{Prologue • Open Eyes}

CHROM

"He's right over here, Chrom!"

"Lissa, this better not be some wild goose-chase. I have class soon."

"I'm serious!" Lissa insisted, yanking again at my arm as though I wasn't walking fast enough for her liking. We were already all-but sprinting down the street, though, spurred on by her enthused hysteria and the so-called dire situation. "I was walking home from school, after I'd dropped Ricken off and Maribelle called her driver, and there he was! Laying passed out in the grass!"

"Was he drunk?" I asked, only to have her shoot me a reproachful look, like I'd offended her intelligence. Lissa -who'd never had an ounce of liquor or been in close proximity with someone who was sufficiently tipsy - could obviously tell the difference between a man sleeping off his late night and a helpless victim of some unfortunate crime.

Still, there was every possibility that she was right, that what she'd stumbled upon really was a helpless victim, too tired or too injured to remain on his feet. That alone was enough for me forgo my preordained (and meticulously enforced by Frederick) schedule to follow her into the fading neighborhood adjacent to ours, despite my apprehension at delving into the unpleasant side of town.

Lissa refused to let go of my hand. Every so often she'd squeeze, readjust her fingers, just to say she had no intentions of letting me escape until she'd proven her bizarre tale to be true. Which in itself was a little funny, as I didn't so much doubt her as I did question why she hadn't simply called an ambulance or notified the police instead of trekking all the way back to our house just to fetch me.

Emmeryn's rubbing off on her... And maybe I am too...

Our harried footsteps carried us around another corner, and Lissa squeaked, "Chrom, Chrom! Right there, right there!" before practically wrestling my arm from its socket in her attempt to drag me straight across a heavily-trafficked street.

We almost died, twice, and for once it wasn't my do-gooding that caused the near-fatal mishap.

Lissa, of course, took my warnings lightly and continued to dodge traffic with me in tow, as if she had some inkling that we'd make it out unscathed whatever happened - or maybe it was just that her incessant need to rescue her distressing bachelor that made her overlook the impending danger and act a little recklessly.

The prideful older brother in me easily believed the latter - and the part of me that understood the laws of physics and predictability honestly just thought my sister needed to reevaluate her optimistic view of the world.

Our feet made contact with the fractured sidewalk, and the tail of my jacket caught the edge of a passing car's side-view mirror. I made a clumsy lunge, dragging Lissa with me, and offered an apologetic smile over my shoulder, to which the driver pleasantly replied by lifting a particular finger. I sighed, threading a hand through the dampening strands of my hair, even as Lissa chattered on excitedly, swinging our joined hands and gesturing with renewed excitement at a lump in the grass.

Oh, I thought, eyes widening, gods, Lissa was right.

He was unconscious, curled awkwardly inward, hands tucked beneath his head, fingers tangled in his mess of snowy-white hair. Despite this disconcerting position, his expression was peaceful, even content - his mouth curved into a half-smile that suggested a preferable dream, and his brow relaxed. Something lay discarded in the sparse grass beside him, though from this distance I couldn't tell exactly what it was beyond something brown and rectangular.

Lissa was instantly at his side, dropping to her knees, her brow knitted together in concern. She didn't stop to gloat, though I caught her looking at me with a gleam of childish triumph in her eyes, which I politely ignored in favor of crouching on the man's other side.

I lifted a limp hand, my thumb trailing down the curve of his wrist to check for a pulse. Soft, steady thumps beat against my skin. He was alive, at least; I'd feared the worst, seeing him so vulnerable and bedraggled, out in what amounted to the middle of nowhere for Lissa and myself.

"Chrom? He-loooo? Chrom!"

I blinked, startled, and the man's wrist flopped pathetically to the ground. He didn't stir.

"Sorry, Lissa, what did you say?"

"I asked," she huffed, her arms crossed, lips depressed into a pout, "what we're supposed to do with him! We can't just leave him here, Chrom!"

That was an excellent question. I wasn't what you would call versed in handling comatose-like stragglers, and there wasn't anything among my scattered thoughts beyond simply waking him up to reassure me he was even capable of being woken up. That was the most pressing matter, really, and Lissa seemed to read my intent before I'd lifted even a finger. She bent over the man, her mouth hovering precariously close to her ear - and I had the horrible thought that she meant to wake him by quite literally blowing his eardrum.

Just as I was yanking her back (struggling to get a word in edge-wise as she ranted over her assumption that I didn't trust her and didn't let her brilliant ideas surface) his hand twitched, grasping vainly for what I thought was the handle to the case (a briefcase, perhaps) I'd noted earlier. Lissa's writhing antics had kicked the leather-bound case out of his reach, it seemed.

She realized her mistake quickly and moved the case so that the man's reaching hand closed around the worn fabric strap that served as a handle. The faintly alarmed look that had pinched his features was swept away like clouds in the wind the moment he found what he sought, and another smile graced his lips, well before his eyes fluttered open and his gaze met mine.

I smiled, purely from reflex. "I see you're awake now. There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know."

Understandably, he was bewildered. He'd just woken up to see two strangers hovering over him, disheveled now from their struggles; anyone would be suspicious. I expected his brow to furrow into a craggy V, for his mouth to part, on the verge of asking a yet unknown question; what I found odd was that he'd yet to look away from my face, despite the eager bouncing Lissa had taken to as he'd sat up.

Surely she was more a spectacle than I was?

"You're..." He blinked, clamped his mouth shut, bemusedly opened it again for a second try. The hand cradling his case twinged, its muscles straining around the beaten leather edge. "Have we... met before?"

"Not to my knowledge," I answered. "I head a few of the clubs at the local college, though, so we could have seen one another if you're a member of any of them. Still, I think I'd remember that hair of yours, if nothing else..."

"What were you doing out here, anyway?" Lissa cut in, as inconspicuous as a blunted knife. "You could've gotten sick, sleeping in such a gross place!"

"Lissa's not an outdoors person," I clarified.

He nodded, still watching me - only me?

The nerves along the back of my neck tingled, raising a few hairs with pin-straight precision. I couldn't look away from him now, either.

"I'm Chrom Ylisse" - I offered my hand; he stared blankly at it for a moment, then clapped his hand to mine and slowly shook - "and this is my little sister, Lissa the Chatterbox."

Frankly, I wasn't sure if he had a mind to respond in turn. There was nothing obligating him to be courteous except the reward of politeness itself, and admittedly, that was not an appealing treasure by any means. So I had to raise an eyebrow when his lips curved into another pleasant smile.

"Robin. Robin Felldragon. And it's nice to meet you Chrom, Lissa - even if I'm sure this isn't the first time."