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In the very heart of the ruins lay an altar, its origins and purposes lost to time, and upon which lay a large tear that gleamed like pure gold and which was inscribed with tiny arcane runes that ran about its width in a flowing script.

This deepest sanctum of the Ruins of Time lay on the far side of a long, broad pathway of mirror smooth blue tiles from which rose fluted pillars, still standing despite the passing of countless centuries, that soared heavenwards until they vanished amidst the gloom that hid the ceiling from view.

Though how the Divine Dragon's tear had come to be here remained a mystery, there was nothing enigmatic about the aura of power that swelled from it, setting hair to stand on end and hearts to throb with equal parts thrill and trepidation.

The two young explorers who presently dwelt in this chamber felt it as well, though both had more immediate concerns to attend to.

One of them, a boy of about eighteen summers with a swirl of cobalt hair, leaned out from behind a pillar, his sharp blue eyes darting about for any foes that might lurk amidst the fog. Anyone observing would be able to easily tell that this boy had had considerable training, for he had a great deal of muscle upon his otherwise tiny five foot nothing frame. He kept to the shadows, only leaning out as much as needed and no more, and handled his blade with practiced ease while still making sure its gleaming did not betray him.

He did not remember who had taught him such skills, nor when, and yet he was indelibly certain that he'd sooner forget how to breathe than forget these techniques. He did not remember how he came to own the black coat with the patterns of purple eyes on the sleeves which he now wore, nor why touching it carried a warmth to his very heart that had nothing to do with the heavy and insulated material. He also had no idea as to the origins of his curiously shaped sword, with its silvery blade bisected by a stripe of gold and the teardrop shaped cavity formed where the grip met the guard, but he felt somehow, impossibly certain that kingdoms would face ruin if it were to be lost.

Unfortunately, he also had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten here. And, most problematically, he hadn't the faintest notion how to get back out.

"Let's see," he began, thinking aloud. "This pathway is too narrow to bottleneck any enemies and the fog makes for poor visibility. These pillars offer good cover, at least when they're not too far apart, but the water is too deep to wade through and, if we tried to swim with our gear, we'd likely sink. We could knock any foes we encounter in there and make a break for it while they're trying to get back out and...and, Morgan, could you please stop pigging out so I can concentrate?!"

The boy punctuated the words by shooting an angry glare at his fraternal twin, a girl who was seated near the altar and looking quite at ease. Like the boy, Morgan wore a black coat with patterns of purple eyes, whose origins were a mystery to her, and had short cropped cobalt hair. But, the similarities ended right there. The girl was slightly taller than her brother at an unimpressive five foot three, but this made her more than three hundred pound frame look more than impressive enough to compensate. She was round and plump, both from years of eating well and inheriting her mother's physique. And, she'd also inherited her mother's love of food as well.

“Mmmh, soooo good! The Smash Realms have really good chefs. It's easy to see why Mom loved the food there so much," she opined to no one in particular as she continued to engorge herself.

The boy, facepalming, watched with equal parts morbid fascination and disgust as Morgan, who'd already eaten a whole wheel of cheese, several bowls of beef, a gallon of ice cream, several whole pizzas, two dozen donuts, six burgers, four bowls of spaghetti, two whole watermelons, at least two pounds of fried rice, and what amounted to a whole barrel of milk, reached into one of the nearby rifts, pulled out another party ball, and began stuffing her face once more.

"Hey, we don't have time for this!" the boy shouted. "We have to figure a way out of here and find Mother and Father.”

Morgan gave her brother what might've been a look of irritation but, since she had a bucketful of peanuts in her mouth at the time, she didn't look terribly ferocious.

“Hey, we took a break when you wanted to visit Elibe and practice your tactical prowess there,” Morgan reminded her brother. “Besides, Marc, you owe me some time to work on my own training!"

The boy, Marc, was decidedly unimpressed. After all, Morgan's "training" was unfolding right in front of him. According to Morgan's, very, strange logic, anyone who sought to defeat "the super brilliant tactician" (her words, not his) and her "super awesome plans of genius planning" (same) would surely strike when she was at a disadvantage. Since this was Morgan we're talking about, that most likely meant they'd catch her fresh from the dinner table while her full-to-bursting stomach kept her too hobbled by cramping and indigestion to put up a good fight.

So, her solution was to build up an immunity to the ill effects of exerting herself on a full stomach by filling her stomach as much as she could and then exerting herself as much as she could.

I did call it strange logic, but maybe I was only half right, Marc mused.

"Look, would you hurry up!" he growled. "Mother and Father are out there somewhere and, at this rate, we’ll never find them."

