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Chapter Text

At first glance, their new professor perplexed him. His eyes caught on the slip of her stomach above her shorts, the lace tights that were fraying around the tip of the dagger sheathed over her thigh. He wondered what sort of mercenary selects such a uniform, then chooses to keep it when transitioning to teach at a monastery.

It wasn’t until she met Hubert’s gaze that he understood why Rhea had asked her to join the staff upon meeting her. The intelligence in her sharp, blue eyes was undeniable, revealing the whirring of the brain behind them as she sized him up. But it was the flicker of something else there that really caught Hubert’s attention—a glimmer of hidden magic perhaps? He couldn’t say, but there was certainly something special about her. 

That wasn’t a good sign. Special meant unpredictable, and potentially derailing to Edelgard’s plans, particularly with Rhea taking such an interest in the woman.

“I don’t trust her,” he whispered urgently to her highness in a stairwell as they headed to their first class meeting with Byleth as professor.

“We have no reason for mistrust yet. Let’s be cautious, but proceed with the hope that she will be an ally.” Lady Edelgard’s brow was lowered, her mouth resolute and firm as her tone.

Hubert sighed, betraying his reluctance, but bowed his head in deference nonetheless. “Very well.”

He didn’t feel “very well” about it at all, though. Deeply unsettled, would be a better description.

Edelgard’s idealism often led her to trust that currently neutral parties would back them when the time came. She didn’t harden herself to them, like she did to the servants of the church. Their classmates from the Empire, and those, like their professor, who held no discernible loyalty to the church… She lets them get too close, he thought, following her highness as she led the way out into the courtyard where their class was to gather for their afternoon lesson with Byleth.

Hubert took a deep breath of crisp air, his first time out of doors today. His morning had been spent in magical theory with the admittedly competent Professor Hanneman, followed by independent study in the library, going over reports from their agents with Edelgard and dispatching any necessary replies. It made him miss the days of studying in the gardens at the Imperial Palace, the sun at their backs—the smell of Edelgard’s carnations and his strong coffee.

Byleth was waiting in between the pillars in front of the Black Eagle classroom. Hubert scowled as he recalled her announcement at breakfast: “We’re going for an adventure today, kids. I need to see what you can do. We’ll leave from the Officer’s Academy courtyard. Be ready for a hike and don’t be late.” As distasteful as Hubert found hiking, he disliked being called a “kid” by someone who looked no older than himself, even more.

The Black Eagles had begun to cluster in around their silent professor, whose eyes scanned each of them in turn, assessing their readiness. Having evidently found them to be adequately prepared, she raised her voice over the murmur of side conversations, “Follow me, please, and don’t fall behind.”

Edelgard and Hubert walked directly in Byleth’s wake as she led the way to the main gate. About a third of the way there, she stopped, turned around to look at them all, and promptly cursed under her breath. It wasn’t loud enough for the others to hear, but Hubert and Edelgard shared a concerned glance. “We’ve lost Linhardt,” Byleth announced flatly to the group. Hubert noted with surprise that Bernadetta was still bringing up the rear—looking fearful and wild eyed, but present nonetheless.

Edelgard sighed heavily, finding her headcount missing Linhardt as well. “I would be happy to fetch him, Professor,” her highness offered, pinching the bridge of her nose in veiled irritation.

Byleth nodded. “Yes, Edelgard, please do. To ensure his compliance, tell him I will answer one, no…better make it two mystery crest-related questions—if he joins us and participates fully in this exercise. We will wait for you both at the gate.”

Hubert could say nothing—Edelgard had volunteered her assistance as Class Leader—but he didn’t like the idea of being separated. The situation was almost too convenient and his paranoia niggled at him.

“Walk with me,” the professor requested, her face tilted up to catch his gaze. Again, he found himself powerless to protest. Edelgard had made her wishes very clear, and he would never make public his defiance of them. So he complied, falling in step beside Byleth. “Tell me your opinions of your classmates’ abilities,” she said. 

This caught Hubert off guard, and he stumbled as the path shifted down sharply. He growled, righting himself. “I was under the impression that Lady Edelgard had briefed you on the members of our house.”

Hubert thought he heard her huff a laugh, but when he hazarded a glance, her face was impassive and unreadable. “Don’t try and tell me you don’t have your own opinions.”

He wondered at her hidden intentions. What information did she want to draw out of him? “You mistake me for one who shares his opinions indiscriminately,” he replied sharply.

He watched closely to gauge her reaction to the barb. A slight deflation to her mild enthusiasm for their conversation was all he could detect…at first. The professor turned her face back to the path ahead with a little sigh, and then her brow furrowed and her head lowered in a small, rigid nod. Barely a gesture and clearly not intended for him, he wondered who she could possibly be signaling. Though in truth, it wasn’t much of a signal to anyone. No one but him was close enough to make it out, so to whom was she nodding? Could she simply be talking to herself?

Byleth stopped walking suddenly, interrupting his analysis. They had reached the gate that separated the monastery’s grounds from the surrounding fields that supplied it. The professor turned back to her flock, counting heads and assessing Bernadetta’s current level of distress.

Hubert stood at her shoulder, observing and glowering in equal parts. The way she was managing the unruly group grated on his nerves—her apparent competency was akin to a threat. It would only lend credence to Edelgard’s opinion of her as a potential asset.

I will be the one to slit her throat should she prove otherwise, he thought darkly, watching as his professor made her way around the group of chatting students to where Bernadetta was hiding behind a scraggly bush, half in the ditch by the road. 

The purple-haired archer’s face was beet-red and tearstained as she showed Byleth her earth-caked boots from crouching in the soft mud. The corner of Hubert’s mouth quirked upwards a hair as he watched the professor shake her head in exasperation, before demonstrating wiping her own boots on the lush grass. Bernadetta began to follow suit, sniffling wetly and complaining that she’d gotten a spiderweb in her hair. 

Hubert was surprised when Byleth responded to Bernadetta’s whining by matter-of-factly checking the girl’s head for webs, ruffling things thoroughly to dislodge any hidden spiders in the process. Bernadetta shared his shock, as she stared at Byleth—dumbfounded for several moments—before slinking slowly back toward the bush, babbling rapidly to herself.

The professor heaved a sigh, letting her anxious student escape and returning to her former prey with a shrug.

Hubert crossed his arms, shifting his weight away and staring her down like the predator she obviously was. She seemed to take it as an invitation to study him, however, instead of the challenge it was meant to be. 

The professor examined him for a long moment, her face inscrutable. Not quite blank, but only the barest hints of her thoughts winked out in the twitch of a muscle or a cast of her eyes, and Hubert didn’t know her well enough to catch the meaning behind these sparse clues.

“Professor!” Linhardt’s eager voice cut across Hubert’s thoughts, and he turned to see the mage approaching with a sleepy smile, Edelgard behind him. Hubert returned to her side with relief, as Linhardt began to pepper the professor with questions about her childhood, eating habits, and sleeping patterns.

“Any trouble?” Hubert asked her highness in a hushed voice.

Edelgard rolled her eyes. “Nothing out of the ordinary.” She looked sideways at him as Byleth called out to the group that they were moving again, leading the way out into the valley Garreg Mach overlooked. “Can you explain the scene we returned to?” This was the precise result he had been trying to avoid.

He stilled his features. “I don’t know what you mean.”

That earned him a sharp look. “She may not be as many years senior to us as the other professors, but that does not—”

“Did you know she doesn’t know how old she is? She told Seteth that at breakfast.”

“I…no, I did not know that.” Momentary doubt clouded Edelgard’s expression, but it was quickly washed away by something that looked suspiciously like trust. “The way Jeralt raised her was very strange, from what I understand, but obviously effective. Her skills are undeniable.”

Hubert snorted. “We shall see soon enough, I suppose.”

Edelgard looked troubled by this answer. “I would remind you that she saved my life. I was without my weapon and would have surely—”

“Trust me, I have not forgotten.” That detail bothered him most of all. Why had Byleth gone out of her way to save her highness, if not to use her? His professor was clearly not the soft-hearted, morality driven commoner. The reports his network had managed to gather on her past indicated that she was not likely to protect anyone but Jeralt when working with larger mercenary groups. Her past associates also spoke of the cold, unflinching way she cut down her enemies, referring to her as “The Ashen Demon.” Hubert found it far too suspicious that such a person could come out of the woodwork, save Edelgard, and then in short order be appointed to oversee their class.

The whole thing reeked of those who slither in the dark, in his opinion. But of course, her highness disagreed, blinded by her gratitude to her savior. Hubert would need to find proof to convince Lady Edelgard to be rid of her.

Byleth was seldom asked what she wanted, and with few wants during the early years of her life, this never occurred to bother her. 

Jeralt put food in front of her, so she ate. Jeralt taught her to use a sword, so she fought. Jeralt arranged a mercenary job for them, so she killed. She had little interest in friends and rarely spoke to others outside of battle. Her father had been her sole confidant, and she trusted his judgment absolutely. There had never been a decision in her life of any consequence that he had not made for them both.

She hadn’t felt the need to question this until her new colleagues at the Officers Academy gave her the most beautiful gift—the choice of which house she would lead. Just like the moment she had jumped in front of the blow meant to end Edelgard’s life, it was a revelation. It awakened a new part of her—a part that wanted. It burst to life inside as quickly as Sothis had, filling her with desires she had simply never considered she might be missing.

Soon, it seemed that she was hungry all the time, constantly trying foods and teas, marveling at the difference in the experiences. Preferences sprung up and took root. She’d never thought before about the taste of carrots, but now found them practically inedible. She liked chocolate and butter and salt. Crispy crusts made a difference, and rich, spicy dishes with rice were her favorite. Her students would stare as she and Caspar shoveled in their dinner with gusto that would better suit the half-starved.

She had chosen to oversee the Black Eagles because of Edelgard, of course. The Ashen Demon had found her heart and the spirit who lived inside it while protecting the princess, and with results like that, she wanted the opportunity to battle at Edelgard’s side again. Furthermore, Byleth suddenly found herself longing for friends and fellowship beyond that of her father. If friendship would be possible for her, she reasoned that it made sense to start with someone to whom she’d already demonstrated great loyalty.

Hubert was an unexpected wrench in that plan, as Edelgard’s right hand and the monastery’s second most paranoid student, only beaten out by the likes of Bernadetta Varley. He made no attempt to hide his disdain for his new professor, their interactions so frosty that she found herself retreating back from her new-found friendliness in his presence. For him, she reserved the blank face of the Demon, which was somewhat derailing to establishing rapport with Edelgard, as he was always at her elbow. Byleth had made attempts to bridge the gap between them, but it seemed everything she did only made him more suspicious of her.

The day after she tried to gift him a bag of coffee, Hubert followed her as she returned to her quarters from a training exercise with the knights. She didn’t let on that she knew he was there at first, waiting to see what he would try, more intrigued than intimidated. Something about Hubert’s threats amused her deeply, perhaps because she didn’t believe he’d ever make good on them, and they were rather part of an elaborate intimidation show he performed to test her boundaries.

He pushes your limits because you let him, Sothis chided sleepily. She never failed to awaken when Byleth was doing something foolish.

Byleth lost sight of her shadow after taking a detour through the gardens—a detour made purposefully to confuse him, as it was not the quickest way to her room. That time of evening, most everyone had moved indoors where lantern light was more abundant, and the Officer’s Academy courtyard was empty and awash in flickering shadows from the torches mounted at each classroom door. Getting a wicked idea, Byleth moved swiftly to the end of the row, heading inside as if that had always been her intention. Just as she’d anticipated, Hubert couldn’t help himself and followed.

Before he could decide how he would surprise her, Byleth surprised him instead, turning to catch him lurking with a knowing smile.

Hubert’s eyes widened, but he kept his composure, striding forward as if he’d intended for her to hear him approach. “Good evening, professor.”

“Why have you been following me, Hubert?” she asked pointedly.

“Heh. I assure you, I simply needed to fetch a book I left behind.” A tome materialized in his hand—Complex Poisons and Antidotes.

Upon reading the cover, she had to smother a huff of laughter. How over-the-top this is, Sothis observed with her own amusement. Does he carry this book for the very purpose of intimidation?

“I see. Very well then. Run along,” Byleth replied glibly, turning her back on him and continuing to gather some papers (that she in no way needed) from her desk. She could feel her student glaring daggers into her. Flippancy, confidence—these were things that she had noticed would get under his skin.

Despite making her best efforts to get a rise out of him, she was nevertheless surprised when he did not slink back into the night from whence he came, and instead, closed the space between them. 

In an instant, he was so close behind her that his breath raised goosebumps on her neck, and she froze. 

“You aren’t fooling anyone,” Hubert hissed icily, as his frustration filled the air around them with the heat and pressure of a wave of magic power gathering to its owner. Byleth’s pulse raced, blood rushing in her ears and flushing her face. 

What does he mean by that? Sothis voiced Byleth’s own thought. Was this just more of his usual critique, or did he know something?

The warmth of his body against her back was foreign and distracting—like embers flickering to life beneath her skin where they touched. There was something alarmingly intimate about it. That one of her students could elicit such a reaction by creeping up behind her in the dark unnerved Byleth further, and she gritted her teeth against the onslaught. Never had an enemy affected her like this in battle. Was this a spell of his?

People didn’t usually invade her personal space, and when they did, it was largely in the rush of battle, where the Ashen Demon ensured no compromising emotions jellied her legs. But the Demon’s dispassionate protection did not come now, though she certainly felt that she was in danger. 

She could feel Sothis watching the scene with piercing interest, the girl’s emotion twisting through Byleth’s body and mixing with her own rush of sensations.

“I know what you really are, and I am watching you,” Hubert threatened at a whisper, lips almost brushing her ear. It sent a shiver down her spine, freezing the breath in her throat.

He could not possibly know about me, Sothis scoffed, though Byleth was only half listening to her. Why have you not yet put this boy in his place?

The suggestion was good, but in order to do that, Byleth knew she would need to put some distance between them to order her mind. Unfortunately, she was barred from escape by her desk, digging into the front of her thighs, and now his arms, as if he sensed the turn of her thoughts. One came down to grip the desk by her hip, the other began to crackle softly with purple flame near her elbow. Her only choice would be to turn and force him back, but the furious blush on her face made her hesitate. She didn’t want him to know how entranced she was by this attempt to intimidate her. 

She bit hard on the inside of her cheek, gathering her nerve.

“One toe out of line…” Hubert rumbled. He drew the dark spell in his palm up to her eye level, the action pushing his chest more firmly against her shoulder blades. Byleth smothered a gasp at the increased contact, clenching her jaw until she tasted iron. 

“And I will dispose of you myself,” he finished, snuffing the flame with a flourish.

His words were filled with all the bravado of sloppy intimidation spurred by a sharp temper, but she noticed with surprise that his body betrayed him. He didn’t move away, and she could feel his heartbeat thudding against her, a nervous staccato. 

Something about the tone of this whole encounter was off. There was an undercurrent that she could feel raising her hair to stand on end, and she both hated and was electrified by it. Hubert didn’t seem his normal self at all, lacking the cool confidence that usually characterized his attempts to intimidate her. It had been replaced by a veil of disdain over something strange and hungry that Byleth did not understand, but that certainly elicited a reaction from her anyway.

A reaction that she couldn’t afford for him to remember. She had let things go for too long, made herself too vulnerable in front of this man, this student who meant her harm. Simply reprimanding him now would not be enough.

She had to undo it. 

She stared into the fading glow of his magic and flexed her fingers the way Sothis had taught her. The glass of the moment shattered and the electricity faded from her skin, as she moved through a fragmented void and reappeared in front of Sothis’ throne.

Her companion was eager to see her, clearly entertained by what transpired. “What was all that about? You became remarkably flustered when that young man attempted to intimidate you.” The tassels on the girl’s headdress swung merrily as she hopped through the pools of jade light that dotted the chamber to reach Byleth’s side.

The woman put a vexed hand over her eyes. “I…have no idea.”

Sothis’ voice grew gentler. “Did he scare you?”

“No, he…he touched me and it felt…strange, like my skin was on fire. I don’t know what it was. Some sort of magic, maybe poison?”

Sothis’ brows lowered in anger, then bewilderment. “I felt nothing like you describe.” At Byleth’s questioning look, she elaborated, “You are so dense. Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten that I can feel your wounds and ailments as well?” 

Byleth’s eyes widened, remembering what Sothis was referring to: the last time she’d been poisoned. Sothis had pointed out the dull, sick ache before Byleth even noticed it herself, too caught up in the single-minded slaughter of the Demon.

“That…is true. Then, how…?”

Sothis shrugged. “I am unsure what it could mean. But it will be undone regardless.”

Byleth found this comment surprisingly comforting. If it never happened, she reasoned, she didn’t have to analyze it further. She could lock up the memory of his breath on her neck and never think of it again.

“Do you remember what to do next?” the girl prodded.

Byleth pursed her lips and flourished her fingers again in response, restoring them to time’s flow in the moment she’d first noticed Hubert shadowing her. This time, she headed straight for her quarters, shutting and locking the door behind her.

Chapter Text

Edelgard had never been one for admiration. She had come to believe that the experiments performed on her as a child prevented her from forming misguided devotion to another, lest they betray her like her uncle. Hubert was the only one who had truly kept her trust and confidence through all that she’d suffered—but the way he looked at her sometimes reminded her of the girl she was before. It made her deeply uncomfortable whenever she noticed his sharp eyes searching her for remnants of El. 

When they were reunited in Enbarr, she told him never to call her that again. El died with her siblings, she’d said before stiffly allowing him to hug her. These shows of affection were uncommon for Hubert even then, and it made Edelgard’s chest ache when she thought about how such an embrace would’ve once thrilled her. El had a small crush on her taciturn retainer, just a few years her elder and so fun to tease. But Edelgard felt none of that now, the pain and anguish of their three years apart having washed so much of what she once was away.

The creature she’d become since had dispensed with admiration, just another tool wielded by the church and the nobility to perpetuate their power. But that changed rather suddenly when a blue-haired woman jumped in front of an axe meant for the princess during a sloppy plan that had gone terribly awry—just as Hubert had predicted it would. In that moment, Edelgard’s heart made an exception, swelling with admiration for her savior.

She had never been saved before. 

All that time in the dark while her siblings’ screams echoed through the walls, no heroes appeared to rescue the boney, violet-eyed wraith who huddled in the corner. Her father, the person who was supposed to protect her from such horrors, had only been able to meet her weary eyes with a look of deep anguish and empathy on the brief visits he was granted to his dying children. It was a cold comfort, one of few. El came to accept that no one could save her, no one was left, and she would certainly die there, like all of her brothers and sisters. 

The cruelest torture was when she didn’t. 

Eventually, she was returned home with a crow of victory from her captors, having achieved their aim of implanting her with an additional crest, but it was no triumph for her welfare. No escape could be made from the stark white of her hair and the flash of red when the Crest of Flames activated seemingly at random during those first few months, a constant reminder. It frightened and disgusted her, and it took much coaxing and patience from Hubert for her to begin training to control it.

Edelgard had achieved what she had considered mastery years ago, but when she saw Byleth Eisner fight, she recognized what a true master looked like. The way Byleth incorporated her crest into her sword combat was alien to Edelgard, but she recognized her skill all the same. The woman would smoothly trigger a flare of power to supercharge an attack, then deactivate it just as quickly to dodge the enemy’s counter. The method was far less wasteful than how the princess had been trained, the Imperial nobility preferring to utilize their crests in a sustained onslaught that, in Edelgard’s view, often left the crest-bearer vulnerable when overused. She wondered initially if such an execution would work with her own crests.

It wasn’t until Byleth’s silhouette obscured the sight of Kostas charging toward her that Edelgard was close enough to see the design that decorated Byleth’s arm when she activated her crest—the Crest of Flames.

“Lady Edelgard,” Hubert interrupted her recollection. He was looking intently at her, as if he’d been trying to get her attention for several moments already. The library’s low light and warm, oak lined shelves seeped back into her focus, and Edelgard realized she had never opened the scroll in front of her—it sat where Hubert had placed it some time ago, wax seal unbroken.

“My apologies, my thoughts were elsewhere.” She shook herself, unrolling the report she was supposed to be reading with a bland smile thrown his way to reassure him she was performing her task.

Edelgard expected her retainer to dismiss the blip as he had hundreds of times before when her attention had wandered. Instead, he steepled his fingers and said, “I hope you know you can share your worries with me.”

This caught her off guard. Was she worried? Was that why she kept losing herself in her thoughts?

Hubert seemed a little embarrassed to have said such a thing, and he began to burn the messages that were too sensitive to save in an attempt to dispel his awkwardness. He held his left hand over the wastebasket, his signature dark flames crackling to life in his palm. Then suddenly, he froze, a stricken expression on his face.

“What? What’s wrong?” Edelgard looked around for a source of his distress, but there was only Tomas, the librarian, re-shelving a stack of books that Annette had returned shortly after they seated themselves there.

When she turned back, Hubert had arranged his face into a semblance of ease, though she could still see the faint blush on his normally sallow complexion and the tension pulling the skin tight at his temples. “I…forgive me, I was suddenly reminded of a disturbing dream.”

Edelgard leaned forward to put a consolatory hand on his wrist, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “I hope you know you can share your worries with me,” she reiterated his comment from earlier with teasing gravitas, trying to lighten his mood. It earned her a scowl as Hubert pushed her hand from his personal space and stood, tossing the remaining messages into the metal wastebin and incinerating them with a surge of dark flame large enough that it earned a disapproving, “No magic practice in the library!” from Tomas.

Edelgard quickly realized that her friend was not amused beneath his grimace this time, and her voice sobered. “I do not mean to make light of your sentiments or concerns. If—”

“The fault is mine, Lady Edelgard,” he interrupted curtly, reseating himself across from her. “We are simply not of one mind on this issue, and I do not wish to repeat past disagreements when there is so much else that requires our attention.” He gestured to the remaining pile of scrolls.

Edelgard was too shrewd to let it go at that, however.

“Not of one mind? Are you referring to our disagreements about the professor?” He stiffened, and she knew she’d struck a nerve. “So your dream had something to do with h—”

“Lower your voice!” Hubert hissed, casting a wary glance at Tomas, and leaving little doubt that Edelgard’s assessment was accurate.

She sighed, pitching her reply for just the two of them. “Really, Hubert, she gives everyone trinkets now and then. A bag of coffee on your doorstep does not inherently imply an attempted poisoning.”

This was evidently the wrong thing to say, as Hubert stood abruptly, looking greatly perplexed again by something Edelgard still couldn’t identify. “It is late. You should get some sleep.” He began to gather their remaining things from the table. “We can return to these tomorrow.”

Edelgard scoffed. “I will not be fooled by that again. You mean to stay up and complete them by yourself!” she accused, earning her a strained smirk from her retainer.

“I promise—the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.” 

It took nearly twenty minutes for Hubert to shake his liege and find solitude in which to ponder the strange images and sensations that had begun returning to him from his dream. It had to be a dream because he knew for a fact that the previous evening he had followed Byleth at a distance, watching her enter her quarters for the night before returning to his own. 

They had not been together in the classroom. He had not lost his patience and done something very rash to shock his way through her stony exterior. He had not smelled her hair or felt her tremble against him as he purred threats in her ear that should have been shouted. He had not lingered there, drawing out the display of intimidation, so he could ponder the uneven way she breathed after he spoke close to her neck.

None of it had happened, and yet he remembered it so vividly. 

It was distressing enough to find that this enemy plant held some sort of macabre attraction for him, but the implication that his mind had conjured this scenario on its own was even more disturbing to Hubert. He’d never thought about the professor like this. All he held for her was disdain, suspicion, and grudging respect during the increasing instances in which she managed to be more competent than most of the other people around him.

But respect did not translate to…whatever was happening to him.

Could it be her doing somehow? Was it possible that Byleth had the magic to implant false memories? But then, that begged the question, what could she gain from making him desire her? She was supposed to be a teacher here. Despite their similar age, he doubted it would reflect well on her cover to engage in a sexual relationship with a student.

His mouth went dry with the boldness of the thought—sex with Byleth—and he groaned, disappointed in himself for being toyed with so easily.

If Byleth did not care about alienating the monastery, however, that would only affirm his suspicion that her true aim had something to do with Lady Edelgard. Seducing her highness’ retainer could certainly be one way of attempting to breach their trust and gain access to secrets or situations that could be useful to those who slither in the dark.

“Aghh…” Hubert groaned, pressing his cool palms to his eyes in an attempt to dispel the heat that coursed through him at the thought of Byleth seducing him. You are above this, he told himself. Meanwhile, he replayed the sound of her breath in the back of his mind, relishing the memory—her body had arched into his just slightly, and… 

“Gah!” He interrupted the line of thought, jumping off of his bed to pace around the room. His skin crawled, and he couldn’t help but feel disgusted by himself. Lady Edelgard deserved better than this from him. Byleth was clearly not the withdrawn swordswoman she seemed. Letting himself want something from her could put both him and his liege in danger.

I will not be taken in by this witch, he promised himself, storming out of his room to ensure that he did not succumb to the deep desire to take himself in hand imagining all the other gasps he could elicit from his professor.

“Thanks, professor!” Caspar called over his shoulder, charging eagerly out of the classroom before Byleth could finish her explanation about the battle tactic he’d had a question on. With a sigh, she made a note to take fewer pauses to breathe when instructing him in the future.

Seeing the chamber blessedly empty for the first time all day, Byleth sank gratefully down to the floor behind her desk. It had come without a chair, which usually suited her fine as she preferred to pace around the room when she lectured. But not this evening. It had been another in a string of long, tiring days—combat drills with the Eagles and Lions, a lengthy  lecture from Seteth on proper lesson planning, and riding instruction with the Eagles—and there were still things to grade before the day was done. Thus, standing was no longer in the cards, and the floor would have to do.

She rested her back against the desk, then reached over her head to retrieve the stack of parchment she had collected from her students that afternoon. Their most recent assignment was to answer the question: Why do you fight?

Byleth had quickly realized that her role in guiding these students was going to require some morality lessons for everyone, herself especially. Beyond the research she’d been doing at the library, the Ashen Demon was no expert on preparing people to shape a society for the better, which was essentially her task. Military might was a means to an end, a means to achieve one’s goals, but you could not achieve what was unidentified. Some, like Edelgard, already had sharply defined plans for the future, but many—Caspar, Linhardt, and Bernadetta to name a few—had no idea what they were fighting for.

The professor pulled the first off the top—Dorothea’s—and began to read. Byleth had been interested to see what the young songstress would say, and she was not disappointed to find two flowery paragraphs about the friends Dorothea fought to protect. For all the woman’s talk of only being here to find a husband, she was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, and now Byleth knew she could count on her to protect others. The professor slapped an A- on top and scribbled, that’s a good answer, underneath. A- was Byleth’s go-to grade of choice for the Eagles. They usually tried their best, even Linhardt, and Byleth was a firm believer in A for effort. 

Setting Dorothea’s completed paper aside, she retrieved the next. Her stomach dropped when she took in the spidery print that could only be Hubert’s. He had been especially cold to her since their encounter that she had erased, and Byleth worried that perhaps some lingering hostility had remained with him, despite time’s reversal. Sothis insisted this was impossible, and teased Byleth whenever her thoughts hovered on the matter, implying that Byleth was too concerned about Hubert’s opinion

And perhaps there was some truth in that, because Byleth had found her thoughts turning to him far more than seemed necessary. However, that only made Sothis’ teasing less tolerable.

