against each other. After a moment's hesitation, she took his hand in hers, her fingers intertwining with his in a silent acknowledgment of the future they might build together.

Behind them, Lucina watched her parents with a mixture of hope and determination. The timeline was already changing—perhaps for the better.

As they walked back toward camp, Lucina maintained a respectful distance behind Chrom and Sarai, giving her parents this moment as their hands remained intertwined. The sight stirred complex emotions within her—joy at seeing their love beginning to bloom, yet tinged with the bittersweet knowledge of how their relationship had developed in her own timeline.

Her thoughts drifted to her own complicated romantic situation. Saibyrh's words from earlier that day echoed in her mind. The dark elven healer had cornered her after tending to a minor wound Lucina had sustained in their last skirmish.

"You avoid him like a plague," Saibyrh had said while applying a healing salve, her knowing eyes fixed on Lucina. "Yet I see how you watch Odyn when you think no one notices."

Lucina had tensed, nearly pulling away from the healer's touch. "I don't know what you mean."

Saibyrh's laugh had been gentle but knowing, much like her brother Valvaderhn's, though his attention had been thoroughly occupied by Maribelle's presence lately. The noblewoman had been finding increasingly transparent excuses to "inspect the elven cavalry techniques" almost daily.

"We live long lives, child," Saibyrh had continued. "Long enough to recognize when someone fights their heart. In my centuries, I've seen how fate sometimes binds souls across timelines and worlds."

Lucina had remained silent, unwilling to acknowledge what the healer had intuited.

"He reminds you of someone from your time, doesn't he?" Saibyrh had pressed, her voice dropping lower. "Someone important."

The question had struck too close to home. In Lucina's future, Odyn had been one of her most trusted generals, her right hand in the war against Grima. But he had been older then, hardened by decades of fighting. This younger Odyn—brash, sometimes arrogant, but with an undeniable sharp mind—unsettled her with his familiarity and his differences.

"The timelines are fragile," Lucina had finally responded. "Attachments are... dangerous."

Saibyrh had simply smiled, tying off the bandage with practiced fingers. "Perhaps. Or perhaps they're inevitable, like the tides of the Great Sea."

Now, watching her parents' hesitant new beginning, Lucina wondered if Saibyrh might be right. The timeline was already changing in ways she hadn't anticipated. Her very presence had altered events, bringing her parents together earlier than in her timeline.

Ahead, the camp came into view. Lucina could make out Odyn's tall figure near the fire, deep in conversation with Robin and the newly revealed Tharja. As if sensing her presence, he looked up, his eyes finding hers immediately across the distance.

A moment of recognition passed between them—something older and deeper than their brief acquaintance in this timeline should allow. Lucina quickly averted her gaze, feeling the same conflicted emotions rise within her once more.

The future was unwritten now. But some connections, perhaps, were written in something more permanent than time itself.

Bound by Fate

As they approached the camp, Lucina lingered back a few paces from her parents. The sight of them walking hand-in-hand stirred a mixture of hope and nostalgia in her heart. In her timeline, their courtship had begun much later, forged in the aftermath of Gangrel's defeat rather than during the conflict itself.

Her thoughts turned to her own complicated situation. The campfire illuminated Odyn's profile as he conversed with Robin and Tharja, his silver-streaked hair catching the firelight. Even from this distance, she could trace the features that had become so familiar to her across a different future—one filled with battle and desperation.

Lucina knew what needed to be done. Once Gangrel was defeated and this immediate threat neutralized, she would need to have a conversation she'd been avoiding since arriving in this timeline. Her feelings for Odyn had become increasingly difficult to ignore, complicated by memories of the man he would become in her future—her trusted general, her confidant, and eventually, something more.

The disparity in their ages in this timeline presented its own challenges. Here, he was young and unburdened by the weight of a fallen world. She carried knowledge of a relationship that, for him, had not yet happened and might never unfold in the same way.

Yet Saibyrh's words resonated with truth that Lucina couldn't deny. Some connections transcended time itself, persisting across fractured timelines like threads of fate woven too deeply to be undone.

When the war with Gangrel ended, she would tell him everything—about her true identity beyond being Chrom and Sarai's daughter, about the future they had shared in another time, and about the feelings she carried across the boundaries of time itself.

For now, though, there was a war to win and a future to safeguard. As she watched Odyn look up and meet her gaze across the camp, Lucina allowed herself, just for a moment, to imagine a future where their connection might flourish anew—not as commander and general, but as equals in a world not dominated by Grima's shadow.

The road ahead remained uncertain, but for the first time since arriving in the past, Lucina felt something beyond duty driving her forward: hope.

Memories of Tomorrow

The night had grown quiet around the camp. Most of the Shepherds had retired following the council meeting about Gangrel's message, leaving only a few sentries patrolling the perimeter. Lucina sat alone by the dying embers of the fire, her mask resting beside her on the log. With her secret now shared with her parents, she felt less compulsion to wear it constantly.

Her fingers absently traced the hilt of Falchion—the same blade her father carried, yet different. Just as Odyn was both familiar and foreign to her.

