I do not own Valkyria Chronicles. If I did, Selvaria would not have died. At least, not in such a miserable way.

I moved on through the town towards its outskirts as the sun set, determined to see why my friend Matt hadn't shown up yet to determine plans for what we were going to do to help out in the war effort. I mean, sure, an evacuation order had been given out, but seriously! No one in all of Europa takes this long to pack. Especially not Darcsens, considering how little they owned to begin with most of the time, with how little they're paid for their hard work, which, when done in an hour, was usually better than what most other experienced mechanics could pull together in a week if it involved machinery.

I stood before the iron gate of Matt's house, which, by Darcsen standards, was a mansion in all respects, even if it was just a normal house to other people. Even if Matt's family were just middle class, and even if they were Darcsens, who were considered to be the absolute scum of society, they had a lot of political influence, if not political respect. Still staring at my friend's home, I reached towards the gate to push it open – only for my hand to fall on thin air. My eyes immediately shot to the remains of the gate. Whatever wasn't torn apart had been forced open, the gate in rusting ruins. My eyes shot to the house. One of the windows had been smashed open. A wall was full of holes – bullet holes.

I dashed to the front door and threw it open. As a result, it fell off its hinges and crashed onto the floor, splinters launching across the floor as the cracked door broke apart.

I hesitated only an instant before yelling out "Hey Matt!"

No answer.

I slowly made my way into the house, "Matt? Where are you? Don't you remember that an evacuation order's been given out?"

My calls were answered by a loud curse, and the sound of breaking glass. Only now did my eyes adjust to the darkness to see the damage that had been done. The place had been torn apart, and not by someone with the intention of getting out of what was soon to be a warzone. This was the result of a vandal, or a fight... but who would want to fight Matt's family? Sure, they didn't get much respect from their political rivals, but there was no reason that anyone would want them dead, except maybe that ass, General Damon – they'd dealt some major blows to his pride and reputation, exposing his underhanded tactics in the First Europan War. If anything, most people in Gallia owed them a favour. About ten different favours, give or take, depending on the person.

"Matt?" I called out again, taking a few more tentative steps into the house, my heart beginning to race with fear, "come on, Matt. Knock it off. This isn't funny. Get out here. We need to go, now! War's been declared on us, and there's no telling when they'll-"

I cut myself short, slowly forcing my gaze down as my heart rate shot off the charts, terrified of what I'd stepped in. A cesspool of blood pooled outwards from the center of the floor, and light drips from above registered in my hearing. I felt something drip onto the back of my head, and my gaze shot skywards. I stared in a mixture of sheer terror and horror as blood dripped onto my face from a dead hand that hung from a hole in the ceiling above...

I simply stood there, frozen as blood continued to drip onto me. I don't know how much time passed. All I could do was stand there in the expanding pool of blood, transfixed, until I felt it drip into my mouth.

I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't. I bolted, screaming and gibbering like a lunatic as I sprinted to the insides of town. People stared as I ran past – not surprising, considering I was screaming in sheer terror and dripping with blood. Before long my lungs burned for air, but I kept going until I found the people in charge of the town watch. Though curious about the blood, they were skeptical of my story when I finally got it out – at least, until I gave them proof. I didn't want to set foot anywhere near that place again, but alas, I had no choice. I had to show them if it meant getting the word out. They made me wait there as they contacted the "professionals" – also known as Gallia's Information Decryption team, as they introduce themselves when they finally arrived – to come inspect the damage. Question after question was shot at me, even after I told them all I knew multiple times.

I watched as they removed the bodies of Matt and his family. I watched as they removed a shard of glass the size of a sword from Matt's chest, soaked in blood and covered in what I assumed were bits of his lung. Even as they took all the evidence, they told me they'd figure it all out.

I didn't believe them in the slightest.

But they did, over the next day or two. Apparently, Matt and his family had made some pretty major enemies in the Empire. Not just in their opposition to them in their political stance, but out of sheer defiance on top of it, and, despite being Darcsens, who all had their last names taken from them by the Valkyria as a form of punishment for the Darcsen Calamity, had, over a time of the name sticking to their family like glue, accepted the last name I'd given Matt when we were younger: Valkyr. As a result, they were assassinated.

Now, when I'd initially come up with it, I hadn't meant any offense to the legendary Valkyria; I just thought if fit Matt, and the name stuck, eventually spreading to his entire family. But now, the Valkyr family was dead, effectively destroying a powerful political voice in Gallia and eliminating a major potential enemy. Two birds, one stone. Matt and his family were dead because of the impending war. Victims of the Empire's coming slaughter.

And I was going to make the Empire pay for it in blood.