Byleth forced herself to begin reading, despite how her stomach churned with worry.

Hubert’s essay was a tight brief on his dedication to Edelgard and the goals they shared, as Byleth had expected. What she didn’t expect were the two curt lines written below the closing.

Apologies for my behavior in the classroom the other night. I wasn’t myself.

The words rippled through her with a slow, icy dread.

Sothis… Sothis, wake up! She called urgently to the girl who had been napping in the back of her mind all afternoon.

There was a muffled yawn and then: What is it? You sound more distressed than usual. Byleth pointed to the parchment she held and waited as Sothis read it through her eyes. The professor felt the shock spread through her from her companion.

Could he mean…another night? Sothis wondered, looking for a loophole.

We have never met in this room on another night, and Hubert would never apologize for his behavior if we had! He’s only written this to get a reaction, to test me.

Sothis growled, and Byleth could tell she was pulling at her hair. But how can he remember? None of the others have remembered!

Byleth thought back to instances in which she and Sothis had reversed time since saving Edelgard. 

They’d gone back once for Bernadetta, when she lagged too far behind the group and was cut off by an ambush. Once for Ferdinand, when he tried to show off for Edelgard and got an axe sunk in his shoulder. Once for Dorothea and Linhardt who rushed in to heal Byleth, putting themselves in harm’s way. Thrice for Caspar, who had trouble following instructions and often got himself into messy situations on the battlefield. And once for Hubert, who had threatened her and made her blush.

Could it be that they all remembered? Could all of her students be living with the memories of deaths or mortal wounds that they couldn’t explain? 

Dorothea told Petra recently that she had been having bad dreams, Sothis mentioned thoughtfully, considering Byleth’s line of questioning. They could interpret them that way, not knowing what they are.

A wave of horror rolled through Byleth, and she lurched away from her desk, scattering the essays.

No. No, it can’t be.

You are the one who first suggested that time might leave traces. Don’t be so dramatic, Sothis chided primly, but Byleth could feel how uneasy she—

“Professor?”

Edelgard and Hubert were standing on the other side of her desk, and Byleth cursed herself for letting them sneak up on her. She hurriedly schooled her features and slowed her breathing, before rising to face her students.

“Edelgard. Hubert. What can I do for you two?” Something about the timing and triumphant glower on Hubert’s face made her certain that he had orchestrated this to catch her reaction to his note.

Too true. Tis very suspicious, Sothis agreed.

Edelgard cast a curious eye over her professor and the essays scattered around the floor by her desk. “Here, let me help you with that first,” the princess said, stooping to collect her classmates’ work.

Neither of them missed Hubert’s impatient exhale, but Edelgard shot him a withering look that quickly pressed him back into cool civility.

“Thank you,” Byleth said, taking the gathered essays from the young woman and straightening the stack against her desk. She looked expectantly between her two students, waiting for one of them to explain why they were coming by the classroom so late in the day.

Edelgard pinched the bridge of her nose, something Byleth noticed she only did when she was really distressed. “Professor, I have unfortunate news. Hubert and I must leave the monastery immediately on Empire business.” She dropped her hand, but kept her gaze trained on the floor, expression tight. “We will be absent from our classes for the next week at least, perhaps two depending on the situation when we arrive.”

Byleth came fully out from behind the desk, approaching the princess. She placed an uncertain hand on her upper arm, causing Edelgard to finally meet her eyes. Byleth gave her a searching look.

Something is wrong, Sothis observed.

“Professor?” Edelgard prodded anxiously when Byleth took too long deciding how to voice her question.

“Why do I feel like you’re scared to go?” the professor blurted, earning a quiet scoff from Hubert to her left.

“What disrespect…” the dark mage grumbled in a barely concealed whisper.

Edelgard averted her eyes abruptly and pulled away to stand beside Hubert. “I assure you, Professor, it is not that.” She put on a teasing, but practiced, smile. “I will simply regret missing so many of your lectures.” Edelgard elbowed her companion pointedly.

“Yes, yes, as will I,” he acquiesced with a sigh.

“Will you be doing battle?” Byleth asked. Then, suddenly unsure, she added, “If I’m allowed to know the details. I understand, if not.”

Hubert’s face pinched like he’d just tasted a sour Albinean berry, but a flicker of hope shot through Edelgard’s features before she schooled them.

“We will,” she replied, betraying an edge of unease at revealing the information. “My Uncle, Lord Arundel, is reporting an unusually coordinated Demonic Beast attack on his territory and has requested royal support. As my father is ill, I am more equipped to travel to lead our troops.”

“I’m coming with you,” Byleth said immediately, her eyes catching Hubert’s. He looked a mix of exasperated and suspicious. “Our whole class can,” she continued, holding his gaze as she spoke. “It is much safer to fight Beasts in large, coordinated groups, and we could all use the training.”

Edelgard let out a long breath. “Your support would be most welcome, my teacher. Thank you.” She dipped her head in a small bow of gratitude. “We plan to leave at first light. Will that be enough time to rally everyone?”

Byleth pursed her lips, thinking of how Linhardt would whine at having his sleep encroached upon and Bernadetta would fret at the abrupt departure. With Caspar’s forgetfulness and Dorothea’s tendency to overpack, it was going to be a handful getting everyone ready on her own. “Well, I may need your help with that, if you’re able. I need to speak with Rhea, my father, and the Knights as well.”

Edelgard smiled warmly. It seemed that having Byleth’s support in this had eased some of the tension from her frame. “Of course.”

After they divvied up the Black Eagles among the three of them, Edelgard left immediately to begin alerting their classmates. Hubert, however, lingered.

“I couldn’t help but notice you were grading our essay assignments,” he observed smugly. “I hope my work was to your satisfaction.”

Byleth sighed through her nose, completely unsure how to proceed with the conversation he was trying to force. She could refuse to engage with him, but that would only cause him to sink deeper into suspicion. She didn’t want that. She wanted his trust.

If the students are suffering because of it, they deserve to know why, Hubert included, Byleth argued silently to her companion, asking her blessing to reveal the workings of their secret gift.

Sothis groaned, and Byleth felt her rocking back on her heels. Oh, very well. If you must, but be careful.

“I’m sorry, Hubert. I know this must be confusing for you,” Byleth spoke to her student at last, earning a rare expression of surprise. “I hope you’ll give me the opportunity to explain. I intend to share this with the others, but you will be the first I’ve told.”

Hubert’s eyes sharpened, excitement and dread dancing behind the steely neutral expression he was attempting to maintain.

Byleth took a deep breath. “You know that I am able to wield the Sword of the Creator, that I have the Crest of Flames, but there is another gift I was given that’s allowed me to keep you all safe throughout our battles these past few months.” She met his intense gaze, apprehension seeping into her voice. “I can turn back time.” 

He stared at her mutely, apparently shocked speechless by the claim. A rare sight, for Hubert.

Byleth took the advantage and continued on in a rush. “The other day in the classroom was the first time I’ve done it outside of battle. I didn’t realize you were keeping memories of the moments I erased. If I had known…”

“You mean to say,” he interrupted, “That the original version of events that evening found us both here?” He drew nearer to her, and his tone pulled her eyes back to his as Sothis shifted warily in the back of her mind. “Fascinating.” The word hit Byleth like a bite, Hubert’s tone sharp and expression fiercening by the moment.

“Truly fascinating, Professor, but here’s the problem,” he hissed, grabbing her forearms and pulling her closer so that she was fully exposed to the fury in his face. Byleth was entirely disgusted with herself for being so frozen by it. A terrified, but eager sort of anticipation filled her. Why did she only feel this way around him?

“I am not attracted to you,” Hubert bit out. “ Whatever happened here the other night was an illusion connived by you to collect information on the Empire. If you think I’m going to be fooled by such a sloppy fantasy, you are sadly mistaken, Professor.” He lowered his voice even further as he shifted, and she felt a dagger caressing her ribcage. “I will not allow you to use such tricks on Lady Edelgard.”

“A…fantasy?” Byleth murmured, not quite understanding, staring dumbly at his mouth, watching it curve and curl as he threatened and denied any interest for her.

Sothis was faster. He has feelings for you that he thinks we’ve conjured! Only this one would confess his feelings within a death threat.

“And again! There!” Hubert snapped, the dagger pressing a bit more firmly against her corset. “As if you’re conversing with another…” He leaned in, examining her eyes. “As if there’s something else hidden inside you. Is that what gives you this power? This power to implant memories?”

Byleth forgot how to breathe. How did he always know so much? How could he just see Sothis in her expressions and the cast of her eyes? Even Rhea couldn’t do that.

Byleth could feel Sothis’ deep discomfort, but the girl did not speak, likely for fear of what Hubert might notice.

“Hubert…” Her right hand fluttered up to hold his elbow, movements slow and obvious so he wouldn’t stab her. He stiffened, but allowed the contact. “You have two different memories of that evening because I got flustered and…and… red-faced with you so…close.” She let out a distressed sigh. “As your teacher, I was embarrassed by my reactions and wanted to be certain you didn’t remember them, and my plan obviously backfired. While none of this excuses the threats you made, I am still mortified and deeply sorry for whatever anxiety or mistrust my actions may have caused.”

Hubert stiffened, and the dagger trembled momentarily against her. “I know it sounds impossible, but please let me prove that I’m telling the truth. I want you to understand.”

He gave her a long, piercing look, then exhaled sharply. “How?”

“Tell me something—something you’ll recognize that I could never guess or gather. I’ll go back to before you told me, to this moment, and tell you what you’re going to say.”

Hubert looked very suspicious, but also intrigued. He was still holding her too near, dagger at her ribs, staring at her at eye level like a difficult puzzle he’d almost solved. 

“Very well,” he said at last, his mouth twisted in a bitter sort of resignation. “Tell me…the eyes of Shambhala are always watching.”

Byleth pursed her lips, having expected some code phrase from childhood or a string of numbers. “Are you sure? What if you take that as a threat?” 

He laughed harshly, his grip on her loosening slightly. “Trust me, I won’t.”

Only if you trust me, Byleth thought as she flexed her left fingers and shattered the present.

She shivered as Hubert’s hold fell away and she returned to Sothis’ side. Byleth found the girl giggling and grinning, overflowing with mirth at the base of the throne. “Wait a moment before you restore us to time’s flow,” Sothis requested, rising.

“What are you so happy about?” Byleth prodded suspiciously.

Sothis drew closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief and affection. “I have finally understood what’s been happening to you, and it’s adorable. I don’t want to spoil the experience for you, but…” The girl’s expression fell somewhat. “You have been lacking emotion for so long because of my presence. I feel that I owe you some assistance figuring them out now.”

Byleth nodded urgently, fully agreeing that she could use the help.

Sothis clapped her hands and leaned in conspiratorially. “I think you reciprocate his attraction. You’re not sure because you think ‘it’s wrong’ and that ‘you can’t feel such things anyway’, but…well, I think that’s what you were feeling that you thought was poison.”

“Ha! Ahaha!” Byleth barked a laugh, and then devolved into hysterical giggles, trying to ignore the sting of the truth in Sothis’ explanation. “I suppose it’s only fitting that attraction to Hubert would be mistaken for poison, considering his confession came with a dagger!”

Sothis laughed lightly, but the unwavering concern for Byleth didn’t leave her eyes. “He is an odd one, but quite dedicated to those he cares about. And even if the subject is found unworthy later, the feelings are the important part of the revelation. You are changing. Your emotions and desires are growing.”

Byleth stilled, her laughter subsiding. Sothis was right. Byleth wanted someone. It was a new sensation—terrifying and foreign—but not inherently bad.

Although…

“I’m still his teacher, Sothis. I can’t—”

“It won’t be so forever. They will graduate in less than a year, and then what will you do?”

Her mouth went dry. She hadn’t considered that. Edelgard had already expressed her wish several times for Byleth to remain at her side in the future, an advisor to the crown. Byleth had been deeply flattered at the time, but hadn’t given it much more thought. Now, though, she wondered how Hubert would feel about it if she came with them. She wondered if he’d confess his feelings to her on purpose, rather than as a desperate slip in response to unfamiliar magic.

Byleth flexed her fingers again, and she snapped back into her conversation with Hubert. His gloved hands gripping her upper arms, pale green eyes boring into her, tense face far too near.

He has feelings for you, Sothis had said. You reciprocate, she’d said.

Byleth thought she understood now, why her father drank. If this was what it was like just to have feelings for someone, she couldn’t imagine how earth-shattering losing someone you love would be.

“I know it sounds impossible, but please let me prove that I’m telling the truth. I want you to understand,” she said again. “ About thirty seconds from now, you told me to tell you ‘the eyes of Shambhala are always watching.’”

Hubert’s face dropped. The dagger disappeared into his sleeve as he took an abrupt step back, shaking slightly. Byleth smiled uncertainly, watching his eyes dart back and forth.

“You…”

“I asked you to tell me something only you would know, and then I turned back time.”

One white-gloved hand fisted in his dark hair. He wouldn’t look at her.

“You can turn back time,” Hubert whispered, almost to himself. He sounded lost. “I…”

Byleth took a step toward him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain,” she soothed. Hubert made a choked noise.

“How can I explain this?” he began to pace, hand still clutched in his hair. “If you were with my enemies, they would have thoroughly tested your power. You would have known about the memories. But why do this on purpose? Why purposefully reveal you can turn back time? The only logical reason to allocate a power that great to an infiltration and information gathering mission would be if one could use it to erase memories of being found out. It doesn’t make sense. ”

How clever this young one is, Sothis observed. Byleth could feel the girl’s smile in the words.

“Who are you?” Hubert asked, stooping slightly to catch her eyes again. “Who are you always talking to?”

Byleth smiled and responded in kind. “Who are your enemies? What was that phrase you had me give you?”

He grimaced and turned away. His voice was softer when he finally answered. “It was one of the last things my father said to me. It’s haunted me ever since.”

It was Byleth’s turn to look shocked. “One of the last…? Has something happened to your father?” She had been certain Marquis Vestra was very much alive.

Hubert’s scowl deepened considerably. “I fear I’ve revealed too much, Professor. I’ll take my leave.”

“No, please wait—”

“You have much to do to prepare for our departure, as do I,” he said darkly, giving a curt half-bow before practically fleeing her classroom.

Byleth let out a long breath. “That could’ve gone better,” she groaned, pressing her palms to her eyes.

True, Sothis agreed, but it was not without some success. Now we know we must learn more about Marquis Vestra to unravel Hubert’s mistrust.

Chapter Text

“Caspar, get down! ” Petra shouted just in time from her pegasus as it cleared the treeline. They were closely pursued by crashing branches and the piercing scream of a Flying Demonic Beast. Caspar leapt out of the path of its descent, and Byleth notched an arrow from her position down the clearing from her two students.

Petra was circling back towards Caspar, her lance stowed and replaced with the enhanced steel bow she won in the Tournament last week. The beast began to rise back into the air, the daze from Petra’s attack and its fall only giving them seconds of reprieve before it attacked again. 

Byleth whistled a piercing signal, and she, Petra, and, from the nearby treeline, Dorothea, fired simultaneously. Dorothea let out a shout of triumph as the beast tumbled back to the earth, a magic burn in its flank, and two arrows sunk in its head and neck.

Byleth stowed her bow and raced to where the beast landed to finish the job. Caspar was close on her heels. They approached its head and Byleth retrieved the Sword of the Creator from the harness on her back, the veined red of the blade pulsing to life when she gripped it.

From the back of her head, Sothis sighed. Holding the sword always felt like it made them more. It could be quite uncomfortable at times, like both of them grew and strained to fit inside the limited space in her body and mind, but most of the time, it felt like the sword became an extension of her body, their body. Like she and Sothis were fighting in tandem, two parts of a whole. 

Sothis had once said, It feels like I am there at your side, not merely watching from behind your eyes.

“It’s not dead, yet! Give me a boost, Caspar,” Byleth shouted.

Her student complied, and when Byleth leapt onto the creature’s neck and drove the Sword of the Creator into its skull, Sothis sang to it softly as it died.

Edelgard emerged from the trees just in time to see Byleth finish a winged beast with a powerful blow from her mythical blade. The young ruler could not hide her awe, and when her retainer reached her position and saw her expression, he rolled his eyes and exhaled heavily.

Hubert had not been pleased that Edelgard’s fascination with the professor only grew when he informed the princess of Byleth’s ability to turn back time. Edelgard was still somewhat suspicious of what precisely her vassal had done that caused Byleth to use her power for the first time outside of battle, and Hubert’s frequent freezing up and occasional blushing as he dodged Edelgard’s questions had only made her more curious.

She briefly considered ordering him to divulge the rest of the details to her, but she knew that if he was keeping it from her, he did not consider it to be information she needed to achieve her mission. Edelgard both trusted his judgment and tried to respect his privacy. So much of his life, he gave to her. Whatever he wanted to keep for himself—she would let him.

“Let’s meet up with the others,” Edelgard called to her team as Linhardt, Ferdinand, and Bernadetta fell in behind her and Hubert. Ferdinand and his horse were covered in foul-smelling, black beast blood, the rider having recklessly attempted to land more shots than her heavily armored self on their land-bound beast. He was lucky to be alive. Linhardt was still healing a nasty wound on Bernadetta’s shoulder from one of the beast’s vicious wide area attacks.

Edelgard led them cautiously into the clearing where Byleth, Caspar, Petra, and Dorothea were regrouping. Byleth seemed to relax slightly when she saw their team approaching, relatively unharmed. 

“All identified beasts have been eliminated, but don’t let your guard down!” Byleth called. “We still need to survey the area.” She motioned to Petra. “Fly the perimeter. Take Dorothea with you.” The mage grinned and leaped onto the pegasus behind her friend. Petra signaled her mount, and they were off.

The professor immediately went to check on Bernadetta’s wound, praising Linhardt’s quick healing work, before moving on to Ferdinand. Edelgard fidgeted nervously, watching them.

Having ascertained that Ferdinand was whole, if filthy, Byleth turned toward where the princess and her vassal were standing. Edelgard felt her pulse quicken. Whenever Byleth let her lead an independent team, Edelgard worried about how the woman would judge her performance. She wanted so desperately to impress her, to earn her loyalty.

“Edelgard, Hubert. Well done.” A wave of relief washed over the house leader at the woman’s praise.

Probing blue eyes quickly scanned Edelgard first and then, more slowly, Hubert. “You’re injured,” the professor asserted, approaching her vassal. There was a hum of frantic unease beneath the woman’s words.

Hubert sneered and took a step back from the professor. “You are mistaken. I’m fine.”

Edelgard eyed him, trying to see what Byleth saw. After several long moments in which Byleth and Hubert had a tense staring contest, Edelgard noticed the skew of his stance and the damp patch in his black robe, glued to his thigh. “Hubert, please let her heal you,” she urged.

He shot her a desperate, confused look and complied, allowing Byleth to lead him to one of the wide stones dotting the clearing. He sank down with a groan, and Byleth helped him to recline as much as he could, before pulling gently at the bloodied and torn fabric. Edelgard stood behind her kneeling professor, watching their interactions closely.

Upon further inspection, Hubert’s robe had definitely been sliced open earlier and tied back together at his hip. Untying it revealed an arrow, the shaft of which had been hastily scorched off and wrapped in a sloppy bandage, protruding slightly from the outside of his upper thigh.

“Hubert…” Edelgard admonished softly, understanding washing through her. The only archers in this battle had been classmates. She positioned her body more fully between him and the other students. 

“How long were you going to hide this to protect Bernadetta?” Byleth demanded in a half-whisper, fury underpinning every word. “Your bandage is soaked. You could have died! ” The professor’s pitch crept dangerously close to shrill on the last word. Edelgard shared her dismay.

Hubert groaned as Byleth unwound the cloth—ripped from the lining of his cloak—with which he’d wrapped the arrow shaft to steady it as he walked. “You’re quite concerned…for someone…who can—ahh- ah … turn back time.” He smiled grimly at Byleth as she pulled the bandage away to reveal how deeply the arrow was lodged into the muscle of his thigh. Seeing the wound, she frowned in a way Edelgard did not find reassuring. 

“Awfully confident I’ll use my power to rescue you from your own stupidity,” Byleth replied, shifting her stance and using the bandage to grip what was left of the arrow shaft. “Careful Hubert, that almost sounds like trust.” On the word ‘trust,’ she tugged sharply, and the arrow came free with an angry squelch.

Hubert made several strangled noises, muffled against his gloved fist, before he began to relax as Byleth’s healing magic poured into the wound.

Edelgard thought she was beginning to understand why Byleth terrified Hubert so much. 

She had pocketed the arrowhead, causing her robe to shift and brush against Hubert’s hand. His long fingers had reacted immediately, fisting in the fabric. Edelgard saw her professor’s look of surprise that softened slightly after a moment.

Byleth was used to wielding magic one-handed, a sword in the other, so when she healed a student, Edelgard often observed her doing the same. The professor would heal the wound with one hand, the other holding the hand or shoulder or occasionally even stroking the hair of her patient. With Hubert, she had chosen to put a hand on either side of the wound. Edelgard thought this might be an indication of how serious this could have been without a skilled healer.

The princess shivered at the thought of continuing her mission without him, and said, “You are too important to lose. Please don’t do something so foolish again.”

Hubert seemed to rouse at her words, hastily removing his hand from the professor’s cloak and flushing slightly. “My apologies, Lady Edelgard.”

Byleth sighed, sharing a look with her house leader as she continued her healing, before turning back to him to say, “I think you’re going to pass out soon, Hubert, but we’re going to take good care of you. You’ll be safe.” Hubert sputtered and protested, but Byleth shushed him again. “You lost too much blood. You’re only still conscious because of the adrenaline, and I think you know that’s fading.”

The sound of wings had the three looking to the west to see the silhouette of Petra’s pegasus returning. Edelgard rushed to meet them and collect the report. She returned to Hubert and Byleth moments later. “All clear, my teacher.”

Byleth nodded. “Good. Get us organized to move out. We’ll need Caspar and Ferdinand to carry Hubert. I’m sure Ferdinand will say he can do it himself. Tell him no.”

Hubert laughed weakly from the rock he was sprawled on. His wound had shrunk markedly from the outside, but Edelgard could see a touch of delirium in his eyes. “I can walk, I assure you.” With that, he lurched forward, pushed himself shakily into a standing position, and promptly fainted. Byleth caught him before he hit his head, lowering him gingerly back to the somewhat bloodied stone.

Byleth let out a long, controlled breath, before she looked to Edelgard and they both shook their heads in exasperation. Then the student left to follow her professor’s instructions.

Edelgard wasn’t surprised by the professor’s obvious concern, though her vassal would likely be when he woke. Byleth truly cared for them, even Hubert, who had given her numerous reasons not to.

But will it be enough? the princess wondered, as she always did.  

Hours later, Hubert was still unconscious, and Edelgard was returning to camp with a small retainer of Imperial soldiers. The worst part of the mission—seeing Arundel—was over. He had found her results sufficient and had even been pleased at the opportunity to watch her professor in action. Edelgard tried to hide how speaking with him turned her stomach. She also tried not to linger on how she had longed for Hubert’s constant support during the encounter. It was weakness to require the presence of a vassal to face a foe—she had to be stronger than that.

True to her word, Byleth had revealed her power to the rest of their class on their journey to the Arundel lands, and Edelgard had held her own questions as her eager classmates peppered Byleth with theories and queries. Hubert had also been notably silent, watching the professor with an unusual level of intensity, but Edelgard caught her sneaking little—almost apprehensive—glances at him as she spoke. Whatever he had done, Hubert had obviously made Byleth quite nervous around him, despite Edelgard’s express instructions that he stop threatening their classmates and teachers on her behalf.

She would have to have another word with him about that, when he woke up.

Edelgard dismissed the soldiers flanking her and navigated to the corner of camp where her classmates’ tents were clustered. She heard laughter and Caspar raucously telling a story long before she could see them. Linhardt was on his back near their campfire, casually stoking and smothering it with magic to match the tone of Caspar’s narration. Bernadetta and Dorothea were adding ingredients to a large cast iron pot perched over the flames, bubbling with what smelled like onion gratin soup—one of Edelgard’s favorites. Petra was seated on a blanket by Caspar, her armor polishing kit and Ferdinand’s filthy metal plate spread out before her.

Edelgard approached quietly, not wanting to break the magic of the scene. Loathe as she was to admit it, having the Black Eagles with her gave warmth and comfort to moments that had only been devoted to weary preparation in the past. She had considered the push and pull Hubert had always exerted on her life to be the epitome, the limit of friendship. Now, she realized there was much more complexity to it—one person did not equal a community. While she had acquired many allies (trusted and not) in the past few years, none had felt like peers the way the Eagles did.

Dorothea caught Edelgard’s eye across the camp and winked at her, before Linhardt stoked the flames too high under the cookpot. The mage screeched a rebuke and righted the fire with her magic. Edelgard took the opportunity the distraction presented to slip over to Petra’s side.

“Surely you don’t mean to clean all of this by yourself, Petra?” she probed gently, kneeling beside her.

The woman shot her a sheepish smile as she worked a cloth across a bracer, removing the beast blood with gloved hands. “Ferdinand is still cleaning in the river. He… I am thinking he isn’t asking for help, but he is needing it.”

“I…understand your concern.” Ferdinand had little experience cleaning armor and weapons properly, much less those that had been tainted by Demonic Beasts. The residue could pose a risk to him if he were injured in the future and lingering beast blood got in the wound. Byleth had trained them on proper procedures, but the state of Ferdinand’s armor was a bit more extensive than the practice scenarios, and Petra was faster than he could probably ever hope to be anyway. “At least make him do the lance himself,” Edelgard insisted, “so he can learn for next time.”

Petra nodded solemnly, and Edelgard pushed back to standing. “Hubert?” the class leader asked, looking toward the tent where she had left him unconscious almost an hour prior.

“The professor is with him. She said he needed greater healing.”

Edelgard thanked her and ducked between their other tents, approaching the one Hubert and Ferdinand had been sharing. She could hear the low hum of voices behind the canvas and paused for a moment, straining to make out the tone. She was hopeful this experience would help convince Hubert that Byleth wasn’t the monster he feared; she didn’t want to interrupt an essential conversation.

“...my father with you, Professor. I’ve said enough, already.” Hubert’s voice filtered through the canvas. He sounded fully conscious, but the venom in his tone was much weaker than usual.

“I am in the midst of healing the fatal wound you were planning to just ‘walk off’, if not for my intervention. Why is it so hard for you to imagine that I’m not out to get you? You said so yourself—if I was with your enemies, none of my choices would make sense!” Byleth responded, sounding exasperated.

Hubert mentioned our enemies to the professor? Edelgard thought, baffled. He had been the one to caution her against sharing her plans with Byleth, lecturing her about a brief conversation Edelgard had with her about Crests after their battle at Conand Tower. 

“None of your choices make sense regardless,” Hubert replied sharply. “And keep your voice down.”

Byleth growled in aggravation, and Edelgard had to smother the urge to do the same. He could be so pigheaded sometimes—especially if he thought her safety was at stake. It was only endearing to a point.

“Ah—ah,” Hubert gasped suddenly, and she could feel the light tingle of Byleth’s healing magic surging, even from this distance. The class leader had never felt magic like the professor’s; Linhardt’s, even with all his natural talent, still felt heavy and sluggish in comparison.