"Can't sleep?"

The voice startled her despite its softness. Odyn approached from the shadows, two steaming mugs in his hands. Without waiting for an invitation, he sat beside her, offering one of the drinks.

"Elven tea," he explained. "Saibyrh makes it with herbs from home. Helps clear the mind."

Lucina accepted the mug, careful not to let their fingers touch. "Thank you."

They sat in silence for a while, the crackling embers providing a gentle soundtrack to their thoughts. Lucina stole glances at his profile—younger, smoother than the one she remembered. The Odyn she knew had a scar running from his right temple to his jaw, earned during the battle of Mount Prism. This Odyn's face remained unmarked, his eyes less haunted.

"You removed your mask," he observed finally.

"Some know the truth now," she replied, deliberately vague.

Odyn nodded, seeming unsurprised. "Chrom and my sister looked... different when you all returned to camp. Connected, somehow."

Lucina sipped her tea to hide her expression. "Perceptive as always."

"It's what keeps me alive." His tone was light, but the words struck Lucina like a physical blow.

It didn't keep you alive in the end, she thought, the memory of his final stand against Grima's forces flashing unbidden through her mind.

---

"Run, Princess," he had commanded, his voice no longer the gentle tone of her childhood teacher but the hardened edge of her general. Blood streaked his armor, his right arm hanging useless at his side. "Get to the portal. I'll hold them here."

At seventeen, she had already seen too much death to believe in false promises. "I'm not leaving you."

His orange eyes—so like her own—had softened for just a moment. "You must. The future needs you more than it needs me." Then, more quietly: "I've taught you everything I know. Now it's your turn to teach the past."

Before she could protest further, he had cupped her face with his good hand and pressed his lips to hers—their first and final kiss. "Go, my love. For all our sakes."

She had gone, the sounds of his last battle echoing behind her as she ran toward the portal that would send her back through time. His sacrifice had bought her escape, but the price had been everything.

---

"Where did you go just now?" Odyn's voice pulled her back to the present. His expression was curious, his head tilted slightly in a gesture so familiar it made her heart ache.

"Just... memories," she answered truthfully.

"Good ones, I hope?"

Lucina looked directly at him then, seeing both the man before her and the one she had lost. This Odyn was younger—barely older than she was now—with a confidence that bordered on arrogance rather than the tempered wisdom she had known. Yet the core of him was unmistakable—the sharp intelligence in his eyes, the way he sat with perfect balance, ready to move at a moment's notice.

"Mixed," she admitted. "Memories often are."

He studied her with unexpected intensity. "You know, you remind me of someone."

Her heart skipped. "Oh?"

"My grandmother used to say that souls recognize each other across lifetimes." He spoke casually, but his eyes never left hers. "When I first saw you fight, something felt... familiar. As if I'd seen your movements before, maybe in a dream."

Lucina set down her mug, suddenly afraid her trembling hands might betray her. The Odyn she had known had been her sword master, teaching her since childhood. Of course her fighting style would echo his lessons.

"Perhaps in another life," she offered, the closest to truth she dared.

"Perhaps." He leaned forward slightly. "Or perhaps in another time."

The words hung between them, loaded with meaning. Had Sarai told him something? Or was his perception simply that keen?

"I should rest," Lucina said abruptly, rising from the log. "Tomorrow will be demanding."

Odyn rose as well, his movements fluid and graceful. He stood closer than necessary, looking down at her with an expression that mixed curiosity with something deeper.

"Whoever he was," Odyn said softly, "the man who taught you to fight—he trained you well."

Lucina felt heat rise to her cheeks. "He did."

"Was he important to you?"

The directness of the question caught her off guard. In her mind, she saw Odyn as he had been—her teacher when she was small, showing her how to hold a training sword with patient hands; her guardian through adolescence, fierce and protective; and finally, her general and confidant, the man whose rare smiles had been reserved for her alone.

The childish admiration she had felt for her teacher had evolved as she grew, maturing into something deeper and more complex. By the time she was sixteen, she had recognized her feelings for what they were, though circumstances had never allowed them to be fully acknowledged until those final moments.

Now, facing a younger version of the same man—one who looked at her as an equal rather than a student or a princess to be protected—those feelings transformed yet again, becoming something both familiar and entirely new.

"Yes," she answered simply. "He was everything."

Understanding dawned in Odyn's eyes—perhaps not the full truth, but enough to recognize the weight of her words. He nodded once, then stepped back, giving her space.

"Goodnight, Lucina," he said, using her real name for the first time.

She froze. "How did you—"

A small smile played at the corner of his mouth. "I have good hearing." At her alarmed expression, he added, "Your secret is safe with me. All of your secrets."

As he turned to leave, Lucina called after him. "Odyn."

He paused, looking back.

"Thank you," she said. "For the tea."

What she meant was thank you for being alive, but those words would have to wait for another day—after Gangrel, after the immediate danger had passed. Then, perhaps, she could begin to untangle the complex thread that bound her heart to his across time itself.

To be continued in Chapter 11: Gangrel's Fall & Lucina's Fateful Decision