"Now, don't worry, little brother," Morgan said before pausing to funnel a sushi platter down her throat. "We both remember reading about this place, and how time is malleable here. So, maybe we’ll make it out and end up before we even set out, somehow.”

“Huh, that’s kinda a neat thought,” Marc admitted. “So, it’d be us as we know ourselves rather than an Outrealm set?”

“That would be intriguing, but maybe then I can tell my younger self to go for seconds when she has dinner. You know that delicious roast from two nights ago?” Morgan asked, salivating as she thought about the delicious food while cramming more delicious food into her wide maw. “Man, it was so succulent, too. It reminded me of the kind mother used to make.”

“Yeah, Mother really did a great job with how she roasted and flavored...wait a minute, how can you think of food when you're already eating?!” Marc asked, gesturing to how his sister was greedily devouring one apple after another.

Morgan merely shrugged before tossing the apple cores into a rift leading to a barren wasteland covered with crumbling gravestones and over which loomed the ruins of a once jarringly opulent castle. She then moved to a bowl of ramen and began slurping it down noisily. “It’s a talent. I’m more than tactics and a book of spells, you know?” Morgan winked coyly as she replied. "Speaking of which, your take on the terrain is pretty good, but I can do you one better. These tiles are pretty slick from all the moisture, so we'll need to keep our weight on our upper legs to avoid slipping. We can also use it to knock enemies down by hitting them when they're off balance. And, if we can knock them into the water, the lightning from my Levin Sword can be used on the water to shock them. Not to mention I can use its bolts to give you an opening to strike by flash-blinding them."

She punctuated this point by drawing her own sword, whose blade was shaped like a bolt of lightning, and brandishing it wildly

"That's...actually pretty good," Marc conceded, immediately regretting his words as Morgan gave him the very smug-est of the smug smiles and then proceeded to devour a whole turkey. "Okay, oh-so-brainy tactician, now can we please get moving?!"

“Don’t worry, your big sis has it handled,” Morgan stopped her feasting just long enough to talk before finishing off the turkey which would've divided quite nicely amongst five people. "I just need a bit more before-"

Her words trailed off when a sudden SNAP rent the air and, to Marc's distinct lack of surprise, she pulled free a belt that had split in twain in a vain effort to encircle her ever-expanding middle.

"Ha, ha!" Morgan laughed cheerfully, rising and merrily slapping her sheer planes of blubber. "Maximum Morgan Massiveness achieved!"

"Yay," Marc cheered sarcastically.

"Hey, I'm your big sister and you're supposed to respect your elders!"

"You're my "big sister" by ten minutes! Unless you meant..."

With that, Marc drew back his sword and used the flat of the blade to slap Morgan's belly. Yet, the girl was so ridiculously full that the sword wobbled in Marc's hand and hummed like a tuning fork while her cauldron of fat didn't even jiggle.

"Okay, that is just plain scary, so I say we just-" he stopped speaking abruptly, his eyes darting off to a distant point amidst the gloom. “There’s that voice again.”

At some point during Morgan's gorging session, the twins had heard a voice from the distance. Whoever it was clearly knew they were there, but seemed to know little beyond that. He, for the voice was distinctly masculine, had asked who they were and if they were injured, even sounding concerned as he drew steadily closer.

Despite his habitual precautions, Marc had a hard time believing whoever it was might be a threat. And, as for Morgan, it was hard for her to concentrate on anything until after her belt had been properly burst. Still, neither were taking any chances and, after dumping the leftovers into the wasteland rift or into Morgan's mouth (training beyond her limits, she called it), the pair ducked behind a pillar.

“It sounds so familiar and so close…,” Marc stroked his chin meditatively. “I swear I’ve heard that voice a thousand times, but it’s different somehow.”

“I know what you mean.” Morgan looked down, contemplating her exposed navel as she placed her hands on her sizeable hips. “It reminds me of Mother and Father somehow, but it's not either of them.”

“I…Wait, I think I can see him now,” Marc drew his sword. “Sis, get ready.”

“Already three steps ahead.” Morgan readied her tome and tightened her grip on her Levin Sword, ready for a fight.

As the twins hunkered down and watched, a tall, sinewy figure with cobalt hair and a long cape strode into view, still calling out to the pair. Yet, it was neither the lethal grace of a seasoned warrior with which he moved or the wariness they could discern behind the man's seemingly earnest concern that had the two gaping.

On his right shoulder, exposed by the absence of a sleeve, was a familiar symbol.

Very familiar.

Marc had thought he'd seen one like it, in his left eye, when he'd studied his face in a reflective tile to check for injuries. Another quick glance showed it was the same symbol and, a moment later, Morgan tapped his shoulder and revealed another such mark on the back of her right hand.