“Stay with me,” Byleth urged so low that Edelgard almost didn’t catch it. “You can’t go back to sleep yet. You still need to eat something.”

“Again, I assure you,” Hubert responded groggily, “that I am well enough to be left alone. You should tend to the other students. I am no longer of concern to you.” 

Edelgard knew the man well enough that she easily heard the plea beneath his cold words: stay. Her mouth quirked as she marveled at her luck—this experience really was warming Hubert to their professor, even if Byleth didn’t know it.

“You’re not the one who gets to determine when you’re well enough, pupil, ” Byleth countered, though she sounded increasingly threadbare and irritated. Edelgard worried that she was draining herself rather than have Linhardt assist because she wanted to prove a point.

A point Edelgard, and most of her other students, had already gotten quite some time ago—I want to protect you because I care.

This was precisely why Edelgard chose that moment to intervene. She had to ensure that Byleth didn’t push herself to exhaustion out of emotional sentiment. The princess needed her teacher’s watchful eyes behind her, if she couldn’t have Hubert’s. The thought of them both being injured and unable to assist her in an emergency was chilling, especially with Arundel just a short ride away.

She pushed through the canvas opening as casually as she could, just as Hubert responded to Byleth: “You are going too far. You—” The words died in his mouth as he saw Edelgard.

In the moment of silence, she took in the scene. Byleth was seated on a stool beside Hubert’s cot, the Sword of the Creator pulsing softly across her lap. Flecks of golden and green magic crackled through the air around the two of them, swirling from the well of light over Hubert’s thigh, where Byleth’s hands were anchored. Edelgard could see the sweat at the professor’s brow plastering a few strands of blue hair to her face. Her breath puffed and she seemed unable to break her focus on Hubert’s wound.

Edelgard stepped closer, and her vassal demanded, “Lady Edelgard—kindly remove the professor. She’s going to hurt herself.” His face had regained some of its color in her absence, and the healing had obviously diminished some of his pain. He no longer seemed delirious, but there was a note of desperation in his voice. It was almost as if he was concerned about Byleth, as Edelgard was.

Unease mounting, Edelgard shook the professor’s shoulder roughly, trying to break her focus. The Sword of the Creator rocked in the woman’s lap, then fell heavily, piercing the canvas floor and staking into the ground below. The sword went dark the moment it lost contact with Byleth’s skin, and the professor broke her trance-like stare, meeting Edelgard’s eyes dazedly before letting out a long breath. “I’m sorry… I… Thank you, Edelgard,” the professor blundered, rising from the stool. Her emotions were apparent for once, embarrassment and exhaustion etched into the lines of her face.

She bent to retrieve her sword—wincing when she pulled it from the earth—before turning back to look at Hubert. “I think I’ve managed to stop the internal bleeding, but you’re still confined to bed for the moment. Edelgard, would you keep an eye on him? I need to check in with the others, and I…may have inadvertently overdrawn my magic reserves. I’ll have Linhardt come to you again later if I’m unable.”

“Of course, my teacher,” Edelgard replied. “Please, go take some rest.”

Byleth retreated hastily from the shelter, and Edelgard rounded on her attendant. It was time Hubert shared the full truth with her.

“Why did you not tell me you spoke with the professor about our enemies?” she demanded, seating herself on the stool. “As I recall, you protested my sharing anything of note with her.”

Hubert looked stricken, then groaned. “You were listening.” He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Forgive the impertinence, but there are occasions in which I regret teaching you to do that.”

The class leader crossed her arms over her chest and fixed him with her driest look. “I was trying to respect your privacy. But this has made it very clear that whatever has transpired between you and the professor involves me and our plans for Fodlan. Do you deny it?”

He slid his hands up over his forehead to fist in his dark hair, eyes darting frantically throughout the tent like he was trying to think of a way out. Edelgard knew his loyalty to her ran too deep—he would never lie to her directly like this—and he knew it too. She saw it in the way he lowered his eyes and deflated under her gaze. “My copious blood loss isn’t of concern to—”

“Do you deny it?” she repeated more sharply.

“No,” he breathed the word through gritted teeth like it was physically painful.

Suddenly Edelgard was standing, leaning tensely over him. She felt a strange knot of unease in her stomach that tightened with each second he delayed his confession, as well as a piercing sort of hurt. Hubert never kept things from her, not things he knew would be important to her. She thought for a moment earlier today when he clutched Byleth’s robe that he might have the potential to care for her—even passingly that it might be good for their cause if his intentions were able to anchor Byleth to them—but not that he would begin to hide things from her as a result.

“Why did you hide this from me?”

Hubert opened his mouth to answer and then clenched it shut immediately, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “My sincere apologies for this failure in judgment. I…” He covered his face with a hand. “I should have come to you sooner. She causes me to behave in ways I don’t understand.”

“She?”

Hubert looked appalled that Edelgard was making him say it. “The professor,” he bit out. “She… I… This is exceedingly difficult for me to explain, and forgive me for repeating this,” his tone grew acidic, “but I did suffer a significant blood loss today, from which I am not fully recovered.”

Edelgard sat down again abruptly, shock lacing its way through her as she pieced together their strange interactions from the past few months. “Are you trying to tell me that you have feelings for her?” she asked, edging toward hysterical, though her tone was as even as ever. 

Hubert paled and denied the claim immediately, but she knew from the look on his face that she had struck somewhere close to the truth. She had always known Hubert harbored hidden depths—she just thought most of those depths were either plotting political murders or obsessed with helping her. For a short time, she thought he might secretly be in love with her as well, but later dismissed this assumption as far too self-centered.

Now, all of the loaded glances and blushing that she had observed from him recently suddenly made sense. Despite her cold initial response to the notion, Edelgard realized the idea of truly losing Hubert’s potential interest pained her, much more than the idea of losing Byleth’s did. She hadn’t been so bold as to imagine anything would occur with her professor while she was still her student, but there was a possibility that lingered in the back of her mind, whispering… If Byleth sides with us, perhaps someday… Conversely, Hubert’s loyalty had never been in question. She had never imagined a future without his blade in her shadow. It was a bitter thing to consider one now. To consider Hubert turning away from her when she needed him most because he couldn’t bear to cut down Byleth in their path.

Earlier today, if asked, she would have declared herself beyond such trivial emotional attachments.

“Edelgard.” Hubert’s hand skated soothingly over hers, and only then did she realize how her nails had been digging into her knee. She let out a long breath, but refused to meet his eyes. She was suddenly dreadfully afraid that she might cry if she looked at him, which would be…simply…too embarrassing to imagine.

“I will not—cannot —lose your trust. I’m pleased”—tears crept into her voice then, though she bit them back—“certainly, that your opinion of the professor has improved, but I don’t want it to come between us.”

He sighed through his nose, almost exasperatedly, entwining their fingers and pulling her hand off her knee before she drew blood. “Lady Edelgard, I have made it my life’s work that nothing ever comes between us again. That remains unchanged. You asked me to give the professor a chance, and, against my better judgment, I have. She simply wrung more information out of me than I anticipated after the impossible revelation that she has magic that reverses time itself.” He paused, swallowing and looking down at his stomach. “And I was ashamed of how she flustered me,” he finished in a lower voice, ripe with regret.

You claim to be unswayed by pretty words, but fall back on them so obviously when keeping things from me, Edelgard thought. She said nothing but nodded rigidly.

“It won’t happen again,” he assured her, squeezing the hand he held awkwardly. He rarely touched her like this—he obviously thought it would have more of an impact than it did in the wake of today’s revelations.

She was already pulling her fingers from his grasp and standing. A nebulous threat that she would leave and never allow him to broach the subject again, if he didn’t confess in this moment. “Why was she asking about the Marquis?” Edelgard was always careful not to call the man “your father”.

Hubert, who had gained some confidence while avowing his loyalty, deflated once again.

After a lengthy pause, he breathed through gritted teeth: “Will divulging the minutiae—no matter the harm to my pride—preserve your faith in me?” A note of desperation had snuck into his tone again.

He was scared to lose her. Good, Edelgard thought peevishly.

“I suppose we shall see.”

In the end, he told her everything.

Chapter Text

The following morning, Ferdinand was up pacing the tent they shared well before Hubert was ready to be roused.

“Aegir,” Hubert hissed, cracking an eye open and glaring at him in irritation. Ferdinand startled, gasping theatrically. “What are you doing, besides disturbing me?”

The noble’s face was a strange mixture of embarrassment and concern, and Hubert fought the urge to roll his eyes. Ferdinand von Aegir is worried for me. Bizarre, to say the least, he thought, sitting up with a groan. His thigh throbbed viciously with each movement.

There was a small tea cart that had materialized by Ferdinand’s bed while Hubert was unconscious, and it held one of the noble’s many tea sets. Ferdinand had obviously brewed himself a pot of something Hubert disliked, if the smell was any indication, but there was another, more pleasing aroma as well.

As soon as he noticed it, Ferdinand was pushing a cup of tepid coffee into his hands—stiff with surprise. The china was flowery and gold-rimmed, and Hubert had to resist the sudden urge to throw and shatter it, firmly rejecting the noble’s unintelligible kindness. Instead, he raised a brow at the other man and took a resigned sip.

It was quite badly brewed, as he expected, but it was still much preferable to Ferdinand’s taste in tea. And he hadn’t sugared it, which was the worst thing you could do to coffee, so Hubert found it surprisingly tolerable, considering their current circumstances. “You have my gratitude,” he said, uncertainly, wondering what it was that Ferdinand wanted from him that would cause him to go to this trouble.

The other man gave a nervous sort of laugh that usually meant he was uncomfortable, but still trying to maintain his noble mask. “It was nothing, I assure you. My sincere apologies for waking you after you sustained such an injury…”

Hubert took another drink of the acidic coffee and waited for the man to explain. There was obviously something amiss with him. Ferdinand was not cunning enough to try and endear himself to her vassal to gain favor with Edelgard; he would be far more likely to challenge Hubert to a duel.

Ferdinand dawdled anxiously until his bunkmate had finished the lukewarm drink, then finally blurted, “I-had-a-disturbingly-realistic-dream-last-night that I was hoping you could help shed light upon.”

Hubert sat the empty cup heavily back on the cart, irritation and curiosity warring for dominance. He quelled the desire to bite Ferdinand’s head off for waking him for something so trivial as a bad dream. “And you thought I was the appropriate subject for this query?”

Ferdinand paled, then nodded vigorously. “The professor shared that you had experienced time-altered memories outside of battle. I believe I may be experiencing them as well, so I thought it prudent to seek out someone with such foreknowledge.”

Hubert couldn’t fault the logic. “What did you dream of?” Dread wound its way through his stomach as he worried about Edelgard’s welfare—could Ferdinand have seen her get hurt? Was it something Hubert could have prevented?

“I dreamt of you,” Ferdinand replied, shocking his companion. “I…I returned here for the evening, and…” He swallowed heavily. “And found you surrounded by your own blood—quite dead.” 

It can’t be, Hubert thought, just as he began to recall a dazed, agonizing march back to camp.

“Did anything else happen? Anything following?” he prompted, his tone betraying his dismay.

Ferdinand interlocked his fingers at his waist, twisting them uncertainly back-and-forth. He would no longer meet Hubert’s eyes. “After that, I–perhaps I panicked. The last thing I remember is demanding the professor use her power to save you…”

Hubert had feared as much. He had wondered how she had realized immediately that he was concealing an injury—she had never caught on before, though the other times had been much more minor. He had chalked it up to the severity of the wound and credited her with piercing insight. Now, he knew better.

“By your expression, I am led to believe that you remember two versions of yesterday as well,” Ferdinand wheedled.

Hubert ignored him as new thoughts and sensations continued to return—cold and numbness creeping up his left leg, relief when he made it to their camp, a delirious confidence that he could heal the wound himself if he could only pull out the arrow shaft… He shuddered at the memories, already steeling himself for Edelgard’s reaction. Surely, if Ferdinand made the scene Hubert would expect of the man, Lady Edelgard could have laid eyes on his body, as well. And Ferdinand was looking so undeniably despondent about the experience that he might tell others about it, anyway. 

There was no doubt she would find out, and she would surely be even more furious than she was the prior evening when she discovered he’d been hiding things from her.

To her credit, she had been remarkably patient with him, dragging out all the sordid details in halting, bitter confessions. He told her of how he had tried to intimidate the professor, only to find himself confoundingly attracted to her. Of how Byleth had been so embarrassed by his behavior that she had simply turned back time rather than force them both to deal with the consequences. Edelgard had many questions, all of which he answered. Finally, he described how, when he remembered the original events of the evening, he assumed that they were some sort of depraved fantasy the professor had placed in his mind to manipulate him to get closer to his liege. And in accusing Byleth of that, he simply revealed that he had felt something during his foolish intimidation scheme.

Lady Edelgard scolded him fiercely, launching into a long lecture about sexual intimidation being unnacceptable if he expected to continue serving her. He agreed completely with her criticisms, of course, though it gutted him. It was humiliating enough that the whole affair had happened at all, but Lady Edelgard knowing made it painfully worse. He wanted to be so many things for her, none of them an embarrassment.

“Have you told anyone else about this?” Hubert croaked at last, eyeing the tea cart.

Ferdinand had just finished pouring himself another cup. As he raised it to his lips, he replied, “No, I wanted to speak with you first before I alarmed anyone else with such images as losing a classmate to our own negligence.” He took a hurried sip, then returned the cup to the cart. “I deeply regret my inattendance! Petra ensured that I did not struggle overmuch with my own recovery needs, and I thought you were walking like you had been injured, but I simply assumed you would go to Linhardt or one of the Imperial healers when we returned to camp. I-I never—”

“Ferdinand, this is entirely unnecessary—”

“No- no, it is necessary, Hubert. You are my bunkmate, my classmate, and moreover, my friend, and you cannot imagine the relief I feel knowing that future did not continue any further,” he said fiercely. “And from what I recall of the other’s reactions, they will be greatly relieved as well. I am sorry if you intended for this to remain between us and the professor. If the memories work as she described they have in the past, most of our classmates will remember what happened by the end of today.”

Hubert was stunned. How was he supposed to respond to such a declaration? He had heard Ferdinand give impassioned speeches before—usually about nobility, tea, or his superiority to Lady Edelgard—but never had they pierced the dark mage like this one did.

Don’t think that truly means your class cares for your welfare, a cutting inner voice whispered to Hubert. Ferdinand’s interpretations are spotty at best.

Despite this, he couldn’t help but feel the sentiment shedding light on a cringing part of him that he didn’t want anyone to see—an old ache he had locked away to rot in his youth. Living in Edelgard’s shadow could be so lonely. It seemed there was never anyone they could really trust but each other, and he had made peace with that. Then, his liege insisted that they engage in this adolescent farce, and suddenly Hubert was surrounded by peers all insisting that they cared. Even if the others were just surprised by the corpse, Ferdinand at least was making a pathetically sincere case for friendship, and Byleth…

“I need to find some gloves,” Hubert muttered to himself, his hands flexing nakedly at his sides. Someone had taken his bloodied ones off of him while he was unconscious—probably Byleth. He was grateful he had been out of it for most of their interactions yesterday. He was disturbed enough by the way his nerves responded to her hands when there was fabric between them. He was frightened of what he might feel skin to skin.

Ferdinand bounded to his feet, an eager expression on his face. “That wasn’t intended for you, Aegir,” Hubert sniped, but it had no impact on the enthusiastic smile the noble wore.

“And yet, I won’t be dissuaded from offering my apologies once again for failing you in your hour of need!”

“You know I can’t tolerate your dramatics—”

“What luck for you, that I am leaving you in peace, then!”

And with that, Ferdinand swept from the shelter in search of gloves, and Hubert tried—and failed—to stand.

Eventually, he laid back down and tried to wrap his mind around the idea that he had died yesterday.

“Professor?”

It was Edelgard. Again.

Byleth wasn’t ready to explain, to guide, to reassure. She still felt like a dying star—collapsing and exploding simultaneously. At least she’d kept it together until Hubert was healed…mostly. She had used the Divine Pulse to turn back four hours, her current maximum, and then repaired about a third of the damage to Hubert’s thigh, which had left her thoroughly drained, following the hours-long battle with the Demonic Beasts. She had no business doing his second healing back at camp; she should have asked Linhardt, but she couldn’t make herself. Putting her hands on Hubert soothed the immense hurt slightly; healing him purified her conscience. She cast to the point of exhaustion and began to dissociate.

She had watched her students die many times now, and each time was uniquely painful and sobering, even more so now with the hindsight that their deaths had been haunting them as well. But all of them died—first foremost—because Rhea was sending untrained, hormonal teenagers out to fight seasoned forces.

Never because they feared Byleth. Never because they didn’t trust her healing hands when they were wounded. Never because she hadn’t noticed a student was injured because she was distracted by the way his eyes flashed whenever she looked at him.

He has feelings for you, Sothis had said. You reciprocate, she’d said.

Goddess, Byleth was being swallowed by the shame. At the same time, she was furious with Hubert, wanted to shake him, to dig her nails into his skin in retribution. Without Sothis’ power, he would be lost, and Byleth would never be able to forgive herself. What romantic feelings could she hope to experience again if she was responsible for the death of her first potential crush? Was she truly so untrustworthy to him that he would rather die than risk being healed by her?

Sothis had been singing to her for the past hour trying to calm her thoughts, but it wasn’t working. Byleth felt like her skin was going to get up and crawl across her body if she didn’t return to his tent immediately and ascertain that he was well. At the same time, she knew he didn’t want her there, didn’t trust her. So, though it was crushing her, she’d stayed away and instructed Linhardt to take over, claiming continued effects from overdrawing her magic yesterday.

It was almost time to prepare to ride back to Garreg Mach. Edelgard was probably checking to ensure Byleth would be ready to depart. She had already been by twice before this.

“Professor, I’m coming in,” the princess said with finality. Byleth had known it was only a matter of time; three chances was remarkably patient for Edelgard.

Byleth sat up on her cot and met the class leader with a dead-eyed stare. The Ashen Demon. 

Edelgard’s eyebrows twitched upward slightly in surprise, then slammed back down again in sympathy.

Oh no, Byleth thought. Oh no, is she going to try to comfort me?

Edelgard smiled uncertainly, and Sothis stopped singing to respond. 

It would seem so. Would that be such a bad thing? I thought you wanted to befriend her?

Yes, Byleth thought back, but this trip has been very difficult for her—I can tell—and I am supposed to be the adult here. It’s bad enough that I’ve let things become so complicated with Hubert. Edelgard is only eighteen. She shouldn’t have to coddle her mentor on top of preparing to run a country. I am supposed to be making her schooling easier, not more—

Oh for goodness sakes! Stop pouting! It cannot be denied that Edelgard needs more practice with warmth, so you can rest easy knowing it will be instruction to her benefit, Sothis reprimanded sharply. Byleth responded with the equivalent of a mental sigh.

“My teacher, are you well?” Edelgard probed when Byleth continued to stare at her.

The professor let a thread of emotion sneak out with a harsh exhale. “I have had better days, but I’ll be ready to leave as planned. How…how is—”

“He’s fine, thanks to your intervention. Bitter about the prospect of being carted behind Ferdinand’s horse, undoubtedly, but much improved from when you last saw him.” Edelgard gave her a searching look, before seating herself on the cot at Byleth’s feet. “I…need to talk to you about something. Are you willing to listen?”

“Of course,” she said immediately, as if she hadn’t just ignored Edelgard three times before she barged in to force a conversation.

“Last night, Hubert shared the full truth with me about why you turned back time with him outside of battle.”

Byleth was suddenly quite glad she delayed this discussion for as long as possible, stiffening and drawing her knees close to her chest protectively.

“Please don’t look at me like that, Professor. I am not going to scold you for keeping it from me. Am I correct in concluding you felt it inappropriate to come to me with this, considering my status and your role?” Edelgard interlaced her fingers and folded her hands in her lap.

“In part, yes,” Byleth responded, her tone flattening almost completely again.

This is quickly becoming an inconveniently telling defense mechanism, she groused, hearing Sothis’ tinkling laugh in response.

“I thought as much,” Edelgard replied, as Byleth forced her face to soften slightly. “This is why I felt I needed to speak with you urgently. In fully explaining his rash actions, Hubert brought to light details about his mistreatment of you that I found completely objectionable. He should never have touched you like that, my teacher, and I am so sorry that I failed to make clear to him sooner that sexual intimidation or violence are not tactics I will permit, no matter how threatened he may feel. Rest assured, that has been corrected! I…considered asking him to return to Enbarr immediately to spare you from further intera—”

“I do not want him sent away!” Byleth insisted abruptly, surprising them both. “And it was–it wasn’t the way it sounds! It… I…” She huffed and pressed her face into her knees, curling her arms over the back of her skull.  Her voice was muffled as she continued. “It was not one-sided. I was goading him, and I—”

“This is not your fault, Professor!” Edelgard interjected, sounding aghast.

Byleth threw up her hands, though her head remained where it was. She was blushing too fiercely to bear Edelgard’s gaze. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I knew he was following me, so I took a circuitous route to confuse him. I was goading him, and it…excited me when he…” She trailed off, letting her hands fall back over her dark hair. “I didn’t really feel things before I met you. When I stopped that axe the day we met—it woke a part of me that wanted to connect with others, but I am still so inept. I never meant to blur the lines like this. I had been trying to get him to trust me a little since he’s loathed me from the beginning, but along the way, I strangely began to delight in his irritation…attention.

“I’ve heard Manuela call it”—she cringed—“a crush? So…while I am incredibly proud of you for taking that stance and clarifying it with your retainer for the future, that is not a concern in this instance.” Byleth released her head and raised it hesitantly to meet her pupil’s violet gaze. “If anyone behaved dishonorably, it was me.”

Edelgard blinked several times at her, gears turning. The princess’ face began to pinken slightly, and it became increasingly clear to Byleth that Edelgard had seethed for hours about this on her behalf. She was touched by the girl’s loyalty—so strong that she would offer to send her closest confidant away for slighting Byleth. It filled her with an unexpected warmth.

“I…apologize for prying, Professor,” Edelgard said at last, and Byleth could feel her trying to close discussion on the subject, embarrassed by her own fervor.

“Don’t, Edelgard. I worry for you, too. If I heard the reverse about you and Hubert, I would be quite concerned on your behalf. Though, I hope that you don’t think less of me for this, for abusing my position?”

Edelgard fixed her eyes on her hands in her lap. “I struggle to see it as such, my teacher, so no. My opinion of you remains as high as ever.”

Byleth chewed her lip, hesitating. “Then can I…can I count on your confidence until you both have finished your schooling?”

The class leader seemed to consider this for a long moment, then replied in a much lower voice. “He will be furious with me—with us both—for keeping this from him. I reprimanded him quite harshly.”

“I know it’s a lot to ask. I just…can’t bear the thought of causing him greater discomfort because of my inappropriate feelings. He deserves an educational environment free from such pressure. After graduation—we can tell him then.”

She shot Byleth a desperate sort of look and exhaled through her nose. “Very well, Professor. You have my word.” 

“Thank you. And you have mine that there will be no more untoward behavior from me,” she pledged solemnly. 

Byleth thought that would be the end of it, but Edelgard lingered at the foot of her bed, the tension in her stance somehow even more uneasy than before.

“There is another matter,” Edelgard said. “Did you reset time yesterday to save Hubert? Myself and some of the others…well, we remember a corpse.” Her tone lurched vulnerably on the last word.

How foolish of us to forget about the others! Sothis fussed. They came in behind you when Ferdinand brought you to Hubert, remember? I heard them exclaim. 

Byleth had been too preoccupied or overwhelmed to process the others’ reactions or to consider them since then. Loosely, she had been operating under the assumption that Ferdinand and Hubert were the only two who would remember, but this would still tear at the former regardless. She should have been more considerate of her students’ misery and less concerned with her own.

There was a distant droning in her ears and a tightening in her throat.

“Yes,” Byleth replied, false lightness barely covering a frightening monotone. “He felt so unsafe in my care that he concealed a fatal injury rather than risk being healed by me, and then in order to save his life, I had to violate his boundaries and heal him anyway. I hope that you agree it was the correct decision. Considering the severity, it seemed unwise to let Linhardt try first.”

Edelgard reached toward her urgently, clasping her knee. The princess’ eyes looked strangely damp. “Of course I agree, my teacher. I cannot tell you what it means to me that you didn’t hesitate to jump to his rescue, despite the many reasons he has given you not to do so.” Edelgard squeezed her leg once before rising to her feet and clasping her hands together. “I know I have broached the subject before, but I would like to reiterate my wish that you accompany me when I return to Enbarr after graduation. Please understand—all that I have learned today has only grown my trust in you.”

The journey back to Garreg Mach was surreal. It seemed each of his classmates was determined to let him know that he was important to them, in their own bizarre way. Linhardt was making it a point to scan Hubert with healing magic far more than he usually found necessary, while Dorothea and her mount had been a constant fixture at Ferdinand’s side, frequently slowing to pester Hubert about something inane from his seat in the small supply wagon drawing behind. Early in the journey, Petra had solemnly brought the dark mage a dead lizard known for its use in poisonmaking, then later, as they finally reentered the monastery’s feeder fields, Bernadetta approached him with a flower she had knitted.

“I couldn’t sleep after…so I m-made this…for-for you.” She abruptly flung the small object into his lap from her horse, then dug in her heels, increasing her speed until she was at the front of the group beside the professor, who turned her head slightly to greet the girl. He could see one blue eye, assessing the archer, and the corner of a smile as she squeaked her greeting. 

Hubert rolled his eyes, pocketing Bernadetta’s trinket. Even her, he thought, recalling all the times he’d intentionally frightened the archer.

Byleth was the only one who had said nothing to him about her resurrection trick. She hadn’t spoken to him at all since leaving his tent the previous evening. He was surprised by how badly he wanted to correct this oversight—to approach and taunt her into shouting at him, as he felt he deserved. Some sort of consequence seemed more than warranted, rather than these sickly sweet gestures of support everyone was clamoring to make. Even Lady Edelgard had been notably less disappointed in him than he had expected. She had actally been angrier about his mistreatment of the professor. Perhaps she thought this revelation a fitting punishment for his behavior. To be saved from his fatal pride by someone who should certainly loathe him was a deeply sobering and gutting experience. The twisting shame and anxiety in his stomach did argue strongly that he never allow such an outcome to happen again.

It wasn’t until they arrived back at the school and Edelgard visited his room that he realized her highness had merely had greater priorities on her mind.

“I wish to speak with you regarding our strategy. I have come to the conclusion that we can trust the professor, and that changes things.”

Hubert stiffened in his seat at his desk. He had been healed to the point that he could manage a slow hobble with only a slightly debilitating ache. Linhardt seemed confident he would be back to normal within the next few days, but Hubert found the pain strangely clarifying. A constant reminder of Byleth’s actions.

“I am going to require that you elaborate,” he answered dryly, though a part of him agreed with her. The professor had demonstrated an unusual—perhaps suspicious—degree of loyalty to them recently. It did merit some consideration, though his case would likely not meet with Edelgard’s approval.

“I intend to reject Solon’s request for use of the Death Knight,” she declared. “The professor’s power goes beyond anything we’ve witnessed the Agarthans demonstrate. We can use our alliance with them to flush them out of hiding, with her help. I know you’ve noticed they are as intrigued as they are intimidated by her. The professor’s support would also help to engender the church to our cause, and—”

“You would stake everything on her allegiance?” Hubert interjected cuttingly. “And what of the Flame Emperor severing us from the Church and rewriting the world? You can so easily cast all of that aside?”

