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The world was red and brittle. Robin moved their legs through the sand that swirled skyward with the buffeting wind. Their coat, long torn, lay in a breadcrumb trail behind them. Orange sand scraped along Robin's arms, burning and itchy under their shirt, under their nails, and lay glittering in jagged wounds.
The dunes groaned and shuddered, the sand pouring where Robin had walked, swirling around with the weight of itself, tumbling around their legs and behind their knees.
Robin walked on, towards the flat crust of the desert. As the sun peeled the skin off Robin's back, they let their memories rise up with it, weightless and painful, and long in the past.
There was something soft and cold behind Robin's body, and when they turned over, they found themself nose to nose with a worm in the dirt.
Robin blinked.
They scrambled to their knees, to find themself sat on a soft field of grass, shining with dew in the sunlight that broke new through the blue sky. As the clouds broke, Robin sat and opened their eyes wide to the bright white of the sunlight, and pretended there was nothing inside them squirming in pain.
The grass was silk under their fingertips, the soft wind carrying a gentle song, something from old - something kind. Robin smiled, and curled up in their coat, hand still twined through blades of grass.
The feathery pillow down was prickling through the cotton cover, poking at their cheek, as they gently curled their fingers around fine blue hair.
The Exalt of Ylisse slept like his youth intended and was reckless in it; sprawled across the mat, arms akimbo and slack-jawed, the lines of stress lifted from his face like a table cleaned of dinner.
Robin lay their hand on the sinew of his neck, and closed their eyes, breathing in rhythm to the heartbeat they felt. Their fingers found a lock and held lightly, fingers weaving patterns in Chrom's mop of hair.
"Isn't this your only job?", Chrom roared, face twisted up in his intensity. He had worn dirt tracks outside the tent like a lioness guarding her cub. His hand hovered over the hilt of the falchion. "Your job is to get us all out of it alive, gods damn you."
The tactician stood stoic, hand held up in an incomplete gesture of comfort. "I -"
"I'd ask what you were thinking," The Exalt cut over, "but obviously, you didn't think at all."
Robin's hand was shaking slightly. "I - Chrom - I didn't see -"
"If you must shout about your mistakes to the whole camp, could you give us the courtesy of not shouting outside of the healing tent." Libra stuck his head out the open door flap, glaring at the display with more animosity than Robin had seen of the placid monk.
Robin made a movement towards the healer, only to be met with the same contained fury sent to the king. "I rather think you've done enough for Lissa today, Robin." The bite in Libra's voice was dampened, but needled at Robin's chest. They felt their hands twinge and curled them into their coat sleeves.
Drawing their coat tight around their body, Robin turned around and started walking.
C'mon Robin, you're one of us Shepherds now!" Lissa grinned as she dragged Robin across a palace courtyard and towards what appeared to be a glorified stable. "It's so exciting that we get a new Shepherd! I'm no longer the new one, and everyone can finally stop treating me like a kid. And as Chrom's kid sister too. We needed another magic fighter too - most of our team use -" Lissa seemed to be a small font of energetic information.
Robin smiled; there was something endearing about her chatter, even as the girl was bodily marching them towards socialisation in a fancy shed. Lissa kept her tirade up over the threshold of the barracks.
Not that Robin was going to say, but they really were standing in a glorified stable. The princess didn't seem to mind though, as she practically bounded inside, hand still clutching Robin's sleeve. There were bookcases stuffed full of atlases, magic tomes and tatty romance novels pushed against the walls. The furniture was deftly polished wood, populated by several people in various states of armour, all at ease and bright with humour. These must be the Shepherds.
Robin dimly registered Lissa saying their name as their gaze was lifted in studying the carved beams set in the ceiling.
"This is Robin - our new strategist" Lissa beamed as she gestured with a flourish. "We found them in a field and they saved us from those Risen things that keep popping up."
Robin waved a hand in greeting, not registering that Lissa still hadn't let go of them. "It's nice to meet you all."
The ground felt sun-warmed beneath them. The air so heavy, Robin could feel the same comfort of their long-shredded coat hanging on their frame. A warm, study pressure grasped their forearm, and they felt something rip; the pop of taught muscle or the snap of tight stitches in an open wound. Then a wrench forwards; Robin felt something brighter, bigger than them just out of sight.
Somewhere beyond their body, Robin could hear voices, warm and light.
Dusted and bloodied, copper-coloured with it, Robin fell back into the waiting sand, eyes screwed up closed, dreaming of blue.