What this might mean, and why he seemed so familiar and yet not, neither could say. But, both could tell this man was dangerous, and getting an explanation out of him might require some swordplay. So, after waiting quietly until he'd walked past them, they sprang into action, their blades leveled at his back.

"Halt! Who art thou?!" they both demanded.

-

Maybe Chrom really was beginning to lose his mind in this place of jarring temporal displacement.

He could swear someone was singing "He is brave Sir Robin, brave Sir Robin" in reply to the question.

Still, knowing better than to let a potential foe linger at his back, he quickly sprang forward and tucked into a roll, carrying him out of the pair's reach. He then rose to his feet, drawing the Exalted Falchion and whirling in the same motion to face...a pair of children? Both at least half a foot shorter than him and one looking heavy enough to be used as a catapult stone?

Still, neither seemed afraid, for the obese girl had leveled a Levin Sword at him with one hand and had a crackling sphere of Arcfire in the other. And, in the boy's two-handed grip was...

Chrom had a sudden and overpowering sense of déjà vu as he, for the second time in his life, found the ancient blade Falchion leveled at him while he himself had that selfsame blade in his hands. Indeed, aside from how his Falchion continued to glow with the Divine Dragon's power, his blade was identical to that of the boy. And, it seemed the children had noticed this as well.

"Where did you get that?" Chrom asked in another moment of déjà vu, only belatedly realizing that the boy had asked that exact question in the same breath.

After a moment's bemusement, which became yet another moment of déjà vu when Chrom and the boy both said aloud "There's no way", the fog around them seemed to thicken and cool into sheer planes of icy tension.

That, and the suspense were promptly ruined by the fat girl, amused by the parroting, belting out "Bwwrraakk! Polly want a cracker!"

After Chrom and the boy had shot her an irritated glare, the Exalt of Ylisse advanced, keeping his blade at the ready and intoned "I have no quarrel with you, but if you want to take Naga's Tear, you'll have to fight for it."

Maybe the pair did, in fact, seek Naga's Tear. Perhaps they didn't trust Chrom. And, of course, that was discounting the many, many other possibilities that might abound in this strange, strange place. Whatever the reason, the two children showed no sign of backing down and Chrom promptly responded by drawing Falchion back over his shoulder and charging forth.

If Chrom hadn't be certain before that the children were seasoned fighters, the first few minutes of the fight quickly changed that. The boy, clearly realizing he couldn't take Chrom head to head, skittered to one side and then swung at the Exalt as he passed, only a desperate twist to one side preventing Chrom from taking anything worse that a tear in his tunic. No less jarring was that the boy used Lucina's stance; knees bent slightly, his right foot stationary while using the left for balance, arms bent close to the chest and his grip on his sword - his Falchion - positioned so that the back of his right hand faced outward while the blade shot forth straight ahead from just beside his cheek.

No less strange, even the fat girl could fight.

In another disconcerting similarity to Lucina, she could use her great girth both to thwart the momentum of his strikes and to put much more force behind her own. What's more, despite being so fat - and, apparently, so thoroughly and freshly engorged that her belly didn't even jiggle - she could move with remarkable speed. She even managed a leaping charge at him, slamming her boulder-like form against him while the boy had her distracted.

During the war, Chrom had unhorsed Walhart who, not to take such an indignity laying down, had responded by catching the Exalt with a flying kick.

Getting hit by this little boulder with limbs was less painful. Marginally.

The pair made a strange but effective team, with the boy coupling his impressive swordsmanship with his smaller size and agility to outmaneuver the stronger Chrom while the girl used her Levin Sword and tomes not only to attack Chrom, but to distract him in order to give the boy an opening.

She would use the Levin Sword's lightning, not only to attack, but to flash-blind Chrom, to trick him into thinking an attack was coming from the wrong direction, or to interrupt one of his attacks by having the lightning come down in front of him, forcing him to halt or to skirt the bolt of energy, often finding the boy's whirling blade waiting for him.

These were sneaky, out-of-the-box tactics, telling him that the two children had more in common with Robin then sharing his questionable tastes in clothes.

Chrom might've thought that over at greater length, but he was distracted by a blast of Arcfire from the girl. He ducked the blazing fireball and it hit the water, filling the room with steam. The boy, who'd been in the midst of a charge only to be blinded by the sudden clouds, plowed right into Chrom and the two went sprawling. The Exalt lost Falchion in the tumble and groped blindly until he felt a familiar, wrapped grip, tightened his fist, and sprang away. He then leveled his blade at the boy, but nearly dropped it when he saw that it wasn't glowing.

But, the Falchion the boy held was, its radiance not even wavering at the change of hands.