“Do not speak to me about casting things aside after you tossed your life away, barely a full day past!” Her hand sliced sharply through the air between them. “I don’t abandon what I care for so quickly, which is precisely why I hesitate to rely on the support of those who experimented on me when there is a better option.”

Hubert was chastened, her reprimand sating his bitter desire to be punished for his mistakes. “I apologize, Lady Edelgard.”

She huffed and tossed her silver hair. “I spoke with her yesterday while you were resting, Hubert. I promise you that you don’t fully grasp her devotion to us, but I, at least, do. Look at what she did for you,” she gestured to his mostly whole, alive frame, sitting tensely at the desk.

“She has saved many of the others before. That hardly—”

“Not like that. I arrived shortly after she did to witness your…corpse.” Edelgard shuddered slightly and cleared her throat. “I saw the professor’s face. I’ve never seen her demonstrate so much emotion before.”

This gave Hubert pause. Was the professor avoiding him because his death had deeply upset her? And was it the loss of Hubert himself or of her confidence that was wounding her?

Lady Edelgard seemed to follow the trail of his thoughts. “You are wondering why she’s been so cold to you.” Her eyes sparkled a little, a hint of mischief swirling underneath flat tension.

“You spoke with her about me?” Hubert replied tartly.

She said, ‘devotion to us’, he thought.

“Yes. The professor believes you did not want her to heal you, and that you concealed your injury for the purpose of avoiding being healed by her. She said that she felt she violated your boundaries by doing it anyway to save your life.” Edelgard took a step closer to him, putting a hand on his desk and leaning to his eye level, as she often did when she was trying to read someone for deception. “I think her first two conclusions are correct, which is puzzling taken alongside your recently confessed attraction.”

Hubert’s blood ran cold at the mention of his inappropriate attachment to the professor. “Attraction is not trust,” he hissed as Lady Edelgard drew back, a satisfied smirk at the corner of her mouth. She seemed to delight in making him admit aloud that he felt something for the professor—it was infuriating.

“Good, I would hope you would base your trust on more than that, as I have,” she said.

He barely suppressed his scoff. “A few rescues in the heat of battle, easily orchestrated to win our confidence?”

The princess slammed her fist against the desk in one resounding knock, then bent down to meet his gaze again. “She nearly killed herself stemming your bleeding. Do not try to gloss over what she’s done for us! How was I to accomplish my task without you at my side?”

Hubert felt gutted and hopeful all at once, the intensity increasingly piercing. He hated being a source of Lady Edelgard’s worry, but at the same time, he reveled in it. She felt he was essential to her life—which was Hubert’s best understanding of love because that’s how he felt about her. Noticing the sentiment was returned always filled him with a comforting warmth. Though he was certain on Edelgard’s part, it was purely platonic, it warmed him all the same.

This argument to trust the professor seemed more emotional than her usual appeals to him, and he thought he could guess why. “I see. Are you so attached to me that my salvation is all you need to trust our plans with a stranger?” he nettled in a softer tone.

Edelgard’s violet eyes flickered down to his mouth as he spoke, and Hubert suddenly realized how compromising a position this might appear for her, should someone walk in. He scooted his chair back with a low screech, barely concealing a wince when pain rocketed up his leg.

The princess exhaled harshly and bit her bottom lip, turning away from him. “Perhaps, but there is more I cannot share with you. Don’t you care for her, as I do? Don’t you want to trust someone again?”

A flush crept up Hubert’s chest and neck, settling in his cheeks. Of course Hubert wanted to trust Byleth. He wanted it like he wanted Arundel dead and Rhea chained. And he didn’t just want it for Edelgard, but firstly for himself. He desperately wanted to unravel the mysteries of the professor’s mind and have her not hate him by the end of it. But the threat of torturing or killing her was always hanging over his head, as was her questionable behavior and frightening power. No, he had trusted recklessly before in someone who was supposed to protect him out of title. Hubert was no fool; he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

“I assure you, my distraction with her is waning quickly, the more you speak on it.”

Edelgard turned back, looking surprisingly hurt by this response. 

“I can see that you need some time to consider your perspective before we revisit this subject. You have a week,” she said tersely, and left the room without another word.

Chapter Text

Before the week’s end, Seteth’s sister Flayn went missing, and the monastery devolved into a flurry of search parties and students murmuring worriedly to each other in the corridors. 

The Black Eagles had all sworn not to make public Byleth’s time altering abilities, but in private, they had many queries as to how she might be able to prevent Flayn from having been kidnapped in the first place. The professor had put those to rest quickly, with the explanation that Flayn had been missing for too long by the time Byleth found out for her power to be of use. 

Edelgard was relieved. She was taking special care that the Church not find out about the professor’s hidden power, and Byleth may have sacrificed secrecy in order to protect Seteth’s little sister. The princess was as concerned with finding the girl as everyone else, but that didn’t change her distrust of the Church. 

Based on what she knew of the Agarthan’s interest in crest experimentation and the rumors of Flayn’s rare healing abilities, Edelgard could guess as to why she had been taken. Though she had personally found the child quite unsettling to converse with—and also suspected her of being Rhea’s spawn—no child deserved the torture she would endure as the Agarthan’s test subject. Thinking about what they might put her through called forth unpleasant, vaulted memories of Edelgard’s siblings and the fruitless desire to shield others from what she had suffered. The thoughts plagued her more than she could have ever anticipated, seeding deep worry for a creature she never expected to care about.

She came upon Lysithea in the library during the first wave of clue-searching, and saw similar emotions written across the young woman’s drawn face.

“Lysithea,” she greeted in surprise. Edelgard had almost collided with the mage, who had come up suddenly from behind a table with a leather-bound tome and a sheaf of papers clutched in front of her.

“Edelgard,” the girl replied coolly, moving as if to go around her. 

But the princess stepped again in her way, spurred by the rogue impulse to commiserate with someone who could actually understand. She recalled Hubert’s reports on House Ordelia, and since seeing her in action at school, Edelgard was even more certain that Lysithea bore two crests, as well.

The blueprint for your transformation was developed in Leicester. Hubert had written the note in the margins of his report; the words replayed whenever she saw the Ordelian heir, ringing with guilt.

“Please, wait. I…I have wanted to speak with you about this for some time. I am haunted with worry for Flayn because I was also kidnapped as a child,” Edelgard declared simply, her words hanging in the air of the empty library. “And I think perhaps we’re alike in that way,” she finished more softly.

Lysithea stiffened visibly and paled, her face drawing in fury. “It’s incredibly bold of you to speak to me about that when you know your people were responsible!” the girl snapped.

Edelgard scoffed. “It’s incredibly foolish to think I was making the decisions or would condone them. Would you have chosen this for yourself?” She tugged sharply on the stark white of her hair, gesturing to Lysithea’s similarly blanched hue. She hoped the mage understood that she was referring to all of the physical changes the process caused, not just the most obvious.

The girl bristled further. “Don’t talk to me like we’re the same. I am nothing like you.”

“Why do you say that?” Her petulance intrigued Edelgard. The princess had a soft spot for defiance, it seemed. Dangerous in a ruler.

“Because while I am racing to try to find a clue as to Flayn’s whereabouts, you are interrupting me with useless sharing about your feelings! I don’t care if we share similar origins. I’m not interested in being your friend after what the Empire did to my family, and I don’t have time to waste explaining it to you further!” With that, she turned on her heel and left the library with stomping feet, her papers and book still clutched to her chest.

Edelgard took Lysithea’s rejection seriously and resolved not to disturb her with the subject again. So, the princess was thoroughly surprised when on day two of Flayn’s disappearance, Claude approached her at the mage’s request.

“Look, I know that this is kind of out of the blue and not your normal way of doing things, but do you think we could work together on this one?” the Golden Deer class leader asked, leaning a little too far into her space in an effort to keep his voice low. “Lysithea may have found some incriminating evidence on Flayn’s kidnapper, but I don’t know for sure what I’m looking at. The shrimp thinks that you and Hubert may have the details that we lack.”

There was an obvious question on the tip of Edelgard’s tongue, but she hesitated to voice it: Why not go to Seteth and Rhea?

Claude’s eyes crinkled slightly at the corners—almost knowingly. Smug bastard. Edelgard had always found him slippery and infuriating, but his offer intrigued her most because of the party being left out of the equation. She was about to shed a lot of powerful allies by turning on the Agarthans; she could use any help she could get, especially those who didn’t hold Rhea in high esteem.

Was it a test? Was Claude trying to measure her loyalty or was he revealing his own?

Hubert would hate this, but Byleth would be delighted. She always encouraged them to learn from the other houses, lecturing on the different strategies and styles of fighting used across the continent. At the very least, working together could expose important facets of the Agarthan’s infiltration into the Alliance’s leadership that would later be of use. She might convince Hubert into seething silence with such an argument, so long as she didn’t overplay her hand.

It was a risk, certainly. But when Byleth was faced with a situation that begged information for loyalty, she willingly gave, and the esteem she commanded had only grown. Now Claude was offering a scenario with even less risk for Edelgard, as she wouldn’t be the only one divulging. She had thought she made a mistake speaking with Lysithea, but maybe she hadn’t. Assuming, of course, that this wasn’t a trap—in which case, better to know immediately. 

Worst case scenario, she would let Hubert know he could kill them. That should mollify him, she thought.

“I admit I’m intrigued, Claude. If it will help us find Flayn, I am happy to trade information between our houses. Perhaps a meeting is in order?”

The archer grinned, and it lit up his whole face. “My thoughts exactly, Princess. Lysithea, Hilda, and I will be in the Golden Deer classroom tonight after dinner. Bring whoever you trust.”

His parting words—bring whoever you trust—circled her head for hours like sharks, whispering about how much the Alliance heir might understand about her.

Byleth was thrilled when Edelgard asked her to partake in an interclass information share with the Golden Deer. She actually beamed, a rare and new expression that Byleth found both exquisite and overwhelming. The professor was painfully proud of her students sometimes, Edelgard more than most.

The way Edelgard and Hubert kept their imperial business from her, she never dreamed they would be driven to share secrets with Claude and his compatriots. Flayn’s disappearance must have shaken the princess more than Byleth had realized, if Edelgard was willing to take such measures.

Hubert seemed the opposite of shaken, his stoney countenance radiating a quiet fury that Byleth had chosen not to comment on when she met them both outside the Officer’s Academy after dinner. She was doing her best to ignore him, hard as it was for her. They had barely spoken since his near-death, and she thought he preferred it that way.

They made their way to the classroom where the Golden Deer trio was waiting. Edelgard whispered a curt, “I expect your utmost restraint,” to Hubert before opening the door and stepping inside.

Claude and Hilda were seated at the front of the room at two desks that had been pulled out of formation and pushed together to make a larger table, scattered with parchment. Lysithea was pacing the center aisle and looked up with clear relief when the Black Eagles entered. Hilda also looked somewhat surprised that they had actually come, though Claude merely winked at Byleth and rose with a confident smile on his face.

“Edelgard—”

“Lady Edelgard,” Hubert cut off the Alliance heir icily.

Claude’s smile widened almost mockingly as he gave the imperial retainer a once over. “Of course. Your highness, Teach, Hubert. Thanks for coming.” Claude gestured to the many other available seats in the room. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

Byleth sat on one of the nearby benches and Lysithea hesitantly joined her, while Edelgard perched herself on the edge of a desk, facing Claude and Hilda. Hubert affixed his back rigidly to the closed door and crossed his arms.

“Will Manuela be joining us?” Byleth directed this to Claude, whose eyes seemed to glitter at the inquiry.

“No, our dear Professor Manuela had a bit too much wine with dinner tonight,” he replied.

“You say that like it’s out of the ordinary,” Lysithea scoffed disparagingly. Hilda and Claude shared a loaded look, which only Lysithea and Byleth seemed to catch as Edelgard was having a silent conversation with Hubert, attempting to summon him to her side. “What?” Lysithea asked her classmates.

A bit of a smirk crept up the corner of Claude’s mouth, but he quickly stilled it to neutral again. “Nothing you need to worry about at your age,” he snarked.

Lysithea leapt from her seat beside Byleth, interrupting Edelgard mid-gesture. “Don’t talk down to me!”

Byleth swore she saw a flash of delight across Claude’s face at Lysithea’s anger, but when she looked again, he was wearing a concerned frown.

“We have guests,” Hilda interrupted, pinching Claude and looking pointedly at Lysithea.

“Ouch!” the Alliance heir protested, rubbing his arm. “What was that for?”

“You know what,” Hilda chirped.

Lysithea seemed mollified by Hilda’s reprimand and settled thornily back beside the professor, who placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t let him get to you, Lysithea,” Byleth murmured.

The girl let out a small ‘oh’ of surprise, then seemed to recall her original interest in their conversation. “But what was it about Manuela? This was supposed to be a meeting to share information to our mutual benefit, and this is a poor way to start it off, Claude,” Lysithea argued.

The archer was wearing a convincing guise of frustration, but Byleth noticed his eyes still danced merrily.

He’s having fun, Sothis observed with a yawn.

Finally! I was worried you would miss it, Byleth replied. The girl had been near silent, resting in the back of her mind for hours. It seemed the more they used their power, the more Sothis slept.

Yes, I heard Lysithea. ‘Tis quite surprising that our pair would agree to such a thing, much less that crafty archer. You must be a good influence, after all.

“This was supposed to be an inter-house information share,” Claude objected, locking eyes with Edelgard.

The princess glanced briefly toward her retainer, then back to Claude. “As the party who asked us here, perhaps you could offer a gesture in good faith, and share what Lysithea is requesting,” she replied evenly.

The archer relented, sounding quite put upon, though Byleth was still suspicious of his sincerity. “Oh, all right then… Hilda and I—”

“Don’t drag me into this!”

“Well, you were involved,” he said, nudging his partner-in-crime with his elbow, before turning back to Edelgard sheepishly. “Look, we…er… observed that Manuela drinks more when she’s reminded of her romantic troubles, so we…” Claude trailed off and looked to Hilda for assistance—the action just a touch too practiced.

“We talk to her about our love lives if there’s anything to speak of,” Hilda explained, “or we ask her about her own, and it makes her sad, so she drinks more. Then we don’t have to go to choir practice or do evening training drills!”

There was a moment of shock, then Edelgard began to laugh incredulously. Byleth watched in wonder as the others—save Hubert—also began to laugh, and then she felt giddiness rise up and bubble out of her, so she laughed as well. Those little devils. She thought her house was a handful, but she was forced to acknowledge Manuela might have her beat.

Too true. Edelgard would never do something like that to us, Sothis insisted.

“In the interest of a positive partnership, we will keep your affairs private,” the princess said, laughter still lingering in her voice. It was a good sound on her; Byleth wished she heard it more often. “Now…shall you show me what you found that I might shed light on?”

Claude turned serious almost immediately, rummaging through the things on the desks before pulling out a particular piece of parchment and handing it to Edelgard. Byleth couldn’t see what was on it from the angle she was sitting, but she could see the princess’ face.

She looks scared, Sothis murmured, and she was right. Edelgard did look scared, at least to those who knew her well enough. Hubert crossed the room immediately to look over her shoulder, and Byleth followed shortly behind. The parchment was worn and contained a hand-inked sketch of a dragon with a wide crown of horns, and Edelgard was trembling slightly where Byleth’s shoulder pressed hers. Hubert leaned in close to the princess’ ear and whispered something so low that even Byleth couldn’t hear from her position at her side; Edelgard shook her head rigidly in response.

“Edelgard?” Byleth prompted. “Have you encountered a creature like this before?”

Hubert shot her a scathing glare, but Claude grinned—a real one, this time, Byleth thought. “This, Teach, is the Immaculate One, who was supposedly sent by the goddess to save the followers of Seiros.” The next he directed to Edelgard, the grin widening. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

Edelgard, still stiffly holding the drawing, looked up slowly to meet Byleth’s eyes—calculating. “Why did you think I might have insight on this, Claude?”

The archer looked hurriedly between the two of them. “No, don’t blame Teach! She didn’t tell me anything,” he insisted, holding up his hands. “Lysithea told me about your conversation—”

“What could I have told him?” Byleth interrupted, whirling on Edelgard. “I don’t know anything about this Immaculate One.” The princess must have recognized the truth of her words because she relaxed marginally. All Edelgard had told her was that her siblings died in the experiments that gave the ruler her second Crest—the Crest of Flames—and that the Prime Minister and corrupt nobility were responsible. Nothing about the Immaculate One.

Hubert seemed to realize that he was still hovering protectively against Edelgard’s side and took a step back, his eyes fixed on Claude.

“Where did you find this?” Hubert asked, taking and shoving the paper back at the Alliance heir, whose grin had settled into a knowing smirk.

“Ah, yes, that.” Claude steepled his fingers, but Lysithea stole his moment.

“It was in Tomas’ private collection he keeps locked up!” she cried. “I always wanted to know what he kept in there.”

Byleth’s mouth hung agape. “Lysithea, are you telling me that you picked a lock and rifled through the librarian’s personal effects?”

The girl blushed. “Well, when you phrase it like that Professor, it does sound—”

“No, it doesn’t,” Claude interjected. “Because she found something that I’ve never seen in any official Church of Seiros record. Seteth and Rhea will skirt the subject of the Immaculate One if asked—trust me, I asked them—and even I have only heard the legend from traveling storytellers. But if it’s just a legend or conjecture, why isn’t it included among the many texts in the library documenting different Crest myths and manifestations? This ‘Immaculate One’ isn’t something the Church wants people to know about. So, that presents two questions.”

“Why does the Church want it to be a secret, if it’s not true?” Hilda said.

“And why does their monastery librarian have a small stash of documents containing multiple references to it?” Claude finished.

Edelgard pinched the bridge of her nose. “None of this explains why you thought of me when presented with this situation, or why you think it could be related to Flayn’s disappearance.”

Claude snorted, and Hubert bristled, glare crystalizing. “Doesn’t it? Look, you haven’t seen everything. I thought I’d start with the most immediately impressive, but there are notes here on some sort of Crest rituals, and—the parts I can make sense of—are pretty terrifying.”

“But familiar to me,” Lysithea cut in.

“Right. And you told Lysithea that you had been through something similar to her,” Claude continued over Hubert’s small noise of dismay. “Knowing you and Hubert, we thought you’d at least have an idea of who pulled those strings and if they could be connected to Tomas.”

Edelgard didn’t respond immediately, but Byleth had something to say. “It sounds as though you suspect the Church of being the ones to conduct those Crest experiments, but why would they kidnap Flayn? Seteth is truly panicked. I don’t think he was faking.”

Claude clapped his hands together. “I’m so glad you asked, Teach! I don’t think they were the ones to kidnap Flayn. I think whoever helped the Church to do those experiments took her.”

“For her blood,” Lysithea interrupted again. “I was implanted with a second Crest by these people. While I don’t remember everything about the process, I know it involved someone else’s blood and a blood reconstruction surgery. Flayn has the Major Crest of Cethleann, so she could be valuable to someone who wanted to collect rare Crests in their ranks.”

Byleth saw the imperial princess’s hands begin to shake. “Edelgard, what is this thing to you?” the professor prodded, motioning to the image Claude had returned to the desktop.

“It… I…” she shot a frantic glance at her retainer, who stepped in front of her almost immediately, obscuring her behind his height.

“This is none of your concern, so I suggest you drop the line of inquiry,” he snarled at Byleth, though his eyes flitted between her and Claude.

“No,” Edelgard said, putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing him from her path. “I want her to know… It’s simply that I did not expect our meeting to go this way. You,” this she directed at Claude, “have hit much closer to the truth than I anticipated.”

“Lady Edelgard!” Hubert exclaimed in horror. “He is Alliance. We cannot trust him with—”

“I know very well who I am speaking with. Thank you, Hubert.” A clear dismissal from his liege, under which Hubert wilted. Byleth lingered for a moment on the thought that he had left her out of his second protest. He trusted her more than he trusted Claude, at least.

The Golden Deer leader seemed cautiously pleased by Edelgard’s response, handing her several other sheets of worn parchment, these inscribed with runes and diagrams, separated by a messy, slanted script. “The notes mention the Immaculate One several times in relation to the Crest rituals,” he said. “They also occasionally refer to something called a Nabatean, as well.”

Edelgard drew a sharp inhale, and the professor could almost feel the unease radiating off of Hubert. Sothis was stirring with clear interest that Byleth shared, but despite that, she could tell her students were not feeling forthcoming on this topic.

“If this is something you two are not at liberty to share, I suggest you say so, and close this meeting,” Byleth cautioned, finding the end of her patience. She was starting to think that they did not accept Claude’s invitation out of a good faith intention to share mutually. So far the only information of value had come from the Golden Deer, and Byleth resented being party to a scheme without forewarning, especially one that reflected poorly on her as their mentor.

Edelgard could tell the professor was getting angry, as she had every right to be. First, in a moment of panic, Edelgard had questioned Byleth’s loyalty, and now the princess was hesitating to divulge key information in a meeting she had agreed to for precisely that purpose.

She swiveled her head to look back at the professor, catching Hubert’s glare out of the corner of her eye—an imploring hint in what was an otherwise icy countenance.

“Apologies, my teacher. I don’t stall out of disrespect. Merely unpreparedness and an abundance of caution.” Edelgard turned her violet gaze back to Claude and Hilda. “Lysithea has obviously chosen to trust you with her story, and in turn, my own. I…”

She had resigned herself to giving something during this interaction, of course, but not everything. How could she have known about the intel they had? It was truly idiotic of this agent of Arundel’s to leave it out in the library, even under lock and key. It was most likely Solon—that was who she had been meeting with since they came to the monastery. It made sense for him to be impersonating Tomas. She was glad she had refused them use of the Death Knight. With this kind of caution, he and Arundel were likely to have done something sloppy that forced her to send her agent away or risk revealing the Flame Emperor. 

But the fact remained that she needed new allies, if she wanted to sever herself from the Agarthans. Lysithea seemed an obvious potential supporter, considering her clear hatred for what the old Imperial gentry did to the Ordelias, and Claude… Well, Edelgard had known from the start that if Claude wasn’t springing a trap for her, then he, too, did not trust the Church’s power. If he and Hilda both felt that way, that would mean two high ranking Alliance heirs on her side, and the possibility of uniting (at least some of) Fodlan without the bloodshed she had originally foreseen.

If the Professor can barter her secrets to earn loyalty and trust, then so can I, she thought to herself, not for the first time that day.

“Lysithea has obviously chosen to trust you with her story, and my own,” Edelgard repeated. “I think it appropriate then to ask you to extend the same secrecy you have maintained on Lysithea’s behalf to me, should I share these details with you. And Lysithea? The same to you. You must pledge to keep this as you have kept your own secrets.”

Byleth seemed stunned by this turn, and perhaps by the fact that Edelgard had not called for a pledge of secrecy from her as well. Claude and Hilda’s faces echoed Byleth’s, but Lysithea’s mouth was set in a determined frown.

“And what if what you tell us confirms the corruption of the Church of Seiros? If my story held such implications, my concern for my classmates’ safety would outweigh my desire for privacy,” Lysithea said sternly, while Claude shot the girl a look that Edelgard couldn’t decode.

“Perhaps your story does hold such implications, Lysithea,” Byleth cut in coolly. “Regardless, you can leave worrying about your classmates’ safety to me. Trust me when I say,” blue eyes cut across to the young mage, “I will die before I let them hurt one of you.”

The girl quieted, while Edelgard’s stomach dropped into freefall. I suppose her protection extends outside of the Black Eagles. She does combat training with the other classes, as well. I shouldn’t have assumed we were special to her. I shouldn’t have—

“But I will also be the arbiter of your silence,” Byleth continued solemnly, looking—to Edelgard’s surprise—at her. The princess felt the air freeze in her throat as their eyes met, worried about what her professor could mean. “You were not asking enough. If a word of what transpired here, even just what has been said so far, found its way to the ears of the Church, there would be dire consequences for all of us.” Byleth looked at everyone in turn as she said the latter, while Edelgard gradually calmed the wild fear that had gripped her. Of course, the professor was merely acting in Edelgard’s best interest, as usual.

“Remember what happened to Lonato?” Byleth asked. “We need to be very careful about how we proceed because there’s only one of me—my death might not be enough to save you all.” A vexed hand rubbed across her blue brows as she met eyes with Hubert, then Claude. “I hate to pull rank, but I am. You come to me before you share this with anyone. I decide who needs to know. That goes for everyone here.” A hard look at Edelgard, then back around the room, before finishing in a tone that sounded more like her battle persona that she used when they first met. “You have all seen enough of my skills by now to know the wrath you’ll face if you open your mouth to the wrong person and get any of my students executed.”

Her words were met with dead silence for several seconds.

Hilda was the first to recover. “Well, it sounds like we have no choice in the matter!” she exclaimed with a cheery shrug. “I think it’s better to leave these decisions to a professional, anyway, so you won’t hear any arguments from me.”

Claude shot Hilda a sideways glance, as Lysithea huffed. “Yes, I suppose Hilda’s right. The professor is the most neutral party present, and she has a vested interest in everyone’s safety.”

When the archer turned his calculating gaze to Edelgard, she found herself floundering beneath a splintering mask. For her entire life, she had only acquired more responsibility—the weight of the experiments, secrets, and dreams that only she could realize had left her rigid and cracking, trying to carry it all. Hubert helped, always accepting the darkest parts of their journey for himself, but it was still at her command that he acted, and she bore guilt for two. It wasn’t until she met Byleth that someone wrested responsibility away from her. It wasn’t until Byleth that she realized she wanted to give some of it up.

Edelgard had been carrying so much for so long that easing this over to the professor felt like dropping an anvil from her hands. Claude was still looking at her the moment she let go, and it was as if he knew, as if they were coming to some sort of silent understanding, as if he, too, didn’t feel prepared to challenge the Church alone. “Alright, Teach, have it your way. I would never deny you something you feel this strongly about,” he said, shooting Byleth a cheeky grin.

Hubert growled under his breath, drawing Edelgard’s eyes to him. He was glowering at the Alliance heir with even more hostility than he had been showing before. But when the professor turned back to the two of them, his expression softened fractionally.

“Hubert? Edelgard? You are not exempt from this. I need to hear that you both understand and accept these terms,” Byleth said sternly.

Hubert waited for Edelgard to give her answer, deferring to his liege as usual, but she could tell the idea was eating at him. They hadn’t had the opportunity to revisit their conversation about Byleth’s trustworthiness yet, but based on his behavior, Edelgard didn’t think he had made any major revelations.

“I do understand, my teacher. I am grateful to have your guidance in this as in all things,” Edelgard answered Byleth, earning a soft smile from her.

Hubert frowned as the professor turned an expectant eye to him. “As my lady says,” he replied stiffly.

Byleth’s mouth pursed, but she said nothing else to the dark mage, instead looking back at Edelgard. “I’m sorry to have interrupted. Please, proceed with your explanation.”

It was painfully apparent to Hubert that this situation had spun well out of his control and full comprehension. He should have known the instant her highness said she was inviting the professor that he would not get to kill Riegan as he’d hoped. He should have anticipated the impact of having her present on Lady Edelgard’s openness. He should have known that she might make rash decisions in the wake of their conversation last week.

