Author's notes: Wow, I started a fanfic and finished it. Baby steps first, right? ... Right? Anyways, enjoy the finish. Lemme know what y'all think, I'm not entirely sure what I was going for, I just wrote it by feel.

Also, a good song to listen to for this would be "Reset" from Okami, the version by Ayaka Hirahara. It came up while I was writing this in school today. Anyways, now that you have your music, read away!

Morgan was warm. Pleasantly warm, as though he was lying by a fire, except the heat came from above. There was also something cool beneath him, but like the warmth, it was pleasant in its coolness. He opened his eyes, only to shut them again and shield himself with his arm. Gods, but that light was bright. He sat up and, blinking, had another look.

Grass. Trees. Sun. It was all so bright, so colorful. Wherever he had been before, it was probably dark and dreary, if it took this long for his eyes to adjust. He took in a deep breath through the nose, smelling something unfamiliar, but sweet. Little pale petals littered the grassy earth, and he could see some still floating on the wind.

It was all so beautiful, and Morgan had not considered himself the kind of man to appreciate such beauty. He had never known of any sight so fair in his life. But he wasn't sure. His head hurt, and his mind was very foggy. All that came to mind when he thought was a vague image of his mother. He remembered studying tactics with her, remembered her teaching him to fight– she was a harsh instructor, but Morgan had learned all the more effectively for it– yet when he struggled to recall her face, Morgan was stymied.

He could not remember his mother's face.

He sighed and pulled himself from sitting to standing. Whoa. Ouch. Dizzy. Headache. He raised a hand to his head.

"OUCH!"

He removed his hand hastily. Looking at it, he saw flakes of dried blood rubbed off on it... He must have suffered a severe blow to the head. That would explain a lot. He wiped his hand on his coat and had another look around, this time for practical reasons rather than to take in the scenery (so serene! It was like heaven on earth). He imagined he looked like a mess; the image of his head caked with blood almost made him laugh in an eerie, morbid sort of way. That in mind, he set off for a stone ruin he identified in the distance, hoping that there might perhaps be water there with which to wash himself.

And he was right, thank the gods. He carefully removed his cloak– it felt precious to him, as it was the same cloak his mother always wore– before gingerly splashing water onto his head. The cool sensation stung at first, but it felt better as he cleaned his hair. He paused midway through this, seeing something odd in his reflection. Huh. A mark of some kind, in my right eye. Cool. He resumed rubbing water onto his scalp.

Footsteps.

Alert suddenly, Morgan threw his cloak back on and prepared a weapon– the first he found on himself was a tome, Arcwind. He saw... figures in the rough shape of people, carrying weapons, and they reeked of rotting flesh. Ewwwww.

They made him nervous, and while his nerves threatened to take over, Morgan beat them down. I am stronger than the weakness of my mind.

One attacked. Still quite alert, Morgan dodged and retaliated. His Arcwind was enough to wound, but not kill. He managed another hit, and finished it off this time. It faded into violet mist, and as it did, Morgan could have sworn he'd heard it hiss a few words– "K-kill... future child..."

What? He turned around, looking for the next zombie, as he dubbed them. More footsteps, he motes. Probably not friendly. Think, Morgan– what would Mother do?

Lo and behold, the footsteps were friendly– he could make out enough people to form a small army over on the other side of the ruins, and coming towards him was a pair of them, a man and a woman. They did pretty well carving the path, he'd say. Perhaps he should stick to them. In any case, he wasn't going to die, so he turned round to thank his saviors, and his jaw nearly dropped with excitement as he recognized the woman.

"Mother!"

"Muh?" She twisted round. She looked confused, but Morgan was absolutely sure. This was his mother. He was safe– here was a rock for him to cling to.

"There you are. I was wondering where you were! Let's stay close, these things put up quite a fight, but I'm sure you already know that." After all, he had just seen her skills firsthand. He had such a long way to go!

His mother turned to the man behind her, who shrugged at her dumbfounded expression. She turned back to Morgan. "Um, are you all right? There's some blood in your hair."

"Oh! Yeah, not sure how that happened. I was washing it off when these things started coming after me. I think I took a hard hit to the head; it really does hurt when I touch it. We should go find a healer soon." He paused, having noticed something. "Also, if I may say so, I think the air here's doing something really good for you. You look really young!"

This exasperated her, for some reason. "Okay, then. Uh..."

There was an awkward, lengthy pause while she seemed to grope for words.

"I guess you can only improvise for so long," the man beside her commented. "What's your name?"

"It's... Morgan." It was slow to come to him, though he wasn't sure why.

"Well, this is embarrassing." Mother turned away from him.

"I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?" Morgan asked.

"No, no, it's... How do I explain this? Do you know someone named Lucina?"

"Umm..." The name rang no bells. "No, not that I know of."

"Amnesia?" The man asked. "Like mother, like son..."

"Oh, that makes this much easier. Listen carefully, Morgan. You're here from the future. In this time, you haven't been born yet."

He blinked in disbelief. "What? That's nonsense. Time travel is impossible."

"It's possible, and you're living proof. You said I looked young, yes? That's because I am young. Do I look like I'm old enough to have a child of your age?"

"But... that's..." It made no sense, and yet, it made sense. What the hell?!

"If it's any comfort, we can worry about the details later. We have work to do." She raised a sword, and turned back to the fray. The man followed her.

"Wait," Morgan said to him. "Who are you?"

"I'm Chrom... I'm your father."

Morgan frowned. Was his memory full of holes, or had he never met his father before? ... Probably the former.

How could he remember? He had amnesia. He couldn't remember anything but Mother. But then, this was what he had wanted, though he didn't know it. He couldn't know it. Perhaps that was why he was so full of cheer; he had been able to leave behind everything that had happened to him.

After all, he'd been unconscious when Naga had whispered into his ear.

"Good luck, fellblood son..."

Post-fic notes: Finish. Now, just wait until I start crapping out my self-insert fic next. The chapters I've written of it so far are much longer than this, but naturally they take longer to write. And yes... The events in this fic will be canon for the self-insert fic. I hope everyone who read this looks forward to it. And thank you for reading this, by the way! :D