Chrom had been stunned that the Exalted Falchion would continue to glow when held by one not of the Exalted bloodline, but he was quickly jolted back to the present when the boy charged again. Chrom had been, very, briefly confident that his Falchion would become dull as a spoon, as it did whenever held by those not of the Royal House of Ylisse, and even some who were, but that confidence was dashed when he whirled to one side and heard the distinct sound of a blade tearing through his cape.

Wait, he is of the Exalted Bloodline?!

That opened up a whole slew of questions, but Chrom had no time to ponder them.

These two were all over him.

Taking advantage of his distraction, the boy had dared go on the offensive while the fat girl was charging at him again. But, this time, Chrom was ready. He subtly shifted the battle to bring himself directly between the two, tuning out the clashing blades to gauge how close the girl was. Then, at the last moment, he knocked aside the boy's blade, hard enough to throw him off balance, and then whirled out of the girl's path. He then snatched her by the elbow and hindquarters and heaved her right into the boy.

Both went sprawling, the boy howling out something about cracked ribs and a variety of insults related to the girl's corpulence while the girl railed about disrespectful younger siblings. Chrom, more-or-less able to relate to the latter, and more winded than he cared to admit, snatched up both the dropped Exalted Falchion and the boy's Falchion. As he approached, however, the bickering suddenly ceased and more Levin Sword lightning struck, so close that it caused the hairs in Chrom's nose to crisp.

Chrom had managed to keep hold of the Exalted Falchion this time, but dropped the boy's Falchion and, in an instant, they were both up, armed, and on the offensive once more.

This continued for some time until, with all three exhausted, they sagged to the floor, gasping.

Both Chrom and the boy had taken a knee, propping themselves up on their Falchions as they heaved air into their lungs while the girl, sprawled out full length and her dome of a belly blocking any view of her head, muttered something about "more training" and what sounded suspiciously like "more food."

"Okay, I'll admit," Chrom wheezed. "You're pretty good. The Shepherds could've used you two during the wars."

That seemed to get the children's attention, for the boy did a double take and the fat girl attempted to rise to a sitting position only for her boulder of a belly to send her tumbling back.

"Wait, you know the Shepherds?!" one or both of them exclaimed.

"Well, yes," Chrom answered, perplexed, and becoming even more so as he took another look at the all too familiar coats the two wore. “Um…Are you both tacticians? You dress a lot - a lot - like Robin, and-”

"Did you say Robin?!" the fat girl squealed cutting off Chrom's words, and the boy clearly wanted to know as well.

"Well, yes. He's my son-in-law...Gods, it's still so strange to think that. But, you know him?"

"Of course we do!" the boy said exuberantly. "He's our Father!"

Chrom could swear he felt the blood drain out of his face as pieces suddenly began falling into place. The shade of their blue hair, so similar it was to his and Lucina’s, the boy having his own Falchion and being recognized by Chrom's Falchion as a worthy to wield it. Not to mention the how the girl, as she finally heaved herself to a sitting position, unwittingly revealed that she had the Brand of the Exalt on the back of one hand as she massaged her stupendous belly.

“A-are you two…Lucina and R-robin’s…,” he choked out, suddenly recalling that fantastical image of his older self as the world's youngest great-grandfather...which suddenly seemed not-so-fantastical.

"Lucina?" the girl asked, brightening. "That's our Mom's name. But, who are you? You seem really familiar, but our memories have been kinda hazy since we got here.

"That sounds familiar," Chrom deadpanned. "Well, I am Lord Chrom, Exalt of Ylisse, and I-"

Whatever else Chrom was, he could add "monumentally confused" to the list as the two children's faces suddenly split open with beaming, giddy grins and they belted out "GRANDPA!"

With a cheer, and their exhaustion (but not Chrom's) forgotten, they were on their feet and lunged, enfolding the mystified monarch into a bone cracking hug.

I'm a grandfather, Chrom said in his head, because he was being squeezed much too tight to get the words out of his mouth. There's a third generation. I'm not even in my thirties, and I'm a grandfather.

Oblivious to his distress, the two children, who introduced themselves as Marc and Morgan, began pelting him with questions, talking about what memories they had and which they were fuzzy on, and complimenting him on how gracefully he'd aged.

At that point, the Exalt's formidable resilience was finally pushed beyond even his considerable limits and he did what any commander or warrior would when faced with a daunting and overwhelming revelation and the enormity therein.

He fainted.

It would be a good ten minutes before Morgan or Marc realized this, and even longer before the trio began to talk and fully figure out what was going on.

But, Morgan didn't mind as she quickly snatched another party ball and whiled away the time munching on its contents while Marc, after getting over the shock that Morgan still had room in her stomach for more, facepalmed.