But he had done nothing to prevent this outcome, and so he was forced to listen in mock calm as Lady Edelgard described the basics of Crest origination, as they knew them—a Nabatean blood ritual performed on the Ten Elites. He was powerless to stop her from revealing the Nabatean phenotype—pale, with green hair and eyes—and her personal theory that Flayn was actually Rhea and Seteth’s child, kept secret for appearance sake. Riegan had many questions, and Hubert did not snipe at him for any of them. He merely listened as Edelgard described how some Nabateans had another, bestial form, but that those who experimented upon her spoke only of one who lived today: the Immaculate One, Archbishop Rhea.

He knew, when she paused then for Lysithea and Hilda’s gasps, that the worst part for her was coming. The part that she had most feared explaining to him when she returned to Enbarr with snow-white hair. The Agarthans meant for her to be their puppet. He watched the professor closely, knowing any hesitation to this information could deeply undermine Edelgard’s trust in her.

Her highness turned to Lysithea first. “Our captors had battled Rhea long ago when she used the name Seiros, and during that conflict they obtained the blood of many of her relatives. After they used you and your family to perfect their method of Crest implantation, they used the blood of a Nabatean they claimed exceeded the Immaculate One in strength to forge what they thought would be a powerful pawn: me… Like Lysithea, I bear two Crests, a shortened lifespan, and a trail of dead siblings.”

Edelgard’s hands were shaking again, as they only did when she was exceedingly anxious. The professor reached out wordlessly and took one of them in her own. Hubert couldn’t decide whether to be touched by her care for Edelgard or aggravated that she never seemed to make the missteps others did in trying to gain her favor.

Riegan let out an unnecessarily long breath, before saying, “So, you’re telling me that the Church of Seiros was founded by a group of supernatural beings who have been controlling the population through their blood gifts, and Rhea has been in charge since the very beginning? How did no one notice she never ages?”

Hubert let out a dark chuckle at this. When everyone turned his direction, he was forced to briefly join the conversation. “There is a long history of people mysteriously going missing in and around Garreg Mach. Use your imagination.”

Byleth was still holding Edelgard’s hand, and he found his eyes kept straying back to stare at their pale fingers—the different shades and scars playing against each other. Beautiful, the rebel part of his mind whispered, though rationality quickly shushed such musings.

Hilda twisted the end of a pink pigtail around her finger. “And you think Seteth is one of these Nabateans too? So he can turn into a dragon, like Rhea?” There was real fear in the girl’s eyes.

Good. She should be scared, Hubert thought.

“Unfortunately, that we don’t know for sure,” Edelgard replied. “Only speculation. The Immaculate One was presented by my captors as the only one remaining with this power, but it’s unclear if he or Flayn may possess it, now or in the future.”

Lysithea’s light brows were set in a determined line. “But who were our captors? Why did they tell you so much?” 

Edelgard locked eyes with Hubert for a moment before she answered the young mage’s questions. “We call them those who slither in the dark most of the time for the sake of secrecy, but they call themselves Agarthans. They claim to be the true children of Fodlan, driven underground by the false god Sothis and her champion Seiros. They are old enemies of the Nabateans and have been working in the shadows since before your country was founded to sow chaos and disturb the Church’s rule.

“As to why they told me so much, they intended for me to be their puppet, another tool with which to strike at the Church, and they wanted me to be motivated. I cannot speak to the validity of all they told me, but what could be confirmed about their story, was. I do think it likely that Tomas is one of them, considering the evidence.” Lady Edelgard fidgeted with her skirt with her free hand, refusing to meet the other’s eyes as she finished speaking. Hubert held his breath as he waited to see if she would confess their ongoing alliance with them. If she were going to do so, now would be the moment.

“So they weren’t allies of the Church, but their enemies?” Lysithea prodded.

Edelgard sighed. “Yes, but I don’t think either are without fault in what happened to us, even though one party enacted the lion’s share of torment. The Church’s selfish secrecy and rewriting of history made it possible for these people to thrive in the shadows, resulting in them amassing enough power to decimate two powerful families without consequence.”

Lysithea took a few steps back and sank heavily onto the bench she and Byleth had been sharing. “I had hoped that these clues”—she motioned to the parchment-laden desks—“would lead me to answers about what happened to me, as well as to Flayn…but now that I have them, I almost wish I was still ignorant.” Her voice was thick and her eyes growing damp.

Byleth finally released Edelgard and made to rejoin Lysithea on the bench, but Hilda was faster. She was at her side in a flash, putting an arm around the girl’s shoulders. Riegan wasn’t far behind, taking the mage’s other side, albeit more hesitantly.

There was another hour and a half of questioning and clarifying, during which Hubert was proud to say he stayed remarkably civil and mostly silent. Riegan, it seemed, was a voracious secret seeker, and did not require the processing time his classmates seemed to need in order to ask clever, probing questions. Lysithea cried intermittently on Hilda’s shoulder for the remainder of the meeting, but refused to leave when prompted, claiming she needed to hear everything. Hilda occasionally prompted Claude to refer to one of the documents on the desk or reacted in horror to a particularly gruesome detail, but she was primarily occupied with comforting the young mage.

Byleth asked no further questions and didn’t interrupt them again until the candles had all burned low. After Hilda’s second yawn, the professor announced: “Alright Claude, Edelgard, it’s getting late, and you all have a seminar in the morning. This is going to take more than one conversation to hash out. Perhaps we should close by setting our next meeting?”

Hubert was impressed when she went on to explain that they should change the time and location of their gatherings each time, so as to avoid anyone noticing a pattern they could take advantage of. Riegan’s smirk and raised brow suggested he shared Hubert’s feelings. 

They agreed to meet again the following morning after Hanneman’s magic and archery seminar to strategize next steps for locating Flayn. The professor reminded them before they parted of their agreement to tell no one and make no moves on this information without her permission, then Hilda offered to walk Lysithea back to her room. The mage accepted with a watery smile, and as they left, Edelgard made a strange, abortive gesture as if she wanted to follow. Normally, Hubert would have found this concerning, but it barely registered in the wake of all that had been revealed.

Preoccupied, Hubert glared at Riegan as he gathered the scattered documents, carefully sliding them into a leather binder. As he did so, the archer chatted and joked jovially with the professor; he even had the audacity to thank Lady Edelgard for talking so extensively about something that must be difficult for her. 

Hubert’s fingers itched to slay the Alliance heir even more now that he was alone with them. He was the biggest liability of those she had confided in. Edelgard had tried to have him killed at the beginning of term, and if he ever found out, he would certainly be able to destroy their plans with what he now knew. The cleanest thing would be to poison him, but her highness would not allow it. She wouldn’t have spent so much of her time answering the archer’s endless questions if she wanted him wasted immediately; she evidently had plans for him, to Hubert’s great unease. 

Hubert followed closely as Riegan escorted his liege out of the Golden Deer classroom and into the courtyard beyond. He had only just noticed Byleth lingering at his elbow, when Edelgard turned and gave him a hard look. Behave, she seemed to say. 

He was silent as they walked back to the dorms together—Riegan and Lady Edelgard in front, he and the professor in the rear. He kept several feet of buffer between himself and Byleth as they crossed the grounds.

When they came to Byleth’s quarters, Edelgard hesitated, and Riegan, thankfully, shot the trio a parting wink and went on ahead. As soon as he was out of sight, the professor pulled Edelgard into a brief embrace.

“I know how hard that was, and I am so proud of you,” Hubert heard her whisper in a voice thick with emotion before she pulled away.

Edelgard flushed happily. “Thank you, my teacher. I was following your example,” she confessed.

Hubert fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, if she had followed my counsel, those three would be dead,” he said, keeping his tone as light as he could—a hint above glacial—for Lady Edelgard’s sake.

The professor stiffened and turned rigidly toward him. “Believe me, I know that you don’t have much respect for me,” Byleth began, narrowing her eyes at the flagstones to the left of him. “But I hope you at least recognize my power. Everyone who was in that meeting is under my protection and my consequences if they break their word.” She took a step into his personal space, their eyes meeting like a sword against a shield, reverberating through him. 

“Don’t cross me, Vestra,” she said, so low he might have been the only one who heard. 

The effect was immediate. Her words were like venom eating their way through his body—burning, wounding, taunting. He knew he would be thinking about them (and her mouth as she spoke them) when he tried to sleep that night. He hated himself for being elated by the simple fact that she had talked to him again. The reprimand was akin to a caress.

Before he could recover enough to reply, the professor was stalking into her room, wishing Lady Edelgard goodnight as she passed. When Byleth sharply closed the door, letting it slam a little louder than was polite for the hour, her highness turned to him and laughed. 

Is she hysterical? he thought, closing the distance between them to inspect her. She looked a little tired and sad, but mostly she looked relieved, her violet eyes twinkling with mirth at his expense. Since she stopped letting him call her El, he rarely saw her look like this—a bright, slightly vulnerable version of herself he thought had been stamped out beneath the severity of the rising emperor.

Don’t you want to trust someone again?  Edelgard had asked him.

She was rapidly expanding the circle of people who she trusted with her secrets, and he was floundering to keep up. Yet, her expression and her laugh disturbed something in him that he kept pushing down: his loneliness. She must feel it too—how isolating it was to only be able to rely on the other. That must be why she seemed to be enjoying this exposing lark she was leading them on, however ill-advised.

“What could you possibly find amusing about this situation?” he asked too sharply, regretting the words as he watched her smile falter.

“I see that you are as angry with me now as you were earlier,” she replied evenly, leading the way into the dorm and up the stairs.

“Did you honestly expect them to change my opinion?”

A dry huff, almost another laugh, escaped her lips. “I had hoped the professor might…however foolish that sounds to you.”

Hubert considered that as they cleared the stairs. “I suppose this alliance with the Deer means that you are proceeding with a change in plans, no matter what I think.”

They stopped in front of Lady Edelgard’s door, and she crossed her arms, leaning back against the frame. “I did not want to do it this way, Hubert, but I can’t let fear prevent me from seeing the right path. Our plan as it stood had me playing right into the hands of those who hurt me. I refuse to do that when there is another, better option.”

“Are you saying you think my judgment is clouded by fear?” he hissed.

She breathed out slowly through her nose before she replied, as if calming herself. “I know it is, and I think I know why.” She wouldn’t look at him as she continued, fixing her eyes on the far wall. “I saw you dead barely a week ago, so I can say with certainty that losing you is one of my greatest fears as well, but these people are not the Marquis or my uncle. And if we want to avoid repeating our pasts, we need to make different choices. Losing me would not be such a blow to our cause if there were others to take up my mantle and continue our fight, and vice versa. Acquiring trustworthy allies is sens—”

“It would,” he insisted fiercely, striding to his own door and wrenching it open. He met her eyes wildly as he continued. “Losing you would decimate our cause, and your inability to see that is what concerns me the most about this new plan. But if you will not accept my counsel, I suppose I will merely have to redouble my efforts to protect you, even from yourself. Goodnight, your highness.”

Surprising himself with the level of impertinence he had reached, he shut the door behind him before she could answer, hoping she didn’t see how his fingers trembled. Between thoughts of Byleth and Edelgard, Hubert didn’t sleep a wink.

Chapter Text

Even if the subject is found unworthy later, the feelings are the important part of the revelation.

Sothis had said this to her after Hubert’s paroxysmal confession, and Byleth referenced her words like a lifeline as she sat through a painfully silent breakfast with the dark mage and Caspar. The latter kept trying to speak through mouthfuls of omelet, but each time was cut off by a snide reprimand from Hubert for abhorrent manners. Meanwhile, the dark mage scowled openly at his professor across the table. Byleth was no longer pretending not to notice, finishing her meal with the same furious expediency as the young noble beside her. 

Edelgard had been sitting with them originally, but made a hasty excuse before the food was served, insisting Hubert stay behind. Byleth had observed Lysithea leave the hall with a small basket of sweets a moment before the princess, and the professor thought she might understand why Edelgard would want to speak with the mage without her glowering shadow present. However, Byleth had not braced herself to endure Hubert’s dramatics so immediately that morning.

She was still reeling from all that had transpired yesterday and attempting to prepare for a private meeting with her father to share with him what she knew—all of it. Hubert’s deliberate hostility toward her was making it difficult to order her thoughts, and so she had stooped to his level, meeting him glare for glare through most of the short meal.

Normally, the green-haired spirit in her head would have chided her out of such juvenile behavior or encouraged her to put him in his place, but Sothis had been especially quiet since last night—a distant ponderous energy hovering in Byleth’s periphery. The professor had hoped her companion would recall some sort of clue to their origin from the crestology and Church secrets Claude and Edelgard had shared, but Sothis was largely unresponsive to Byleth’s queries on the subject, giving cryptic three word replies before withdrawing again to the depths of her consciousness.

Caspar still had Byleth beat on speed eating. He cleaned his plate first and rose with an unaffectedly cheerful expression on his face. “See ya, Professor! Hubert!” he called, as he rushed to the kitchen to return his dishes.

Byleth broke their staring contest to look down at her own plate, mostly empty. Good enough, she decided, preparing as if to follow Caspar.

A long-fingered hand shot out and pinned her wrist to the table before she could leave her seat. She suppressed a snarl in response, noting the many eyes and ears around them, Rhea’s included, sitting with Catherine nearby.

Don’t make a scene, don’t make a scene, she told herself. You could expose all of them if you draw too much scrutiny from the wrong person.

But Hubert just studied her coldly for two more barely calm breaths, then released her, smirk-scowling in a way that excited as much as it alarmed her. Despite Edelgard’s promise of secrecy, could Hubert have guessed at Byleth’s attraction? Was he mocking her for it? Or was this simply more of his usual taunting? Unspoken questions swirled in the silence as she rose fluidly and departed without a goodbye.

She tried to order the thunderstorm in her head during the short walk.

Her father was in his office, as she expected. His flask was open on the desk, along with several reports and a plate of untouched pastries someone had clearly brought him.

Probably Manuela, the flirt, Byleth thought, as she shut the door behind her.

“Hey, kid,” Jeralt greeted heavily. He sounded like he hadn’t gotten much sleep since Flayn vanished, either. Byleth sank into one of the couches opposite his desk, interlacing her hands in her lap. Where should she begin? She meant to plan this at breakfast, but Hubert had kept her distracted.

Her father didn’t give her much time to ponder; he had long ago become proficient in reading her silences. “What’s going on? Something on your mind?” he prompted, eyeing the closed door as he came to sit opposite her.

“You know about my misgivings regarding Rhea’s motivations for hiring me for this role,” Byleth began, twisting her fingers uncomfortably. She knew her father didn’t fully trust the Archbishop, but she was still unclear as to what level of loyalty he held for her, as he had readily agreed to return to his post at the monastery with the smallest of guilt-trips from the green-haired shapeshifter.

“I think your remarkable work thus far proves it was the right choice.” Pride crinkled the corners of his eyes, but Byleth huffed at the praise.

“I’m not talking about my performance,” she replied, much more sharply than she’d meant to. Jeralt seemed taken aback by her emotion. “I’m sorry,” she amended, placing her palms over her eyes before dragging them slowly down her face. “I know that I can trust you, but I don’t trust her, and my students have recently given me evidence to support that feeling. I need to know… Can I count on your confidence if I share their findings with you?”

Byleth met her father’s eyes, trying to read the thoughts behind the grim line of his mouth and the hand that toyed with his short beard. Jeralt let out a long sigh. “There will never be something you can’t count on me for, kid. You know that.”

She thought he would say something like that. “I will hold you to that.”

Byleth described the meeting with the Golden Deer students and all that was said in soft, cautious tones, wary of being overheard with Seteth’s office right across the hall. He had been out when she arrived, but he might return. Her father was stone faced during most of her explanation, only interrupting to ask short, clarifying questions. She finished by sharing their plans to meet again later that day and her hope that Jeralt would join them. As Knight Captain, he would be best positioned to support their potential capture of Tomas without incurring too many questions from Rhea or exposing her students. Their mercenary band was still operating out of the surrounding villages, at Jeralt’s call as needed, and they would keep quiet if asked.

He agreed to attend the meeting, and Byleth felt her rigid spine relax slightly with relief—but only slightly. She knew there was more to tell.

“Thank you, but that’s not all I needed to speak with you about,” she said, flushing at the thought of explaining what had happened with Hubert in relation to the Divine Pulse. Wishing, for the fiftieth time that morning, that Sothis was available to consult, Byleth wondered if she could leave out any mention of the dark mage. The professor had been keeping so much from her father since they arrived there—where should her confession stop? How much detail was necessary to say that she had given him the full truth?

Jeralt reached behind him, swiped the flask from his desktop, and took a long swig as Byleth hesitated. “I’m listening,” he prodded.

Byleth looked away, fixing her eyes on a corner of the room, fearful of what she might see in his expression as she began. “Remember the green-haired girl I’ve been dreaming about since I was a child? She’s real. She lives in my head, and her name is Sothis.” Her father inhaled sharply, and she heard him take another drink. “The day we met the students in Remire, I was going to die. That bandit came at Edelgard with an axe, and I threw myself in front of her without thinking.” Her tone grew more guarded and flat, edging toward the Ashen Demon as she explained. “I didn’t have a weapon, but Sothis saved me by reversing time, a power she has since granted to me, as well.” 

Byleth paused, glancing guiltily back at Jeralt. “That’s how I’ve kept the students safe this whole time. My performance is remarkable because I’ve been erasing my mistakes.”

His eyes softened, and he swirled his finger thoughtfully over the mouth of the flask. “You seem ashamed of that for some reason.”

“Rewriting time does not seem to erase the scars. The students remember. They’ve died in my care—many of them—and they are haunted by the memories. How could I not be ashamed of that?” Her voice had flattened to a frightening monotone, but Jeralt was smiling for some reason.

“You’ve grown so much, kid,” he said, reaching a hand across the low table between them to grip her upper arm. “I can’t regret the decision to come here, not after seeing you the way you’ve been recently. There was a time when you wouldn’t flinch in sympathy for someone else’s suffering.”

Byleth was baffled by the discovery that revealing her repeated failures would somehow make her father happy. It was as confounding as when she told her students of the Divine Pulse, and they only grew more devoted to her as a result.

But he still doesn’t know the full extent of my missteps, she thought ruefully, eyeing the hand on her arm.

Her voice was still largely toneless as she replied, “Sothis thinks my lack of emotion is her doing, and I have noticed remarkable changes since she awoke, feelings I haven’t fully understood.”

She was hinting toward the reason for her discovery of the memories in the first place, toeing toward confessing it all. There was something that seemed dirty and devious about having no other adult to hold her accountable for her behavior with the students in her care. Her father would know how twisted she had let this become; he would be disappointed with her, as she deserved, and there was a sort of safety in that. Jeralt’s judgment was the only thing the Ashen Demon really cared about, before Edelgard cracked her shell like an egg.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” he asked, passing her the flask as he released her arm.

“How do you always know?” she murmured, taking it with a small twitch of her brow. It was less than half full.

He replied with a shrug. “You’re my child.”

Raising the metal container to her nose, she smelled strong spirits of some kind. Byleth didn’t have enough experience with the stuff to know what type. Despite Jeralt’s habits, he had striven to keep his daughter away from liquor—only, that is, after an incident in which he offered her drinks in the hopes that they would help her be more expressive with others, and she almost killed two men. She maintained that they had dangerous intentions, though she barely remembered drawing her sword on them outside the tavern.

Ignoring her vague unease over her history with it, she drank deeply from the flask, the liquor burning her nose and throat. She had heard people call alcohol “liquid courage,” and her paralyzing nerves could use some of that right now. She only coughed twice after swallowing and returned the near-empty container to her father.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Sothis sooner,” she said.

Jeralt sighed. “It’s alright. I’ve kept things from you, too.”

Suddenly suspicious of how easily he was taking all this, she asked, “For example?”

He raised a bemused brow at his daughter. “You first, kid. Finish your story.”

Byleth sank bonelessly back into the couch. The weight of it all felt so heavy and entangled. Talking about the situation with Hubert when Edelgard was concerned that he had assaulted her was one thing; willingly opening up about it to her father was another entirely.

She waited until she began to feel the dull buzz of the alcohol on the edges of her mind, then spoke to the ceiling.

“Sothis says it’s a mutual attraction,” the professor said, her voice barely loud enough for Hubert to hear from Manuela’s office, even with the spell he’d performed to aid his eavesdropping.

A mutual attraction? he thought dumbly, marveling at the turn this had taken.

Hubert had not shadowed Byleth since their encounter she had erased, but the anxiety behind her irritation at breakfast had been far too tempting in the wake of Lady Edelgard’s unprecedented behavior yesterday. This could be his opportunity to finally catch the professor in a lie and expose her for what she was—a threat. 

He hadn’t been disappointed. The professor had remained steadfast with them that she did not know where the power to turn back time came from, suggesting it was related to her crest. The revelation of this girl living in her head—who Byleth called Sothis, the name of the Church’s goddess—explained much. All of the occasions in which the professor’s behavior hinted at silent conversations with an invisible third party suddenly came into focus. It certainly lent credence to the theory that she was a puppet of the Church, and he knew that revealing this to her highness would drive a much needed wedge between professor and pupil.

If Edelgard believed him, that is. It was rather far-fetched, and after their last conversation, he wouldn’t blame her for suspecting him of desperation thick enough that he would spin such a tale.

“I… Everything is so new. I didn’t know it meant I desired him,” the professor continued after a long pause, her voice still strangely monotone. “I thought I was poisoned the first time it happened.”

Byleth continued to shock him with the complexity of her choices. He would never have expected the professor to begin to share details of a romantic nature in this meeting with her father. The topic sharpened Hubert’s interest in a way that sickened and excited him. Half his thoughts began to steep in a strange jealousy. Who made her feel this way? He pressed his ear more firmly against the wall.

“You thought you were poisoned?” the Blade Breaker prompted, sounding somewhat amused. The man had taken all of this information shockingly well. So well that Hubert suspected the things Jeralt mentioned keeping from his daughter had to do with her mysterious origins.

Hubert heard Byleth huff a sigh. “He touched my back, and it, sort of, burned? But in a good way. I thought maybe dark magic or poison could explain it.”

Dark magic? There were not many here who specialized in it, as Hubert did. He felt betrayed by the hope gathering in his chest.

“Is this about that sallow kid who’s always following you around in the bushes?” Jeralt asked, and Hubert almost choked on his sharp inhale. It seemed he had been more obvious than he’d realized with his surveillance.

Wheezing, he listened tensely for the professor’s reply. Her throat sounded as tight as his felt when she said, “I wouldn’t say he’s sallow…but, yes. This is about him and my…misconduct as his mentor.”

Hubert could barely hear her last words over the pounding of blood in his ears.

I promise you that you don’t fully grasp her devotion to us, Lady Edelgard had told him. Of course she had known. She had probably gone straight to the professor after lecturing him on sexual intimidation—which was not a standard practice of his—to make apologies on behalf of her vassal. Edelgard had strangely not revisited the subject since then; he had been expecting her highness to demand he beg Byleth’s forgiveness if he didn’t act of his own accord. Since she had not, that likely meant the professor had made it clear that wasn’t necessary, and his lady had kept it from him.

She, who just made a show about honesty and transparency between them. The hypocrisy of it stung, as did the implied intention to have him develop this attraction into something more to tie Byleth’s power to Lady Edelgard’s Empire. He had long ago accepted the possibility that he may have to marry to help secure his liege’s rule in a united Fodlan, but he expected something arranged with a pliable noble—not this. He would have done it, of course; that was beside the point. He wished Edelgard had spoken with him about it. Though he supposed it mattered little now that he knew what the professor had kept from them.

Jeralt was speaking again, and Hubert wrenched himself out of his swirling thoughts to catch the last of his words. “…by misconduct, kid?”

Yes, what did she mean by that? Hubert echoed in the long pause before she replied.

“Hubert was trying to intimidate me. He has been since I got here. I found it amusing”—Jeralt snorted, as if this wasn’t surprising to him—”so I egged it on a bit. Poked at him to see what would happen. I was being flippant with him, but I didn’t expect… He came up from behind and pinned me against my desk and threatened me, and I didn’t stop him. I could have, but I felt embarrassed and…exhilarated in a way I’ve never felt before.” Byleth paused to cough uncomfortably. “So, I let him finish his attempt to frighten me, then I turned back time to erase it.”

She was truly exhilarated by that?

Jeralt was quick on the uptake. “Let me guess. This was how you discovered your students could remember?”

There was a pause during which Hubert could hear the Blade Breaker taking a drink from an almost dry container. “Yes. He thought I was trying to hypnotize him or some such after the memories returned. In his anger, he revealed an attraction to me that he thought I had conjured.” Emotion was creeping back into Byleth’s voice in small spurts, and the undertones of shame and anxiety ate at him in a way he found unusually distressing. “I had to come clean about the time altering, then.”

“I see,” her father answered mildly. “This doesn’t sound like—”

“There’s more!” she rushed on, gaining a frantic pace, tone tinged with panic. “Shortly after, he hid an injury because he didn’t trust me, and died on the floor of his tent. I saved his life after I and many students witnessed the corpse. Edelgard found out about our interactions and was worried Hubert had been taking advantage of me”—a scoff from the Blade Breaker—“so I had to confess to her about my feelings and secure her promise of secrecy.”

Byleth finally paused to breathe and Jeralt sighed heavily. “Kid, if this is all that happened… Listen, it doesn’t sound like misconduct on your part, beyond having feelings you can’t control about a situation you didn’t initiate. You’re their age. I should have prepared you more for these sorts of things. This isn’t your fault.”

But this did not calm his daughter, nor slow her pace; the only changes were that she was louder and more emotional than before. “Then why do I feel so guilty about it? Aren’t these feelings supposed to have a purpose? What is that, if not to punish wrongdoing in myself? Or are you just excusing my behavior because I’m your daughter, and I didn’t know how to laugh until six months ago, so anything is an improvement?”

There was a noise of shifting bodies, and Byleth’s voice came out slightly muffled as she continued. “I didn’t feel it before when people called me a monster, but I do now, and I have to be better. I have”—a hollow hiccup—”to protect”—another hiccup—“my students. Even from me.” What sounded like a sob pierced through the concrete. “I have to be good enough.”

It took Hubert a startlingly long time to realize she was crying about this. Him. The thought that she could have taken advantage of him due to their positions was almost laughable to the dark mage, but the cries cutting deep into his ribcage were not. They filled him with an impotent sort of rage.

He wanted to go to her. To explain that his presence in her class was a farce, a disguise he and her highness were wearing to weaken the Church. He wanted to lay it all at her feet, to hold her, comfort her even. On the other hand, he was hurt that she promised him the truth and kept half of it from him. He was also furious that she had put him in a position to be rid of her. Truly rid of her. 

If he won, the game was over entirely. They couldn’t leave such a powerful asset for the Church to use against them. If they couldn’t trust her, there was only one solution—the one he had been suggesting from the start.

The victory tasted like ashes.

Any sign that he knew of Byleth’s guilt would deprive Lady Edelgard the element of surprise in her next move, so he could say nothing. Do nothing. Hubert would not hinder their cause with his foolish desires, but the wanting was sickeningly sweet, like a forbidden drug. He felt both nauseated and uplifted as longing multiplied inside him, begging in time with her cries.

He didn’t want to hear anymore.

He wanted to hear every word.

It was like tearing a scab off a fresh wound, dragging himself from the wall of Manuela’s office. Even after he dispelled the effect he’d used to heighten his senses and hastily exited the room, Hubert still thought he could hear her crying—low, but haunting. Ringing in his ears through the halls of the monastery, all the way back to the Black Eagles classroom where he hoped to find Lady Edelgard.

