The Fallen Saint [Rewrite] {VERY SLOW UPDATES}

|Chapter 1| An Inevitable Encounter

Battle between Seiros and Nemesis had begun. Rain poured from the skies of Tailtean Plains. As the battle begins, a lone albino male stood a bit away from said battle. With his Crest and power, he can hurt even his own allies. This lone male is known as Saint Grima. One of the six Saints. Yet, Saint Cethleann sat out of this battle as to not worry her father, Saint Cichol. Truth is, he had once accidentally hurt Cethleann and was told, well, ordered, by Cichol to stay away from the girl until he could control his powers and Crest.

Looking over, Grima took notice of the fight between Nemesis and Seiros alone. Honestly, he thought about helping her, but stopped himself as he remembered what happened with Cethleann. 'I want to. But I can't.' Then, he saw Seiros punch Nemesis after taking away his weapon and then kicking him to the ground before holding a dagger to him. About to leave, Grima heard Seiros speak to Nemesis.

"Tell me, Nemesis." She started. "Do you recall the Red Canyon?" Both Nemesis and Grima widened their eyes at the name. Stabbing Nemesis with the dagger, she did it repeatedly as she says, "You'll die for that! Die! Die!" Grima slowly made his way towards Seiros. "You took...everything that I loved." Panting slightly, the female lifted her head and looked at her army/allies Who were cheering at their victory against Nemesis.

But, instead of Seiros picking up the Sword of the Creator, Grima did and hugged it like he was hugging another person, not minding the blood that gets on his robes. "He's gone now, Mother...and won't be coming back."

---------------------------------

Time seems to rewind itself to the point where we now see a sleeping girl on a throne, who then wakes up, rubbing an eye and yawning a little before noticbly staring at someone in front of her. "Oh my. What could've brought you here?" She asks. The person standing in front of her was a male with dark blue hair, red eyes and wore tactician robes, similar to the robes of a certain tactician in Ylisse.

"I'm wondering that myself actually. One minute I was talking with my cousin the next, I'm here." He explains briefly to the girl on the throne. "Though, it is most rude to interrupt a moment of repose. Very rude indeed." She states, earning a "I'm sorry!" From the boy. "Now, come on closer. I wish to get a better look at you." Stepping closer, the girl inspects the boy. "Hmm... I have not seen the likes of you before. Who are you, anyway?"

"Oh! I'm a mortal!"

"I see. Then you must have a name of sorts. Go on."

"Of course. My name is Morgan."

"Huh. I shall not ever grow accustomed to the sound of human names. You must posses a day of birth as well, Morgan. Beneath which moon and on what day were you born to this world?"

Morgan took to a thinking pose. "Uhm... I have heard about how the months have been changed to moons here in Fódlan, so.... it is 5th of the Harpstring Moon!"

Surprised, the girl says, "Well, wonders never cease! It seems we share our day of birth. How strange!"

Morgan nodded. "Yes. Strange indeed."

"Hmm. It all feels so...familiar. I think it may be time *yawn* for yet another nap..."

"You're going to sleep!?"

"*yawn* It is almost...time to...begin..."

The girl now has fallen asleep, leaving a very confused Morgan behind. "Time for what to begin?! HELLO?!?!"