Out of curiosity, Lucina had once asked her lord if she had ever had any siblings and, if they still breathed, her memories of a time not by his side murky, if not completely eliminated. She was told of a boy stolen away when the fell dragon rose to power by the cruel rebels who would not allow him to join him and grow up by his sisterâs side. A few images of a timid blue-haired boy eventually drifted into her mind, and eventually a name alongside them.
As a child under the care of the Grimleal, the prospect of being reunited with her brother had excited her, and there had been a couple of occasions when sheâd asked Grima if he would go ârescueâ him. âItâs probably been a few more than that by now. I could say the same about you. I wouldnât have recognized you if you hadnât called me sister.â That desire weakened as she grew older, becoming well aware that he too may stand against her masterâs will, if influenced too much by the remaining rebels.
And here the elusive brother stood, weapon poised. She should probably have taken that as proof that her fears were confirmed; that he saw her as an enemy. Still, Lucina felt no real animosity stemming from him.
âIf you unsheathed your blade because you think I might attack you, you neednât have bothered. I wonât strike unless you give me a reason too. Besides, I woudnât allow you time to use that thing.â
;ââźâ˝â˝Â âMaybe~ The years go by too quickly in my opinion,â Inigo sang, dismissing everything so easily and going with the flow, as if they were conversing about something as minor as the weather. With his free hand, he combed through his bangs, paying more attention to his hair. âI recognized you, Lucina, because you still remind me of Mother. You look plenty alike in certain ways.â But of course, itâs difficult to mistaken her for anyone else when Lucina held Falchion on her side; the blade of dragons bane, their family heirloom. The same could be said of him, who appeared very much like their father (apparently, Inigoâs never seen the manâs face before his demise).
   âAh, is that so?â he remarked at her comment towards his own strength but didnât give off any fact that heâd been bothered by it, though still refusing to place his weapon away but seemingly finished with messing with his hair. âI wouldnât worry however, I donât plan on attacking either for the same reason, Lucina.â
   Yet at the exchange of smiles and of conversation, it still couldnât get rid of the fact that they now stood on two different sides. After the years of being separated, they could no longer walk on the same path; they were connected by blood, thatâs all. â...that is, I donât mean to raise my sword at you if you donât, but I still have to stop you.â
   Inigo couldnât allow the disaster on Ylisse continue, losing too much and even losing more, and having the small hope that he wouldnât have to add his sisterâs blood to his already stained hands to accomplish that goal. It didnât help that his mind had told him, reminded him, many times before that that would more than likely happen anyway.