He only stopped once to throw up carefully in the hedges.

The hot, animal smell of the stables pressed in on Edelgard as she, Lysithea, and Hubert waited for the others to arrive for their meeting.

After Hanneman’s seminar let out, the trio had walked there together from the Officer’s Academy. Hubert had been oscillating between nervous silence and icy venom since they joined him, and that, combined with the odor, was starting to sour her mood.

Byleth had explained that her mercenary company’s horses occupied a good portion of the stalls, which would give them a degree of privacy to mount and ride out into the surrounding countryside. The risk of being overheard would be almost nothing out there, and the location would also explain the presence of both the students and the Blade Breaker (should he join) as he gave the occasional mounted combat lesson.

Hubert was hovering more closely than suited his general mood, elbow brushing Edelgard’s, so she felt him stiffen at the approaching footsteps. Confident, heavy boot falls and a direct, plodding gait alongside. Edelgard wasn’t surprised to see Jeralt and Byleth round the corner into the main aisle of their section of the stalls, though a little quake of gratitude and awe went through the princess at the sight of Byleth turning Rhea’s most formidable knight to her students’ cause. Edelgard kept stamping down the murmuring thoughts that it was too good to be true. Too good for someone as stained as her.

It’s not for us, she told the Hubert in her head. It’s for our Empire. It has to be built on better things than we are. The Hubert against her side cringed slightly into her, and she was almost startled enough that she looked at him, but then she noticed the professor’s face.

Cast down, puffy eyes ringed in angry red. It was immediately clear that Byleth had been crying, and Edelgard couldn’t help but recall the only other time she’d seen the professor cry—the slow tracks of tears down her face as she kneeled over Hubert’s corpse.

He had been notably absent from Hanneman’s seminar prior.

What has he done? Edelgard took a stabilizing breath, steeling her muscles before she did something rash, like lash out with an elbow. There was little doubt her retainer had played a part in this.

The Blade Breaker’s mouth was set in a firm line, though he kept shooting his daughter concerned glances. When the pair came to a stop in front of Hubert, Edelgard, and Lysithea, Byleth explained briefly at a low volume: “My father has agreed to aid me in protecting all of you as we progress. He will keep our secrets.” Her voice sounded stranger than ever before—a fake imitation of her past inflection overlaying her battle tone.

Edelgard opened her mouth to reassure the professor, but Lysithea was quicker. “I don’t think you would bring him here if he hadn’t agreed to your terms,” she said.

The princess smiled. “Nor do I,” she seconded Lysithea. Edelgard was truly beginning to like the girl. She had sought her out at breakfast as an assignment—a task in solidifying alliances. Lysithea and she had the most in common, after all. But the mage’s sharp and brutal observations preceding and then, more softly, during the seminar had begun to chisel out a new section in the growing soft spot in Edelgard’s heart for her classmates.

To Jeralt, she said, “Blade Breaker, thank you for this favor. I assure you that we will compensate you well for the risk you are taking in protecting our affairs.”

He crossed his arms, widening his intimidating figure further, and scowled briefly, eyes cutting sideways to Hubert. “Make no mistake,” Jeralt cautioned. “I am doing this only at Byleth’s request because she cares about you kids. Whatever favors you may owe for this, you owe to her.”

“Understood, Captain,” Claude cut in cheerily, causing most of their party to wince. It seemed the majority didn’t hear him approach. Byleth’s face was unchanged.

The archer slung an arm around the professor’s shoulders, as Jeralt examined him with a disapproving frown. The former stiffened momentarily at the contact, then with a flash of relief, seemed to relax slightly into it. 

From around the corner came a hurried step, and Hilda appeared. “Claude!” she exclaimed. “How did you beat me? We left the seminar at the same time, and I headed straight here! I thought you were with me until—”

Claude turned so only Hilda could see his face and appeared to mouth something at her. Pink brows shot up in momentary surprise before she crossed her arms and approached, giving her leader a side-eye as she came to stand with Lysithea and Edelgard. “Sorry, I must have been confused,” Hilda simpered, all levity and innocence now, though her smile faltered momentarily when she caught sight of the professor.

Claude seemed to be murmuring something to her, and when Byleth turned to him to respond, Edelgard saw that he, too, was not without sympathy for their teacher. Something honest and concerned flickered across the archer’s face, but was gone in an instant.

“Now that everyone’s here,” Jeralt said in a louder voice than he had used previously, “let’s get on with the combat lesson. Mount up. Stalls A-H are all available.”

They went through the motions of saddling their horses in the battle gear associated with their specialties. Edelgard’s eyes kept straying to Byleth, who was bridling her mount with a practiced efficiency and a blank stare. It wouldn’t have seemed so eerie several months ago, but now it grated against Edelgard’s senses.

Lysithea shared a worried glance with her as they led their horses out into the grass. They stopped back to back. “Do you think the professor and her father fought about this, but she prevailed?” Lysithea whispered over her shoulder, before hoisting herself atop her horse. Edelgard followed suit as she turned that possibility over in her mind.

Could it be so simple? It was true the Blade Breaker didn’t seem altogether delighted to be party to this conspiracy, but would his resistance truly drive her to tears? Byleth had told her she didn’t have a full emotional range prior to joining them, so perhaps a fight with her father would be upsetting enough to ruffle their unflappable mentor.

The princess turned toward the young mage as she led her horse to canter past. “You could be right,” she agreed circuitously, keeping her doubts from her face. 

The ride into the land surrounding Garreg Mach was a thoughtful sort of silent, for all but Byleth. Though her heart clearly was not in it, the professor stopped the party twice to dully point out plants that were medicinally useful in a battlefield crisis.

Shortly after the second explanation—purslane, the main ingredient to a barebones vulnerary recipe—they entered a wooded area. Byleth announced from the front of the party that they were stopping. 

As good a spot as any, Edelgard supposed. There was a rushing creek to their right, the sound of which would further mask their conversation. The professor dismounted stiffly, and the students and Blade Breaker followed suit.

Their boots hit the ground, and Claude and Hilda both immediately made their way back to Byleth’s side, concerned little furrows in their brows. It was admittedly in their interest to cozy up to the professor, but still, Edelgard watched them with a stir of insecurity. Surely, she was far too ruthless and calculating to truly have gained the trust of people such as these. People wanted warmth in moments of vulnerability, and Edelgard could manage didactic at best most times. It would be foolish to expose herself like that in front of the others, so she had chosen to sit back and observe, unconcerned with Byleth’s feelings in the interim. Shame crept down the princess’ tight throat.

But suddenly the professor was crossing the rough circle that had begun to form to stand between Lysithea and Edelgard. To the latter, she leaned near and whispered, “Don’t mind my father. It was nothing to do with you or your safety that put us in this mood.” Edelgard looked at Byleth in surprise, as a hand squeezed hers in brief reassurance. Her professor’s eyes were still puffy, but the blue beneath the swollen skin was hard as ice.

“Now then, Claude,” Byleth motioned to the archer. “You have some information you wanted to share first-off?”

A smirk crept up his face then stilled back into something more practiced. “Yes. It seems,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “that I stumbled on a bit of information that may be vital to this Flayn situation. Manuela was always complaining about this man she had been seeing and how cool and drafty his room was compared to the rest of the castle. She told me once when she was drunk about how it had to be very hush-hush. You know, he couldn’t take her on dates, that sort of thing. I followed her one time because I was curious if it was Hanneman, because of their whole dynamic, but no, it was Jeritza.”

Claude paused only for no one to exclaim in surprise, though Edelgard’s blood ran cold. She could guess where this might be going.

“And this is related to Flayn in what way?” Hubert asked acerbically. 

He must be catching on as well, she thought.

Claude continued as if her retainer hadn’t spoken. “Anyway, I was sitting in my dorm last night, and I was thinking about how relieved I was that the weather is finally getting cooler. You know how hot and stuffy all the rooms have been in recent months, even with the windows? Except for the ones that are fully or partially underground. So, considering Jeritza’s room was above ground, it was, let’s call it, strange that Manuela would have found it cool and drafty, while all of ours were definitely not. I thought it was suspicious enough given current circumstances to investigate, and I found…” He looked around at the group to build the suspense.

“Enough performing,” Byleth ordered in a ruthless monotone. “This is serious.” 

Claude’s face fell noticeably, but he did finish his explanation, “I found a secret passage that goes beneath the monastery behind a bookcase in Jeritza’s room.”

That got the reaction that he had likely been hoping for. Byleth’s eyes narrowed further, until just the barest slivers of blue peeked out. Hilda and Lysithea gasped. Edelgard tried not to wince and to look mildly surprised, instead. Hubert was stone still against her upper arm.

“A secret passage?” the Blade Breaker replied sharply. “Does Jeritza know you saw it?”

No, or he would have alerted me, Edelgard thought.

Claude flashed a grin at everyone before he answered. “I can’t say for sure that he even knows it’s there. It was closed, and well hidden behind a shelf. He didn’t bring that furniture—it belongs to the monastery. There was a seam in the rock a fraction wider than the rest, and that’s what was letting the air in. I didn’t go very far, but it’s a pretty obvious descent.”

Byleth huffed. “And you put everything back as you found it?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“What makes you think this is related to Flayn?” Edelgard repeated Hubert’s earlier question with more force.

Claude turned to lock eyes with her, and she could see a satisfied smirk playing at the left corner of his mouth before he replied. “Because in the two minutes I spent in that passage, I heard voices. More than a few, by the sound. No one saw Flayn leave the grounds. What if these Agarthans knew of this passage somehow and used it to abduct her beneath the monastery? At the very least, there’s a suspicious group lurking beneath the school who we should investigate. But the timing suggests it could be related. Unless we have other leads?”

Edelgard kept her face neutral, turning to Byleth for her opinion.

The professor shared a brief aside with her father, then rejoined them. “We do not have other leads, that is true,” Byleth confirmed. “And regardless, you’re right, it’s worthy of investigation.”

“We’ll be splitting into two teams,” Jeralt said. “Byleth’s team will enter first and act as reconnaissance for our main force. Claude and Lysithea will accompany her. Edelgard, Hubert, and Hilda—you’ll be with me and a few mercenaries we can trust.” The Blade Breaker cast an assessing eye over them.

“With your support, I also suggest we inform Seteth before we depart,” Byleth added.

Edelgard’s brows shot up. She had not expected this. “Are you certain that’s wise?”

“It’s unavoidable that the Church will know the two classes have been collaborating if we take on this mission jointly,” Byleth replied. “There’s nothing inherently suspicious about it, but we look suspect if we act and keep them completely in the dark.”

“But what if the Archbishop orders us to let the Knights handle it instead?” Hilda interjected. Edelgard inclined her head to the brigand, acknowledging her astute point.

Byleth pursed her lips and shook her head. “That is certainly a risk, but her duties often keep her occupied. If we time our investigation appropriately and bring the information to Seteth urgently, we should be able to avoid Rhea until our return. I doubt Seteth will ask us to delay.”

“And if he insists on joining us?” Edelgard asked. 

“Then we turn him on the people who kidnapped his sister, and we act the part. He very well may reveal more than we would have discovered without him. Remember, he has every reason to assume we remain his allies.”

Edelgard swallowed this reply like a bitter tincture, and nodded. As sensible as it was, the princess worried that the Agarthans’ reactions to her betrayal may give her away.

“I don’t think we can discount the potential risk of being discovered by Jeritza, on the chance that he’s an Agarthan agent,” Lysithea cut in. Edelgard measured her reactions and silently acknowledged the drawbacks of surrounding herself with brilliant people who she only told partial truths.

“You’re right,” Jeralt said to the mage, as Claude clapped his classmate encouragingly on the shoulder. “If we speak with Seteth, that frees me up to involve the Knights to some extent. I will ask Shamir to keep an eye on Jeritza and bring reinforcements should he make a move to join the forces beneath us.”

So I won’t be able to call on him if things don’t go as planned down there, Edelgard groused, meeting eyes briefly with Hubert. He would probably say that she had backed herself into a corner again, as he had after the disaster with the bandits she hired. What was worse was that he wouldn’t be wrong. If this blew up in their faces, she would have no one but herself to blame.

Edelgard realized, as they began to tremble, that she was locking her knees in a tellingly rigid posture. She forced her exterior to relax, while inside she continued to cringe and clench with unease.

The light brush of Hubert’s sleeve against her wrist brought her attention back outside her head, and she turned to feel his concerned eyes graze hers. She shifted her weight slightly, pushing her arm firmly against his, a stabilizing connection. He let out an abrupt exhale at the contact, but made no move away.

“What questions do you have?” Byleth asked, looking around at the students. Her tone had grown steadily brighter the longer they talked. She almost seemed her usual self, if you didn’t look at the red cupping her eyes.

“Do we have enough healers?” Hilda offered. “It seems Jeralt’s team won’t have any, unless some of your mercenaries are adept.” She glanced uncertainly at the Blade Breaker as she said the latter, but the large man merely nodded.

“Good point, Goneril! I’ll make sure to bring a healer, unless you had someone in mind from your own ranks?” Jeralt replied. Byleth seemed rather taken aback by his quickly warming to the students’ inquiries and input.

Hilda seemed to share her professor’s surprise, leaving an awkwardly long pause before she responded. “Me? I… I guess I do, actually. Marianne is a great healer, very loyal to her classmates, and I know she can keep a secret.”

Claude grimaced briefly. “Ah, actually, I’ve thought through this before. All of your points about Marianne are valid, but the truth about the Church and their history will shatter and terrify her. It will likely take time before she can pretend around Rhea and Seteth, as she would have to do immediately if we brought her along.”

“Then the natural choice is Linhardt,” Edelgard interjected, to an answering grin from the archer.

“My thoughts exactly. I doubt he will be as rattled by this.”

Hilda shrugged. “Claude’s probably right. I don’t have any objections to Linhardt.” Her tone was bright as ever, but the dull look in her eyes betrayed her. 

“Good. Linhardt it is,” Byleth said. “Edelgard, will you bring him up to speed?” She nodded her agreement.

“When do we leave?” Lysithea asked, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet.

Byleth breathed the ghost of a laugh at the mage’s enthusiasm. “In two hours, if you think you can be ready by then. Jeritza has battlefield drills with the Lions and Eagles after lunch, so his room will be empty, and the Archbishop should be meeting with Margrave Gautier in her chambers.”

“We’ll be ready,” Lysithea announced confidently. Claude smiled his surprise, and affirmed her words with a nod, echoed by Hilda.

Edelgard’s joints had grown rigid again at the tight timetable. She wasn’t expecting them to move until the evening, forgetting the obstacle Jeritza played in everyone else’s minds. When Byleth turned her attention to her, it was all Edelgard could do to keep the terror from her face. Speech was a step beyond her abilities, at that instant.

“Lady Edelgard and I may need more time to prepare Linhardt,” Hubert interjected. Somehow, he always seemed to know when she most needed his support. “He is notoriously full of questions under normal circumstances, especially when it has to do with Crests, as you know.”

Byleth inclined her head to his point. “Three hours for the Eagles, then, since we were planning to give my team an hour head start, anyway.”

Hubert’s lips puckered sourly, before he replied, “It will be done.”

Edelgard nodded her support for this when Byleth turned her probing gaze to her pupil.

“Excellent. Are we in agreement about my speaking with Seteth?”

The Golden Deer issued a chorus of agreements. Edelgard found her voice at last and managed to grind out, “I trust your judgment, my teacher.” Hubert seemed content to let his liege speak for him.

“I really hope he doesn’t turn out to be a dragon, too,” Hilda muttered, causing Claude to chuckle.

Byleth sighed. “You’re not the only one hoping that… If there are no other questions, let’s hasten back to the monastery and prepare for battle.”

The students rushed to follow her lead, the Blade Breaker moving at a steady, practiced pace behind them. Edelgard and Hubert shared a heavy look as they mounted side-by-side. When they began to ride back the way they had come, he leaned slightly toward her, a frantic intensity in his expression. 

 “I require a private audience with you before we speak with Linhardt.”

Chapter Text

“How did you expect me to respond, Hubert?” Lady Edelgard demanded. “She wanted my aid to protect her position as our teacher. Should I have compromised our cover by revealing how little the Church’s opinion matters to me?”

Hubert exhaled sharply, letting his hand drag down from where it had been clutching his forehead. “I expected you to lie to her and tell me anyway, as we have always done. You fundamentally altered our course and gave me only a fraction of the information necessary to do my job as your right-hand!” He loathed the wounded notes in his voice, ringing slightly in Edelgard’s sparsely furnished room. 

“If I had known at the time how events would unfold with Flayn and the Deer, I would have spoken with you about her feelings,” his lady attempted to soothe.

He barked a poisonous laugh. “And yet, after last night’s revelations, you still remained silent on the subject.” He let that sink in for a moment before continuing, his mouth growing dry despite the venom on his tongue. “You will be shocked to learn, of course, that I was correct to mistrust her.”

The frozen expression on Edelgard’s face told him much—caught between doubt of his honesty and doubt of her own judgment. It was what he expected, but it still stung.

Hubert swallowed drily over the sour taste of vomit still clinging in his throat, and then told her of the conversation he had overheard and of the spirit that Byleth claimed granted her the power to reverse time. “She called the entity Sothis and described a girl with green hair.”

Violet eyes rapidly turned from conflicted to devastated, and his spikes of anger softened at her distress. “She lied to us.” Edelgard breathed the words like the last puff of air from the dying—a clear loss of vitality accompanied them.

“So it would seem.” His hand was on her shoulder before he could even consider halting the action. She leaned into the stabilizing touch. She had been doing that more frequently since his brush with death, but he thought little of the change. He hoped he was bringing her some degree of comfort.

“Does she know that you overheard any of this?”

His thoughts flickered to the sound of Byleth sobbing through the wall, and his irrational urge to comfort her, his—their enemy. “Of course not,” he answered, almost a beat too slowly.

Edelgard shrugged off his hand and turned perpendicular to him, hiding her face behind a sheet of white hair. “You are right to be angry with me. I risked our futures on my faith in a woman I hardly know.”

Hubert huffed a bitter laugh. “If it’s any consolation, Lady Edelgard, I do not revel in being right this time. Had she been as you saw her…well, our futures would have been bright indeed.” It was as large a stab at his true feelings as he could manage.

She still wouldn’t look at him, but her breathing hitched, then resumed at a strained pace. “There is little time to consider our next move. You must prepare Linhardt to join the search party, while I locate Jeritza to confirm his loyalty.”

“Shamir is quite capable. Having her tailing him will be inconvenient.” Hubert braced himself for his next words, sealing over the wail of protest within him with an icy veneer. “Assuming he can still be trusted, his Death Knight could be the ideal resolution to our professor-problem. We have no clear connection to him, and we have already established with your other confidantes that the Agarthans have particularly effective infiltration strategies. Burning him as a nearby asset would likely not risk our position here nor the allies you’ve gathered, and”—he chose this word carefully—“removing Byleth from the Church’s pocket would be worth the inconvenience of sending Jeritza away.”

This plan also had the added benefit of keeping Hubert’s poison from the professor’s lips—a once reassuring daydream of his now turned to a sickening torment.

A foreboding stillness overtook Lady Edelgard at his words, and Hubert almost thought he could hear the rigid muscles in her neck creaking as she slowly swiveled her gaze toward him at last. “Today she turned the Blade Breaker to our side, and yet you are still so hasty to be rid of her?”

It was Hubert’s turn to stiffen. “The loss of his daughter to our enemy may galvanize his support. Or, more than likely, he’s involved in whatever game the professor’s playing under Rhea’s thumb, in which case it’s prudent to quickly redirect the Church’s attention to those who slither in the dark. The Death Knight”—Edelgard stood abruptly—“can do that.”

For a moment, she was eerily without expression, almost an imitation of Byleth, then his lady’s brows and mouth sank into a deep frown. “Some of your conclusions are sound, but I find fault with your motives. You mentioned earlier that the professor expressed her mistrust of Rhea to Jeralt, yet now you claim that her deception regarding her power proves that she’s truly Rhea’s pawn. If that is true, then why—”

“Why else would she deceive us, then?” Hubert interrupted, surging over the line to insubordination

Edelgard seemed perplexed by the question, raising a pale brow at her retainer. “Perhaps for the same reason she came to the stables in such a state earlier? Lysithea suggested that she and Jeralt were fighting, but from what you’ve said, he took the conversation remarkably well. Which means she was upset about the situation with you, who have not hidden your disdain for the goddess as well as you presume.”

Hubert’s lips pursed into a thin line. It seemed nothing the professor did would be damning enough to cast her from Edelgard’s side, so long as his lady could rationalize her motivations. Shame, fury, and relief warred inside of him. But he knew his duty.

“You said so yourself,” he tried again, still attempting to play the part of the unbiased advisor. “We hardly know her! Are you truly so convinced that these feelings are not a ruse to distract us from her true intentions?”

Edelgard exhaled with her whole body, pulling her shoulders back and turning to the door to depart. “As I said before, we must take the time to carefully consider how we will act on what you’ve learned today—time we do not have at present. I will meet you and Linhardt at the rendezvous point.”

She left the door ajar in her wake, cape slapping against the frame as she turned sharply into the hall. 

Hubert made his way to Linhardt’s quarters, lying to himself about how grateful he was that Lady Edelgard refuted his strategy.

Claude’s face lit up with interest when Byleth rounded the corner with Rhea’s anxious advisor stalking intensely in her wake. She cursed inwardly at the house leader’s thinly restrained glee. The professor had not fully considered the implications of pairing Claude’s nettling nature with Seteth’s current mood, and she hoped that it didn’t further complicate what had become a maddeningly delicate situation.

Sothis stirred slightly at the wave of worry that washed through her counterpart, but she said nothing, to Byleth’s disappointment.

Seteth turned to the Alliance heir immediately, expression severe. "I am grateful for your focus and quick thinking in this, despite the rules obviously violated." He inclined his head toward a bemused Claude.

"You can thank me when we find her," the student replied without missing a beat. Byleth released an internal breath, grateful that Claude seemed to be in a cooperative state of mind.

Lysithea, though she had visibly tensed at Seteth's approach, also spoke up. "I assure you, Flayn's rescue has been our top priority."

Seteth stretched his lips into a strained imitation of a smile at the younger student, then turned to Byleth. "I am anxious to be on our way."

"Of course," the professor nodded. "Shamir has not located Jeritza. Apparently the Lions report that he never showed for their evening spear instruction yesterday, so for the moment, we should assume he is with the enemy. We don't know what we're walking into, so I expect," her eyes narrowed, darting between Claude and Lysithea, "you two to follow our lead and orders without hesitation. If I determine this mission is too dangerous at any point, I will tell you to retreat and regroup with the others, and you will do as I instruct, even if it means leaving the two of us behind. Am I understood?"

The students voiced their agreement, before falling in line behind an impatient Seteth, who led the way to Jeritza's quarters. They were unsurprised to find them empty, and Claude swaggered to the front of the group to demonstrate his discovery.

Just as he had described earlier, the bookcase was drawn away to reveal a rectangular passage of about Byleth's height. Cool, slightly damp air washed out over the party. Seteth let out an almost relieved huff, as if he wasn't fully convinced this was a true lead until that moment. Stooping slightly to fit, he entered the dark corridor, and Byleth followed, waving the students in behind her.

"Leave it open for our reinforcements," she ordered Claude, before lighting a torch and passing it to the green haired man ahead of her.

They walked for several tensely silent minutes. The only sounds were their footsteps echoing loudly in the stone passage and the crackle of the small torch. Then Byleth began to hear voices. It was impossible to make out what they said or how many were speaking from this distance, but Seteth turned a questioning eye to her. The torch cast harsh shadows on his cheekbones, accentuating the half-snarl that had crept over his mouth. The professor nodded mutely to indicate that she heard them, as well.

Their pace increased after that, led by Seteth’s building unease as the echoes grew more pronounced. Eventually, the darkness gave way to lit sconces intermittently along the stone walls. Rounding a corner, they came upon a staircase leading deeper underground. Byleth halted Seteth with a hand on his forearm, retrieving and dousing their torch with magic before stowing it in her pack. He inclined his head to her, then proceeded softly down the dimly lit steps.

As soon as his foot hit the landing, a rune below revealed itself, glowing with an ominous light that encompassed his entire body, blinding Byleth before it faded to reveal an empty space where the man had just stood. The design that had decorated the floor faded abruptly, until it was almost invisible once more.

Lysithea smothered a surprised gasp, while Byleth restrained the urge to let out a bevy of curses. Claude’s hand wrapped reassuringly around her wrist, drawing his face close to her ear. “I’ve seen something like this before,” he whispered. “I think it’s some sort of warp magic.”

She raised an eyebrow, unsure what to make of Claude’s claim. Had he encountered more of these within Garreg Mach? The professor twisted gently from his hold to draw the Sword of the Creator. It hummed softly and pulsed in her hands, and Sothis flinched distantly at the contact.

Should I turn back time? Byleth asked the spirit, hoping the Sword would make her more responsive. It was a thin hope, quickly dashed by the dull silence in the front of the professor’s mind.

Just her own wits to guide them, then. The thought shouldn’t make her so uneasy.

“We will press on for now, but if we should get separated, you will retreat and rendezvous with my father.” A severe look toward Claude, who nodded soberly, then they were edging along the passage again, scanning the floor closely for further traps.

The tunnel was dark and crowded—made more so by Hubert breathing down Edelgard’s neck. 

Jeralt’s lieutenants—Fliss, a mortal savant wearing a very familiar cloak, and Kevran, a grappler sporting a full beard—had entered the passage behind the Blade Breaker, followed by Hilda, Edelgard, Hubert, and Linhardt. The latter was now cheerfully muttering to himself about Crest research—ways to build upon the night’s discoveries and theories as to what they were walking into. He had taken the news of the Church’s corruption expectedly well, though his enthusiasm about the whole affair was a little unnerving.

Edelgard had not been able to locate Jeritza, to her great unease. After all she had done to earn his allegiance, she was vexed to discover that their enemy may have swayed the Death Knight to their side with the promise of challenging battles. Perhaps she had underestimated his cravings; he had been particularly single-minded since the professor defeated him during the raid on the mausoleum. 

Careless mistakes, she scolded. If your dreams are never realized, you will only have yourself to blame. She held down the acid twisting in her stomach with repeated dry swallows as they crept forward through the darkness.

To distract herself from the eerie echo of far off voices in the dark, Edelgard began counting the number of times Hilda anxiously adjusted her grip on her throwing axe.

One, two, three…

The weapon glinted strangely in the glow from the torch the brigand held aloft in her other hand, lighting the way for those in her wake. Edelgard’s eyes occasionally began to water because of the smoke blowing back into her face as they moved. After Hubert’s earlier discovery and his brash suggestion of how to proceed, the involuntary reaction was almost a relief. A pale imitation of the emotional release she denied herself.

Edelgard felt as if she was walking to the gallows. Her trust in her mentor was fractured, and yet still she was following Byleth into a den of snakes. Madness. Perhaps she had finally broken under the weight of her plans. That was surely what Hubert must think, as intense and brooding as his hovering was this evening. She could hardly fault him for his anxiety, but it was making it even more difficult for her to remain outwardly calm.

After the sixteenth time Hilda shifted her weapon, the noise in the passage began to change. The pounding of footsteps articulated over the growing drone. After the twenty-fourth grip adjustment, Edelgard could make out Claude’s bright tenor voice echoing around them. “Almost there, Ly.”

“But we should have found them by now!” came Lysithea’s anxious reply between huffing breaths. “What’s going to happen to—oh!” The footsteps halted.

Claude and Lysithea must have reached Jeralt, though it was too dark and crowded for Edelgard to see them from her position. “What can you tell me?” the Blade Breaker asked urgently. From his tone, Edelgard did not think her teacher was accompanying the others.

“It’s a maze down here, and there are traps. Runes in the floor that warp you to other areas. Some of them glow when you get near them, and you can return back through those, but others don’t. They're hidden until you step on them and only work one way. We were separated from Seteth first, then Teach. She instructed us to regroup with you if she was caught in one. We can take you to where she disappeared and guide you around the runes we’ve already encountered.” Claude sounded unusually serious, almost severe.

“Lead the way,” Jeralt said immediately. Then, to the group behind him, he ordered, “Keep your eyes out for floor traps!” They took off at the most rapid pace they could manage, Claude occasionally stopping them to edge around a faint design in the floor.

As they did so, Edelgard worried about what might keep Byleth from reversing time to avoid such a trap. Could she be on the receiving end of one of the Death Knight’s brutal magic attacks at this very moment? And if she was, could she hold out long enough for them to locate her? Should Edelgard even want her to, considering the day’s revelations? 

Claude led them down an even more narrow side passage that abruptly opened into a collumned, stone chamber with a couple of glowing runes on the left hand side. Edelgard and Hubert closed the distance to the Alliance heir, keeping pace at the front of the throng with Jeralt, as they followed Claude to a tile just to the right of the glowing pair. A faint magic circle was etched across the stone.

“It could transport you directly into a cell, but we have a suspicion that these are more for the enemy’s convenience than for sabotage,” Lysithea told the Blade Breaker.

“Magical bridges to cross collapsed sections of the tunnels, some of which they made more inconspicuous to avoid being found out by people like us,” Claude added. 

“Kevran,” Jeralt motioned to his compatriot. “Take Claude and Lysithea with you through that glowing rune in the opposite corner. Fliss, you, Hilda, and Linhardt will continue on through that passage that exits to the left. I’ll take these two,” he gestured to a rigid Edelgard and Hubert, “with me to look for Byleth. We will regroup in this room in an hour. Stay alert.”

And with that, he surged forward into the circle, the rune flared with magic, and he disappeared. Edelgard shot Claude an uncertain look, exhaled, and stepped after the Blade Breaker.

Byleth had located the enemy, and they were abundant. Black robes and strange masks matched Edelgard’s description as well as the professor’s memory of the raid on the Holy Mausoleum. 

The Agarthans.

At the name, Sothis emerged from her mental cocoon with a stab of fury. Smite them, she whispered.

Relief flooded Byleth at the spirit breaking her oppressive silence, and the professor followed her instructions, slicing through dark robes and the flesh beneath. The Sword of the Creator glowed like a coal, growing almost too hot in her hands with each strike. The blood sizzled when it ran down the hilt, and Byleth tried not to gag at the smell. 

Sothis didn’t sing as these enemies were slain—instead Byleth felt more than heard the cries of anguish from phantom voices calling out and falling silent as the bodies around her collapsed to the flagstones.

Three long exhales in the sudden, piercing quiet.

Sothis, what was that? Where have you been?

The spirit appeared before Byleth, as she sometimes did when they spoke in private. Though her girlish form was unchanged, her eyes looked much older than Byleth remembered them. The professor could feel the wave of sadness that washed through her friend as she formed her answers to Byleth’s questions.

I was remembering—reliving—my past life. At first it was just flashes, but then… The girl flinched. ‘Tis still occurring, as we speak. You can feel it, too. My memories claw at the edges, trying to drag me back to the depths.

Byleth looked at the blood drying across her sword arm and chest. There was a severed head near her right boot, mouth gaping in permanent terror. She had slaughtered these people. She hadn’t been this brutal in battle since joining the Academy—hadn’t wanted to show the students this particular part of her skillset. But alone, at the smallest provocation from her companion, Byleth had returned to the Ashen Demon’s complete annihilation. She eyed her handiwork with some degree of shame, the emotion warring inside her with Sothis’ triumphant relief.

You knew the Agarthans, didn’t you? she asked the spirit, picking her way out of the corner of the chamber she had appeared in toward a wall of faintly glowing warp runes.

Tch. Yes, one could say that.

Suddenly, the screams Byleth had heard moments before returned with an increasing intensity, howling in her ears, as the feeling of her limbs carving through butter crawled over her skin. But the sensation was eclipsed by the sudden, sharp phantom pain in her chest, as if her heart were being excised by a blade. 

Sothis had clearly been a Nabatean at some point; Byleth could no longer deny that theory.  The Agarthans—did they…did they kill you?

I believe so. I lack key moments, and all remains disordered still, but I know the Agarthans had a champion, a…warrior who stole my form and made me monstrous.

Sothis faltered before her, image winking out and filling Byleth with anxiety. Stole your form? Sothis?!

Apologies…lost focus… I am…well, came the soft reply from the back of her mind, but I require more time.

With that, Sothis’ presence retreated so deeply that the professor could hardly feel her, and Byleth was alone again.

Gripping her sword tighter and causing some of the dried blood to flake off her knuckles as she moved, she surged toward the closest glowing warp rune. Remnants of Sothis’ dull fury (and some of Byleth’s own) laced through her actions as she cut down the first, then the second figure in robes who appeared before her. She didn’t feel ashamed anymore. Edelgard, Lysithea, and now she had learned that Sothis, too, had been hurt by these Agarthans—never had a fight felt so personal, so pointed, as silencing the foot soldiers who had caused those she cared for harm.

This was different from the cold, calculated slaughter of the Ashen Demon, though. This was enraged, almost careless, but so relentless, none could rival her. Even with the distance between her and Sothis, the Sword of the Creator still hummed, almost gratefully, at the blood she fed it as she warped between chambers at rapid speed.

Caution be damned. If she had to bludgeon her way through this infuriating lair to reunite with her students, she would do just that. Byleth could always turn back time if she must—she was still within her limit—but she had already done so thrice with Claude and Lysithea, and in all cases still ended up getting warped away from them soon after. With only one pulse left, she could not afford to waste it when no one was in certain peril. Besides, if she took down every enemy she could find, there would be few remaining to confront her students.

In the fifth chamber she entered, she was greeted by the back of a dark blue robe over tense shoulders. Chin-length green hair fanned dramatically as Seteth swirled to face her, a dark mage sliding limply to the floor from the tip of the spear clutched in the aide’s quivering hands. Emerald eyes shifted from menacing to assessing.

“Are you injured? Where are the students?” he asked tersely.

Byleth’s gaze roamed around the room—a scene much like the ones she had been leaving in her wake. The enemies were brutalized well past recovery, and the slow trickle of blood against the stone floor was the only sound besides Seteth’s labored breathing. “I am not injured, nor are the students to my knowledge,” Byleth replied evenly. “We were separated just as you were from us. I had instructed them to regroup with my father should that happen. Are you—”

“I’m fine. We must press forward,” Seteth explained urgently, tugging at her forearm. “I overheard one of the units mention prisoners.”

Byleth attempted to shrug him off, despite the fact that she was brazenly charging through enemies with relentless abandon just moments prior. “How do you know you’re headed the right way? It’s a maze down here!”

“There are only three portals in this room, and we each came from the other two,” Seteth bit out, pulling harder against her now rigid arm. When the logic of his words sunk in, she relaxed slightly. 

“Very well,” she said, jerking herself wholly from his grasp and stepping around him to enter the portal first.

“That was childish,” Seteth admonished when he appeared behind her moments later in what would seem to be an empty chamber. The room was flanked by four columns lined in the same stone as the walls and floors, and it smelled of damp leather. There were a couple of other warp runes in alcoves across the way, as well as a pair of heavy wooden doors at the end of the chamber, beyond which came deep, booming laughter of the crazed variety, punctuated by the rattle of chains.

It chilled Byleth’s blood, and she locked eyes with Seteth. “The Death Knight,” she mouthed at the man. His eyes widened in surprise, before he tightened his chin and turned toward the door with a determined air. Byleth grabbed his shoulder urgently, pulling him back with a shake of her head. Everything about this spelled an ambush.

An almost impish imitation of her earlier action, he tore away from her. When he reached the first set of columns, an enemy archer fired from the shadows. Seteth managed to dodge it, much more nimbly than Byleth had expected he could move. With a low growl of frustration, she jumped into the fray behind him.

Edelgard had not walked through carnage like this in some time. Byleth was usually more merciful and demanded the same from her students. The princess had attributed it to her past as a mercenary, an understanding that only the most powerful must be slain to disable a battalion. Edelgard had even asked why Byleth spared so many once, when she had a rare moment alone with her teacher in the garden.

“You don’t need to claim every life you come across on the battlefield. You get to choose. And choosing to protect someone, even from your own instincts, can yield allies well worth the risk. Any decent warrior knows when they’ve been spared and who to thank for it.”

But the professor had clearly not taken her own advice in this instance, if the trail of bodies they were following were, as the Blade Breaker surmised, her handiwork. As they stepped through the last in the long string of warp portals, the sound of the professor’s battle snarl quickly whipped around the heads of the trio.

Byleth was near the back of the chamber, covered in blood, teeth bared like a wild animal and back-to-back with Seteth. An Agarthan archer and two mages dressed in dark robes were closing in on the pair, even as one of their compatriots clambered to the floor in pieces with a whip of Byleth’s legendary sword.

“That’s my girl,” came a relieved half-huff from Jeralt behind them, slowing his pace to an appreciative walk as Seteth and Byleth each downed another opponent. The third was enveloped in a miasma of dark energy and collapsed, clutching a singed hole that had torn through his abdomen.

Hubert fidgeted with his gloves, expression unchanged; Edelgard would almost have assumed another had cast that spell, if she didn’t know his magic so intimately.

For once, he maintained pace with her as they rushed forward, rather than letting his liege walk a step ahead out of deference. They were almost to the circle of bodies when the doors at the other end of the chamber swung outward and a familiar, cold cadence washed over them. “The glory of battle approaches.”

Edelgard stiffened. He was here. “The Death Knight has returned,” she shouted a brisk warning, expecting Jeritza’s counterpart to come charging from the room on horseback. Instead, foreboding statements continued to ring forth—intermittently pierced by the ring of metal on metal—while Agarthan soldiers spilled from the room beyond, followed by a sneering Solon.

“I see the traitors have come to retrieve their pet,” the grotesque sorcerer announced, causing Edelgard to flinch. It was just vague enough not to reveal their relationship, but as intended, it set her on edge. The Agarthan winked the more blackened of his eyes, and she suppressed a shudder.

“What have you done with my daughter, heretic?” Seteth cried in response, launching himself at the man, spear first.

“The weak circle death,” called the Death Knight again from beyond the door, this time with the rattle of chains. “I would aide them, but I crave another quarry.”

Edelgard shared a confused look with Hubert.  Why wasn’t he attacking with the others? What was he talking about?

Jeralt and Byleth followed Seteth forward, carving a path through Solon’s underlings, as flashes of light announced the arrival of more fighters. The princess was relieved to see their allies appearing behind them. Lysithea was one of the first, and her face paled then reddened when she spotted Solon. She lowered her chin and let off a devastating precision magic attack from over twenty yards away. It slowed the sorcerer’s movements, leaving an opening for Kevran to suckerpunch him hard enough that he stumbled back.

As Claude loosed an arrow and Linhardt appeared on a warp rune behind Hilda, Edelgard slipped past the throng of fighting into the mouth of the chamber beyond, searching for the familiar voice of her knight. Whether to execute or rescue him remained to be determined.

She found him unarmed, left wrist chained to the base of the back wall, while the right he had managed to tear free. His forearms ran with fresh blood where the iron manacles had rubbed away the flesh, and his expression oscillated between something close to crazed glee and deep frustration. Chained beside him, looking unconscious but alive, were Flayn and a young woman with red hair who Edelgard recognized with a start as Monica von Ochs, a young imperial noble with whom Edelgard had been friends in her youth.

“Monica?” she heard Hubert’s confused murmur from behind her.

“Jeritza, what happened?” Edelgard asked her subordinate.

A disturbed flicker of a smile, and the Death Knight’s madness receded somewhat from his expression. Enough that he could respond plainly, though not fully himself. “Clever duplicity. Fitting torture. Our enemies drugged me and refused to let me join in battle unless I abandoned my allegiance and gave up information about your plans.”

“And you did not comply?” The man shook his head, gesturing to the chains as if the reasoning was obvious. “Do you know how Monica ended up here?”

“The Ochs girl is likely dead.” He met her eyes dully across the room. “That is her replacement. They were attempting to do the same with me, if they could not sway me to join them voluntarily.”

“Her…replacement?” Edelgard looked at the young woman who was the spitting image of her friend and felt a wave of nausea wash over her. 

The noise of the fighting at their back had her shoving the reaction down with a practiced frown. 

What should be done about Jeritza? Too many people had heard his mad shouting in a voice remarkably like the Death Knight. It was far too incriminating, but perhaps…

“I’m going to do what I can to protect your cover story.” She turned to Hubert. “He needs to be unconscious when our party discovers them.” 

Her vassal nodded, retrieving two vials from a small pouch at his hip. “A prudent plan, Lady Edelgard.”

She left him to the task, abruptly swiveling away from the prisoners and back to the skirmish at the chamber’s entrance. Hubert joined her shortly, and they fell in with the rest of their comrades. Together, they made quick work of the lackeys and eventually faced a lone Solon, who was looking cagey enough across from the Professor to cause every hair on Edelgard’s neck to stand up. What would he say about her? Monica’s appearance and Jeritza’s apparent kidnapping confirmed it—they wanted to punish and control the princess, and severing her from her new allies would be a fine climax to that plan.

The sorcerer shot her a garish grin from across the chamber, and Edelgard’s heart leapt into her throat as he rotated his gaze to Byleth, who was advancing upon him. “You think you’ve bested me, don’t you? Insolent child, you know nothing of true power,” he laughed. 

With an inhuman burst of speed, he lunged forward, dodging Byleth’s attack to thrust a gloved hand into the prone form of one of his few living subordinates. A pinched, closed-lipped smile for his gasping quarry, robe fluttering as he died on the sorcerer's fingers.

“Your sacrifice will help to rid this world of the filthy vermin that have long infested it,” Solon murmured to the dark mage, as Byleth whipped her sword at him again.

A sudden wave of magic power gathering sucked the breath from their lungs, and her teacher stumbled, attack veering off course. The choking vacuum was a piercing reminder that Edelgard knew this spell. Years ago, Solon had used it on another group of captives in front of Edelgard and her siblings—an intimidation show to keep the royals compliant. 

The Forbidden Spell of Zahras, he’d called it. It had erased people before her very eyes, and now Byleth was at its epicenter. Hours ago, Hubert would have called just such a scenario a perfect turn of events to protect their affairs.

Though she clearly could not breathe, the professor raised a shaky arm to attack again.

For once, Edelgard moved without thinking. Princess and retainer surged past retreating allies as one, while the dark fissures of energy began to flicker around Solon, heralding the void and bringing Byleth to her knees.

Only Edelgard knew it was already too late—they were too far to save her in time. She didn’t know why she was still running forward, wheezing as the spell consumed the air around her. Another step and they, too, could be swallowed as well. She should stop them. She should—

There wasn’t enough time.

With what little breath she could heave so close to spells’ center, Edelgard managed to shout one word to her professor over the drone of dark magic: “Time!”

The darkness intensified as the Agarthan’s body began to writhe, and for a terrible moment, Edelgard thought it wouldn’t be enough. Byleth hadn’t heard her or hadn’t understood. Hubert’s fingers closed in an iron grip around her wrist, pulling her back into his chest. At the same moment, the corpse slid from Solon’s grasp, and he raised his fist to complete the ritual by crushing the victim’s heart. 

The present shattered and fell away, dissolving the looming dark spell into harmless shards that cleared to reveal Sothis’ glowing throne. Byleth sputtered as she caught her breath in the sudden calm, and the green-haired girl floated to her side, looking solemn, but unburdened by her memories for the moment.

“That was quick thinking on Edelgard’s part,” she observed with a side glance at Byleth. “Why was that not your instinct as well?”

It was a good question. She knew the answer, though she was hesitant to admit it. “I think of the pulse as a failsafe to protect the students, not myself.” She had only used it once for her own affairs, and never in the heat of battle.

Sothis hummed unhappily. “You treat yourself as if you are expendable! Well, trust that you do not have my support in that. My vessel should take more care, lest she destroy us both.”

The professor hung her head, adequately chastened by the reprimand. Her friend was correct. It was selfish of Byleth to be so reckless with her safety—she wasn’t the only one who would endure the consequences.

“Sothis,” she began, another thought occurring to her. “You called me ‘vessel.’ Did you remember how we ended up like this?”

The spirit’s stern mouth twisted into a decided frown. “I…have formed a strong theory, though now is not the correct moment to share it. You must return us to time’s flow, so we can end that sorcerer.” Her expression darkened significantly. “That monster does not deserve mercy.”

On this, they could agree. 

Byleth took one final breath and wound time back to the moment the sorcerer reached into his subordinate’s chest. This time, she was braced for the vacuum the dark magic produced, and her aim didn’t waver when she whipped her sword out to sever the caster’s hand from the rest of his body.

The corpse collapsed to the floor, his fist still clenched uselessly within its chest. The sorcerer gripped the stump where his arm now ended, a growl tearing from his throat. Byleth raised the Sword of the Creator again. Sothis’ hands moved to strike in tandem with her. The arc of the blade was poised to behead their enemy.

Before their attack could land, a dark purple light spilled over the Agarthan, and he warped out of sight. With their rewind power exhausted for the moment, Sothis howled her fury within Byleth’s mind. The professor’s temples pounded in time with small fists beating angrily against the arms of her throne.

“Should we pursue him, Professor?” Lysithea called out. Her hands were still raised in a casting position, and Byleth could see the pulsing, magic burns flecking them.

“Seteth, Flayn is chained in the chamber beyond with Professor Jeritza, unconscious, but alive!” Edelgard interjected before Byleth could respond to her other student.

Relief washed over her as Seteth lurched through the throng of fighters to the far door, Linhardt and Edelgard at his heels. Flayn was alive, and they could leave this deathtrap.

“No,” Byleth answered Lysithea, moving toward the student with a healing glow glimmering at her fingertips. “He knows these passages much better than we do, and he’s unlikely to reveal himself again, until he thinks he has the advantage.” With a light touch, she threaded magic through the girl’s damaged flesh, soothing and mending. “Besides, we found Flayn, and Professor Jeritza, too, it seems. We have accomplished our goal.”

Irritation radiated from the professor’s green-haired companion at her refusal to give chase, regardless that the spirit agreed it was the wiser choice. 

Lysithea sighed and pulled back from Byleth’s magic, hands still pink and warm from the burns, but much improved compared to moments ago. “Save your magic, Professor. There are likely those who need it more than myself.” She shot a meaningful glance toward the room where the others were freeing the Agarthans’ prisoners, and Byleth took her point with a nod.

And what of that Death Knight you heard approaching? Sothis probed, recalling Byleth’s prior words to Seteth. 

She was correct. The professor had expected him to appear behind the main force of enemies, but he never did. Perhaps he had fled with Solon, or perhaps he was lying in wait to strike at them while they were more relaxed.

“Do not let your guard down!” she called out, moving toward the chamber after Seteth and the others. “I thought I heard the Death Knight earlier, and he could still be here.”

Hubert’s hand closed around her elbow before she could get far. She hadn’t noticed him lurking nearby until that moment.

“What?” she asked, turning her attention to him. Since his resurrection, it had become an obsessive habit to do a thorough visual inspection of his well being every time they exited battle, and today was no exception. Thankfully, Hubert seemed normal, save the wild look in his eyes and the way his mouth quirked slightly at the corner as she studied him. 

“Lady Edelgard and I searched the room for reinforcements earlier. The Death Knight was nowhere to be found,” he said, voice pitched rather loud for just the two of them. “He must have warped away, as Solon did.”

She tried to shrug off his hold. “Regardless, the prisoners may need healing.”

“Linhardt is with them. You are going to overtax yourself again, if you continue as you are,” he scolded more softly.

This was enough to bring the Ashen Demon to the forefront again, a knee-jerk reaction with him, it seemed. “A shocking level of concern from you. I should check you for concussion,” she replied blankly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of getting flustered by his attention.

Green eyes lit up a little at this response; it made Byleth’s stomach lurch with discomfort. She hoped her father wasn’t watching any of this. “We followed a trail of carnage to locate you here.” He smirked poisonously, a strange pride flickering behind his normal acid. “Do not attempt to hide that you single-handedly crippled this faction and now require the rest necessitated by such a feat.”

Should he not be pestering Edelgard with such chiding observations? Sothis interjected, still petulant over the loss of their prey.

Yes, I would think so, the professor replied.

With an exasperated shake of her head at Hubert, Byleth went to move past him to the room beyond, intending to ignore his henpecking. She was surprised when he followed barely a step behind her. 

Somehow, he managed to maneuver it so that she only healed one more minor injury that evening: a weeping cut to Edelgard’s temple. The princess even tried to reject her offer at first, sharing her retainer’s feelings that Byleth had done more than enough to ensure their success and safety that evening, but she acquiesced with a sigh after the professor pointed out that it may scar if left for too long.

Smoothing a cool hand down the left side of her brow, Byleth merged the skin back together with a delicate swish of her ring finger across the wound. Edelgard’s eyes fluttered closed at the touch, reopening when her teacher removed her hand.

“It was wise to do reconnaissance on the chamber beyond while we engaged the main force,” Byleth said as she shifted back out of her personal space. “The prisoners could have required immediate healing. You have good instincts, Edelgard.”

For some reason, this praise caused Edelgard to turn her face away, flushing almost guiltily. “Thank you, my teacher.”

Byleth assumed she must have merely embarrassed her.

Chapter Text

“She is awake,” Hubert said in a low aside. 

Lady Edelgard was on a break from sparring with Ferdinand at the training grounds, and while there was some risk of the Aegir heir overhearing, her highness had been explicit in her instructions to alert her immediately of the false prisoner’s revival.

“I had hoped to have more time,” she murmured, so quietly that she may not have intended Hubert to hear, or perhaps she was just wary of their audience.

Ferdinand guzzled water to their left, making a show of how quickly he was drinking it compared to Edelgard’s reserved sips. In Hubert’s estimation, they had little to worry about concerning the noble. The false Monica’s presence, however, presented a complex dilemma for his lady. 

Outing her would be a clear move against those who slither in the dark, situating princess and retinue firmly as their enemy, but failing to do so would place their classmates and Byleth in certain danger. Despite the professor’s clear betrayal, Lady Edelgard still dwelled on her safety; Hubert was holding his comments on this point for now, as they had more immediate problems. 

It would be difficult to predict what Monica’s double might be there to accomplish, and it was unlikely she would be so transparent as to tell them. She could very well be sent to undermine their shaky alliances and force Edelgard back to relying on the Agarthans’ support. He and her highness had discussed the issue at length over the five and a half days that had passed since they returned triumphant from the depths of Garreg Mach. She had brought them far on this reckless deviation from their plans, but even she acknowledged that she had not fully severed their ties to the Agarthans, rather hoping to keep that alliance in reserve as a failsafe. Now, it seemed unlikely that would be possible. 

Lady Edelgard was tense with anxiety over the dilemma, but Hubert had reached a weary acceptance. He could neither predict nor control Edelgard’s choice in this matter, that much had become clear in recent weeks. 

She will do, as she always does, what she deems best, and if I truly believe in her vision, I will support her. 

If he repeated it enough times to himself, the shattered sensation in his torso would eventually fade.

“Ferdinand, Hubert brings me pressing business. I’m afraid I must cut our training short,” his lady said, striding to the noble’s side.

“Imperial matters? May I assist? As you know, I’m—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Hubert cut him off, sensing a forthcoming lecture on the man’s many qualifications.

“My apologies,” Edelgard added, attempting to smooth over the deflated expression Ferdinand now wore. “Perhaps you would join us for dinner this evening instead? We can discuss those cropping figures you were inquiring about last month; they arrived yesterday, and I’ve just finished reviewing them.”

Mollified, the noble gratefully accepted her counter-offer, and the pair took off toward the dormitories.

“I don’t know why you are so tolerant of his antics,” Hubert sniped as they left the training grounds. 

Edelgard pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a short sigh. “That is because you fail to see his potential. Despite his many shortcomings, he possesses dedication to serving our people that his father could never hope to match. If we can turn his loyalty, I need not decimate his entire house to see our dreams realized.”

This earned a scoff from Hubert, who was not doing very well meeting his intentions for the day. His liege shot him a reproachful side-eye, and he pursed his lips around the reflexive apology that rose in his throat.

“I know that you are angry with me,” Edelgard began diplomatically, “but we—”

“I am not angry with you.” 

This was a lie. He was still quite angry about what Edelgard had been keeping from him, but he hadn’t intended to show it so unguardedly.

“Oh? Then why do you insist on contradicting me at every turn?”

It was Hubert’s turn to heave a sigh. He usually admired her sharp retorts, but today, they chafed against something raw he was struggling to contain.

He held the door open for her to proceed ahead of him into the dormitory stairwell, following a step slower than usual, leaving a thick buffer between them as they walked. A tense silence accompanied their footfalls until the door to Edelgard’s quarters was shut softly behind him.

“I apologize for my inappropriate level of discourse on your strategies, Lady Edelgard. I assure you, it will not—”

“No, I am not doing that any longer, Hubert,” she interrupted firmly, even going so far as to stamp her foot.

If only he understood what she was trying to say. “I beg your pardon?”

Edelgard huffed. Her hands—clawed in frustration—surged toward his shoulders, but just as quickly darted away, fisting in her skirts instead. “I am no longer tolerating the… farcical wall you attempt to maintain between us in light of our stations!” she answered tightly, now refusing to look at him. “I do not expect you to agree with me out of propriety. I expect my oldest and dearest friend to tell me what he truly thinks and feels, as I thought he always did. It stings to watch you pretend with me, when I know something is amiss.”

Hubert’s temper began to flare at that. It was the height of hypocrisy to return to accusing him of being dishonest when Edelgard had made plans relying on the assurance that he would manipulate Byleth’s feelings to serve their goals, without ever breathing a word to him about it. Hubert had even done as his lady expected! He had tampered with the professor’s post-battle impressions on the Death Knight’s presence, hiding his scheme amidst stray touches and genuine concern… He had kept guard of their affairs as always, but never before had it made him feel so revolted with himself. 

Sexual intimidation was over the line, yes, but this, Lady Edelgard would condone? This was more honorable?

Emotions getting the best of him, he closed his eyes and took slow, deep breaths. If she wanted honesty, he would need to make it count. Something clear and hurtful; something he would never tell her under normal circumstances because he knew how it might plague her mind.

His voice had none of the venom he had anticipated when he finally spoke. It wasn’t even snide—just disappointed and weary.

“Has it occurred to you that perhaps I act as your pawn when you treat me as one?”

The barb had its intended impact. Lady Edelgard took an abrupt step back like she had been slapped, nearly colliding with her desk chair. Hubert watched her reaction, taciturn as Byleth in battle, but cringing inwardly at the hurt that colored his lady’s face. “That is not how I think of you, Hubert, you must—”

“I know, but it is difficult to remember when your behavior implies otherwise.” 

Steadying herself against the desk, she nodded. “I regret that your criticism is deserved, and…I appreciate you respecting me enough to disclose this.”

He smiled without mirth, nodding toward the door. “We came here to discuss more urgent matters than my feelings, if I am not mistaken.” 

Edelgard rarely stalled for time, so Hubert didn’t immediately recognize this turn in the conversation for what it was—an unnecessary delay, one he would not be indulging any longer. He took a stiff seat on the edge of her bed and tented his fingers.  “What shall we do about Monica’s unwelcome twin?” he probed.

Lavender eyes cut toward him sharply, followed by a harsh exhale to the ceiling beams. 

“You will not like it.”

This earned a dry smirk from her retainer, though his chest clenched with anxiety. “Am I so predictable?”

“Sometimes. Not always,” she said, grasping a chunk of ivory hair and worrying it between her hands. “I…I cannot bear to see Monica like this, Hubert. I know I had resigned myself to this possible outcome after her disappearance, but I did not anticipate such a direct confrontation. I cannot watch someone else talking with her mouth, not again, not in front of our allies… I do not trust my own reactions. When she reveals herself, there will be those who will surmise that I knew she was false, and we will both be blamed for whatever evil she does here.”

Ah. He was, indeed, predictable. He did not like the scenario she painted at all.

This was precisely what he had been concerned about when she began on this new path. She had revealed too much, let Riegan, in particular, far too deep into their web, and now the Alliance might know enough to see Edelgard pulling the strings.

“If it comes to that, I can eliminate their suspicion most effectively.”

Edelgard looked at him as if he had lost all sense. “You will do no such thing! Our path may be bloodstained, but that does not mean that murdering allies is now an easy resolution to our dilemma. We are going to need them if we are to progress.” She paused, staring down at the hair twisting between her fingers. “And I doubt very much that you could eliminate the professor by yourself. I know I could not.”

The implication was like a hot knife between his ribs. If Edelgard needed the professor terminated, she thought that he could not do his duty. She believed it was beyond him because of trivial attraction.

He swallowed heavily. “I did not suggest the Death Knight as a solution because I felt I could not personally complete the task.” A lie. “I assure you I am quite capable.” Another lie. “I swore to be your knife in the shadows, and I will not forsake that pledge so easily.” His knees were shaking.

Edelgard gave him a slow up and down, then exhaled through her nose. “This is precisely what I mean about not trusting my reactions. It is difficult to lie convincingly to those you care for, especially when the subject is particularly upsetting.”

Hubert opened and closed his mouth several times, then settled for glaring at her witheringly. It sat poorly with him that this statement seemed to imply that she also cared for Riegan, and that this was why the Deer leader would see through her, and not rather because he was a sharp-eyed snake.

“Besides, as I said before, I do not want any harm to come to Byleth. Actually, I…rather think that we should confess to her about the Holy Tomb and Jeritza. Then we may seek her assistance to best deal with the Agarthan in our midst.”

Hubert was hardly surprised to find that this was the direction of her thoughts. He had been half-certain she was going to offer this up in their second meeting with Byleth and the Deer, until Claude revealed his intel, and they scrambled to adapt.

“And, what of the Church’s goddess she somehow appears to be harboring?”

“We can use your discovery of the origins of her powers to temper her anger with us for keeping this secret,” Edelgard continued practically, gutting him further.

Byleth would know that he had heard all. And she would know what he had done in light of that to keep her off their trail. 

Only Lady Edelgard would bait him into speaking of his wounded feelings, then turn around and flay them open again to secure the professor’s continued loyalty. He couldn’t even protest, witho—

“Edel!” a female voice called in a nasal sing-song from outside, followed by a sharp knock.

His blood ran cold. Lady Edelgard’s horrified expression was all the confirmation Hubert needed to ready a spell in his non-dominant hand, before approaching the locked door. 

The pair jumped as another knock echoed down the hall. “Come on, I know you’re in there!” the voice crooned eagerly. “I heard you talking. Quite interesting, the things you were saying. I’m certain that you two will be able to catch me up on everything I’ve missed.”

Edelgard shuddered, then steeled herself and nodded rigidly at Hubert, who pulled the door back with a caustic smile. “Monica. How delightful to see you well.”

The red-head pranced into the room, a bright expression on a familiar face, twisted with an edge of menace. “Solon warned me that you might require some”—a mirthless giggle—“convincing, but I hardly imagined I’d walk in on the two of you planning your betrayal! How awful. ” A crazed grin spread across her impish mouth.

Edelgard looked like she was going to be sick, a sensation he shared. This was bringing up sharp memories of the Marquis Vestra, though it was not so immediately apparent with him as with this one. His replacement had been a better actor—at least at first.

Well, there was nothing for it then. She had heard them.

“Lucky for you, my superiors want you alive for—”

Hubert’s Dark Spikes hit her square in the chest, causing her to stumble back into the closed door. She laughed as she righted herself, hardly deterred; her eyes sharpened with a feral glint. “That was foolish. How ever will you get back your”—she brought a finger to the corner of her mouth, as if emphasizing a dimple—“sweet, little playmate with manners like that? She’s alive, you know. I could even arrange to have her released,” her voice dropped a register, “if you two worms can learn to play nice with your betters.”

Edelgard’s face had turned stoney at the mention of the real Monica, and she didn’t respond when Hubert looked at her in askance. “Lady Edelgard?” he prompted, suddenly unsure how she would want this handled.

The princess ignored him, approaching the interloper with a confident fury that had flared at his question. “What assurance can you possibly provide of that?” she demanded. Suddenly, the dagger Edelgard always kept on her was in her hand, pressing the woman’s neck into the wood behind her.

Hubert felt a stir of something unexpected in the pit of his stomach—a mirror of the emotion he’d experienced upon walking through the carnage Byleth had left in her wake days prior. It was almost laughable in the current circumstance, but still, Edelgard’s actions sent lust simmering through his abdomen with an inappropriate intensity, skittering through the chinks in his emotional armor.

Fake Monica was smiling wildly. She seemed oddly comfortable with a blade at her throat. “She spoke of you often. Swore she’d never betray you, threatened that you would come for her, that sort of drivel. It was hilarious when we told her that you were on our side. Of course she denied it, but that just—”

The sharp snap of Edelgard’s free hand against the other woman’s cheek echoed in the high ceilings of the dorm room. It jostled the Agarthan enough that the dagger’s point bit into her skin, and a faint trickle of blood ran down the blade, staining his lady’s glove.

There was a thick silence, as he and the masquerader awaited Edelgard’s next move.

“I will not be plagued by you, pretender. You will hold your tongue…” She heaved a defeated breath. “...if you expect me to hold mine about your true intentions here.” With that, she stepped back, lowering the dagger fractionally as she did so.

The Agarthan looked surprised momentarily, smoothing down the skirt of her Academy uniform and swiping the back of her sleeve over her neck. “I knew you would see reason,” she said with forced confidence. “But I will be keeping a close eye on you both. If you want the girl back, the only conspiring you will engage in will be with me. A hint of betrayal and”—the garish grin returned and her voice turned gravelly—“I will slaughter you in your sleep. And don’t think for a second that my men won’t dispose of the original should I fail to report back.”

With that, she simpered and exited the room, loudly calling behind her from the hall: “Thanks, Edel! I knew I could count on you!”

Hubert turned a shocked eye toward his liege. He had not anticipated this outcome by any means after their earlier conversation and the many preceding it about Monica’s disposability in their grand scheme. Edelgard had resigned herself to the sacrifice months ago, requesting that he call back the agents he had sent to locate the noble’s whereabouts. Arundel had implied that they had taken her for their plot against the Church, and Edelgard took the hint to stop looking.

The princess stiffened under his gaze. “Please don’t look at me like that, Hubert. What if she is still alive?” she prodded, quite noisily for such a delicate subject. “I deemed her unnecessary to our future because I thought—” She stopped mid-sentence, seeming to realize the risk of being overheard remained. “Regardless, if we’re forging a new path, I want her with us,” she finished circumspectly.

He shook his head sadly, leaning close to whisper in her ear, “Lady Edelgard, I cannot imagine a ritual powerful enough to reform a person’s body to match another’s can succeed without a great cost—most likely the life of the victim.”

She shuddered at his words, but firmed her chin, mirroring his pose to hiss back: “I am aware, but if those who slither in the dark want us to believe that she remains a bargaining chip, let them think that we do. We may gain important intel that will aid us in best exposing the fake to the Church and our allies. It serves us little to kill her now, as we cannot prove her falsity to anyone if she remains in this form.”

Leave it to his lady to turn an attempted scam to her advantage—he should’ve given her more credit.

“And what of your earlier concerns about revealing yourself?” His jaw brushed her cheek as he spoke, and another tremor vibrated through her. He worried that his proximity was making her uncomfortable, but it was wise to speak low enough that Monica’s replacement could not listen in, even aided by magic.

Edelgard swallowed audibly, then puffed her explanation against the shell of his ear. “You will inform Byleth of the situation, so our co-conspirators may prepare to capture the Agarthan.”

As his thoughts shifted to Byleth and the discomfort such a confrontation would bring, his pulse also suddenly became aware of how close Edelgard’s body was pressed to his to enable their privacy. Blood began to pound in his head, fogging his oncoming panic with thoughts lingering on every juncture at which her form pressed against him.

“She cannot be allowed free-reign of the grounds unchecked,” Edelgard continued, oblivious to his struggle, “but likewise she cannot know we are watching her. I believe the professor, at least, will understand the necessity of drawing out any information we can gather before exposing the lookalike. Byleth can help you to convince our new allies to support our efforts. I will keep the pretender occupied while you make these arrangements.”

Hubert grimaced, anxiety finally breaking through and flooding his senses like cold water. “You expect that I will be able to convince her not to turn on us when she understands who we allied ourselves with?”

She ran a careful palm down his forearm to clasp his hand with three fingers, keeping the bloodied fourth raised to keep from sullying his clean gloves. 

“I can think of no one who I would trust more with this task.”

Byleth was pleasantly surprised when Flayn requested to join her class. Seteth protested at first, claiming that if a seasoned warrior like Jeritza could be captured by their enemies, the only way to ensure Flayn’s safety would be to secret her away to a place they could not follow. But Flayn was willful, much more so than Byleth had been at her age, and demanded to remain in the company of other young people. Seteth, weary elder that he was, acquiesced.

The professor accepted her with a smile, but something continued to worry at the back of her mind about that conversation. The Death Knight and the Agarthan sorcerer were still out there, and Seteth was right. Nothing Byleth could do at this point would ensure that Flayn could remain out of their clutches should they return for her next week or even next month. The only people that she was confident could face them and triumph were herself and her father, which meant she needed to personally remain vigilant in safeguarding Flayn while the girl grew stronger.

This was why she was currently helping the young mage to clean up a giant mess in the student corner of the kitchen. Ingredients had flown, sugar had burnt, and their hopes to make cookies for Flayn’s first class meeting were quickly dashed. The staff who were attempting to cook the midday meal shot Byleth the occasional stern look, but no one dared reprimand Seteth’s darling sister who only just recovered from a terrible ordeal. 

“I must confess that I have never successfully made cookies before by myself,” Flayn admitted bashfully, scraping at the burnt caramel at the bottom of her pan vigorously with a wooden spoon. “I should have uncovered a simpler recipe, as well. I am terribly sorry, Professor!”

Byleth looked up from the counter she had been scrubbing. “Flayn, you are a student now, and that is all about learning. Failure is a natural part of the process. I will only be disappointed if I see you failing to try.”

The girl’s eyes sparkled with renewed determination. “Oh thank you, Professor, you are most gracious! I assure you I will take your words to heart—my first goal shall be to master this recipe, and today’s trials will merely become the prelude to great success.”

Byleth rinsed and wrung out her rag in the nearby sink, swiping the back of her hand across her forehead. “An excellent kitchen goal, but let’s not forget to prioritize self-defense goals, as well. I want to ensure you are as prepared as possible to protect yourself.”

“Of course, I find I am bursting with anticipation at the thought of training with the other students!” Flayn chirped, bouncing on the balls of her feet and all but forgetting her task of scouring pans. Before Byleth could gently refocus her, the girl’s face was falling, revealing a self-consciousness the professor had never witnessed on her before.

She turned to see what had shaken her student, as the child called out: “Lady Rhea! How wonderful of you to look in on me before my first day of classes. I am quite embarrassed to be caught making such a mess of your kitchens, however. I’m afraid I had quite a disastrous first attempt at cookies.”

Rhea was every inch the benevolent Archbishop today, complete with serene smile and reserved laugh for Flayn’s antics. Byleth, as she always did in the shapeshifter’s presence, attempted to arrange her face in a convincingly blank expression. She also called urgently to Sothis, who was either delving in her memories again or napping.

“Do not worry yourself with such things, dear one. I am certain both you and your professor were using the facilities to judiciously improve your skills.” The Archbishop’s smile tightened marginally as she took in the grease smeared across Flayn’s left cheekbone and the wet bits of burnt caramel flecking her forearms. “Though I wish you wouldn’t overtax yourself before classes have even begun! Please allow me to find someone else to—”

Cyril—a young orphan who often acted as Rhea’s personal servant—suddenly appeared in the dining hall as if he had been lurking just outside, hoping to be needed. “I can do that for ya Lady Rhea! Please, let me.”

Rhea beamed at the boy, not at all concerned that he seemed to be discreetly following her about the grounds. “That would be most helpful, Cyril. Thank you.”

Flayn vacated her post in favor of Cyril with a reluctant frown. “I’ve found the spoon works far better than that scraper over there for removing the charred bits,” she informed him primly as she washed the detritus from her hands and forearms.

“Your brother wants to wish you luck on your first day, but he is overwhelmed with work at present,” Rhea said when Flayn emerged from behind the counter. “Would you be so good as to visit him in his office while I speak with your professor?” Two sets of green eyes swiveled briefly to the woman in question, and Byleth felt the difference in intent behind each gaze. Flayn's was bright with eager innocence, while Rhea’s stare was dissonant and unsettling, a swirl of conflict under a controlled mask.

“Of course, I will go at once. Thank you, Professor, for a splendid lesson!” the young mage called over her shoulder as she swept from the room.

Rhea gave Byleth her full attention, much to the latter’s discomfort.

“I was so pleased to hear from Seteth that Flayn would be studying under your care,” she began, motioning for Byleth to follow her out onto the landing that overlooked the pond. The professor acquiesced, keeping as much distance as she could between them without it being obvious. There was always a niggling fear that Rhea might sense something from her if she allowed her too close.

“She is a bright girl, and she will be a welcome addition to our class,” Byleth replied honestly.

“Indeed, though that is not what I most wished to speak with you about… Our librarian, Tomas, has been missing since Flayn’s disappearance, and the Knights have been unable to locate any clues to his whereabouts. Did you uncover anything during your time in the tunnels that could indicate he was taken by these fiendish creatures, as well?”

Byleth carefully controlled her breathing. She and her students had shared nothing about their discoveries in the library regarding Tomas and his definite complicity in not only Flayn’s capture, but in Edelgard and Lysithea’s past torture and augmentation. 

“My students noticed his absence during our initial search, but we saw no evidence that there were other prisoners than those we rescued.” Byleth met Rhea’s eyes, the feeling of familiarity crawling through her as it always did, like spiders under her skin. “I have begun to fear the worst: either that he was involved somehow or that he uncovered them by accident and was killed.”

Rhea hummed worriedly. “It seems our thoughts tread the same paths on this issue. I knew that speaking with you would be productive.”

Byleth looked away, feeling Sothis stirring at the discomfort of Rhea’s proximity. The gnawing whisper of memory that fluttered inside them was unsettling to both Byleth and her companion. It felt like staring at one of the student’s attempts to recreate a painting in Manuela’s art lessons—a poor imitation of a scene that used to bring peace and joy to mind.

“If Tomas was with those opposing the Church, we must be careful who we trust with the students’ welfare, and Flayn’s especially, though she is one of many here with rare gifts who could be targeted,” Byleth replied firmly, eyes fixed on Rhea’s overly filigreed slippers.

The Archbishop hummed a sound of mild agreement, staring toward the pond with a distant expression. “You have such a caring heart, child. It reminds me of someone I knew long ago, someone I greatly admired.” Rhea turned to the professor with a warm expression that wasn’t quite a smile—her eyes conveyed a contradictory grief.

It made a cold shiver run up Byleth’s spine. Very faintly, as if still sleeping, Sothis murmured, She used to be so beautiful.

What do you mean? Byleth responded immediately, but there was nothing more from the green-haired spirit.

When the professor returned her attention to the woman across from her, wide green eyes were locked on her face, a sour sort of hope glimmering in them. Instinctively, Byleth took two steps back. “Th-thank you, Arch Bishop,” she tried to recover, twirling her hair nervously like she had seen Dorothea do when she feigned innocence. “I am overwhelmed by your praise.”

Rhea’s lips thinned into an even less sincere smile, and she lowered her face quickly as if to hide the subpar reaction. “You need not be so formal with me. I knew both of your parents when they were first courting. Your mother was my dearest friend.”

Something about this information turned her stomach—it rang untrue, like an alarm. Her father would have told her if this was the case.

“I did not know that,” Byleth replied with mock interest, attempting to obscure her desire to get away as soon as possible. “You will have to tell me more about her over tea sometime. I would love to know what she was like.” That bit was true; her father hardly ever spoke of Sitri. “But at present, I must attend to my duties. I have a lecture I need to prepare for.” This, however, was false—she had prepared the previous evening for the day’s events—but she hoped such an excuse would be enough for the Archbishop. And truly, a review never hurt, especially for a novice educator like herself.

“Of course, Professor. I would not stand in the way of your devotion to your students,” Rhea replied with a nod of dismissal. 

Byleth closely moderated her speed until she was out of the woman’s sight.

Free of Rhea at last, she picked up the pace, heading swiftly for her quarters. As she darted through the greenery by the dormitory closer to the greenhouse, a familiar hand closed around her wrist and yanked her into a narrow alcove behind a hedge.

“I need to speak with you,” Hubert said abruptly, his voice barely above a whisper and his expression caught between anxiety and nausea.

“We are speaking now.” Her tone was bland, but his distress had entirely captured her interest.

He raked his hands forcefully back through his dark locks—clenching them in the hair at the nape of his neck until they shook—then promptly relaxed them back to his sides. He quickly checked over his shoulder before crowding her further behind the shrubbery.

She shivered as he moved closer, hand firm on her shoulder and disheveled hair tickling the side of her face. His lips almost brushed her skin as he whispered: “I need to speak with you urgently and privately at Edelgard’s request. Meet me at the stables after today’s lessons are concluded. Take a circuitous route, and ensure that no one follows you.”

Hilda Goneril was proving to be more of an ally than Edelgard could have ever anticipated. 

When the princess caught up with Monica’s impersonator, she found her in conversation with the Golden Deer student, matching fake smiles on each of their faces.

“I’m surprised that you didn’t take more time in the infirmary, Monica, after what you’ve been through. A whole year of imprisonment with those monsters! Just thinking about it makes me shudder,” Hilda said as Edelgard approached. The pair was standing near the entrance to the library—one of two places Edelgard had surmised the Agarthan might make a beeline for, considering the records her classmates had uncovered there.

“Honestly, I don’t remember very much of it. I’m just eager to catch up on what I missed while I was away,” the red-head answered. “Oh, Edel! Just the person I wanted to see.” Her hands closed like a vice around Edelgard’s elbow, steering her past the surprised axe-wielder.

Shoulder to shoulder with the fake, Edelgard withheld the urge to gag. She smelled stale and sour—nothing like the real Monica had—and her hands were ice-cold even through the fabric of Edelgard’s sleeve.

Just as the Agarthan drew her out of Hilda’s sight, the Alliance student popped back into view again, a gloating sparkle in her eyes. “Actually, the Archbishop was concerned about over-burdening your house leader,” Hilda explained, closing the distance. “I mean, she is already supporting the management of a whole country, in addition to her studies. Seteth and Rhea thought that I might be willing to lend a hand getting you resettled.”

Edelgard blanched slightly. It was very unlikely that this was true, and the lie took her aback. Why would Hilda be so eager to wedge her way between the Agarthan and the princess? She was never one to volunteer for additional work.

“Oh, how thoughtful of them,” the red-head replied tightly, voice dripping with barely contained sarcasm. She released Edelgard’s arm, and the latter rubbed the spot she’d been clutching.

Hilda simpered a laugh, before rummaging in her bag. “Here,” she said, handing over what looked to be a list of books. “This is recommended reading to catch you up on Hanneman and Manuela’s classes.”

The pretender took the paper with a suppressed grimace, while Edelgard second guessed herself. Was it truly a lie? She produced that list with remarkable poise if she made it up on the spot.

Looking over the Agarthan’s shoulder, Edelgard could see that this was merely a compilation of texts they had read previously that year, but still, it seemed unlikely that Hilda would be carrying this on her for no reason.

“Thank you so much!” the red-head chirped, looking around the library as if overwhelmed. “It will take me a while to gather all these, I’m sure. Please, I wouldn’t want to take up more of either of your time.” She gave them a half bow and turned as if to scan the shelves. A clear attempt to dismiss her audience.

“It’s no trouble!” Hilda smiled, looking like the cat who caught the canary. “I just told you the Archbishop asked that I reorient you. I can’t ignore a request like that. I’ll help you locate some of these books—no need to read them all right away!—and then we can stop by professor Manuela’s office to pick up the key to your dorm room. Cyril has been working doubletime to prepare it. No one expected you to be ready to leave the infirmary so soon, you know!”

The false Monica had no choice but to accept Hilda’s aid with a faux-grateful expression, or risk blowing her cover. Edelgard—needing to feign a reason to remain and keep a watchful eye on the pair—retrieved a book Byleth had recommended on Dagdan battle strategy and sank down at one of the study tables, pretending to read.

The fourth time she glanced surreptitiously across the room at them, Hilda caught her eye and shot her a confident wink. Edelgard responded with a single raised brow.

She is definitely up to something, she concluded. Strangely, though Hilda’s actions hinted that she had her own suspicions about the masquerader, Edelgard did not feel the anxiety she would normally expect. In its place was something that felt dangerously like hope.

Chapter Text

The sky was purple with approaching dusk when Hubert stopped and dismounted from his horse in a quiet stretch of forest a short way from the monastery—secluded but sparse enough that no one could sneak up on them. Byleth followed his lead, her head buzzing with uncalled for eagerness about this secret rendezvous. Had Edelgard broken her secrecy and told him of Byleth’s inappropriate emotional attachment?

It probably isn’t that, she reminded herself, to Sothis’ distant laughter. 

Of course, now you’re awake, she groused at the spirit.

Sothis yawned, and the professor felt her stretching like a cat in the recesses of her mind. Not for long, I think. Do not distress. You will have your privacy to do whatever foolish thing you are undertaking.

Byleth almost scoffed aloud at her companion, barely catching herself in time. But, with Hubert, a slip was all it took to see past her defenses and invade.

“Are you speaking with Sothis at present?” he asked. His tone was almost disinterested, containing just a bitter hint of anger.

Byleth felt a shard of ice sink through her abdomen, and Sothis’ presence firmed and shifted with alarm.

He knows, they both thought, almost in unison.

“How do you—”

But there was only one explanation, only one person who she had told about this, and he would never betray her confidence. Hubert had somehow overheard her conversation with her father. 

The dark mage watched it dawn on her with a quiet anxiety in the rigid lines of his posture.

She stared at him mutely, processing the information he had just hurled at her feet like a gauntlet. If he knew about Sothis…

Then he likely heard what you said about him, the spirit finished her thought with what felt like a wince.

Emotions exploded like firecrackers, twisting and curling through Byleth. Wary excitement had gathered at the thought of Hubert finding out from Edelgard. Considering the intense proximity of his request to meet, that might lead one to think he wanted to express reciprocation for her affection—for real this time, not as a slip in a twisted situation. Byleth had let herself meander fancifully through her mind with such dangerous thoughts on the ride here; now she was left floundering as reality sank heavily down upon her. She certainly hadn’t wanted her feelings revealed like this, preambled by the only lie she had ever told him.

He seemed to realize the moment she came to fully understand what he knew. Green eyes sharpened, lips pursed into a line, and he drew two impatient steps closer, using his proximity to refocus her attention on him. A thin, false confidence was stretched across the hurt and burgeoning fury in the set of his face.

“I knew that you were speaking with someone. I asked you about it. Why did you keep this from us?” he demanded with another step into her personal space.

She felt frozen, a caricature of the sensations she had experienced when he pinned her to her desk. Now, it was anticipation iced in dread. 

Is this the moment in which he actually attempts my life? she wondered, thinking back to all of his threats. Even when he pulled his dagger on her, she had not been so scared of what might come next; she had been confident she could talk him down. Not now.

“I…I was afraid,” Byleth breathed at last, barely above a whisper. Hubert’s expression tightened, and he crossed his arms—a staunch barrier between them. “You already thought I was trying to trick you, and my explanation for that was time travel. How could I expect you to accept that the reason for my power is a spirit living in my head who shares the name of the Church’s goddess? I know how it sounds. I—”

The air around him suddenly felt too thin, and she staggered back abruptly, colliding with the trunk of a tree. Her hand came to clutch anxiously at her tight chest as she tried not to devolve into hysterics. She had never felt like this before.

You must breathe, Byleth. Deep breaths. You can always turn back the clock, if you need, Sothis advised soothingly.  

Byleth dutifully attempted to suck air through her narrowed throat, acutely aware of Hubert’s hawk-like eyes cataloging her every weakness. But we will remember. Even if I save myself, it will never be like it was again.

Sothis’ presence flickered as she struggled to remain awake. He seems far more wounded than murderous to me, though I wouldn’t let your guard down. Another yawn followed this, and she added, I fear I do not have the stamina to support you through the whole of this encounter. My memories are leaving me so weary. But I know that you can handle this without me, and we will speak at length about it when I wake.

The professor managed several decent breaths, swallowed, and firmed her shoulders. You’re right. I can do this. I can—

“What is she saying to you now?” Hubert interrupted, tone inscrutable.

Byleth frowned at him as Sothis slipped back into unconsciousness with a parting: You are strong enough to face this, whatever comes.

Deep breaths, Byleth told herself. Deep breaths, deep breaths.

“She was giving me advice, reminding me not to panic.”

“Why would you be panicked?”

The professor’s eyes boggled at this question, presented too calmly and innocently to be genuine. She had no idea how to interpret it, especially without her advisor in her ear.

Disoriented by his shift in mood, she answered honestly. “Because I fear you may have asked me here to try to kill me. Preventing you would only make us enemies, and it would destroy me to think of you and Edelgard like that."

He uncrossed his arms, expression creasing with momentary surprise before he scoffed a humorless laugh. “Heh. That is not why I asked you here, though I am under Lady Edelgard’s orders. You should know that she does not want you harmed, despite your deception.”

That statement left a clear question hanging between them. “But you disagree? You…want me harmed?” Byleth couldn’t disguise the way her voice wobbled at the end. She wished she could pivot and hide her face against the tree, but she couldn’t risk turning her back right now. Hubert rarely disobeyed Edelgard’s instructions, but he frequently bent the rules.

Her query seemed to strike him, and she didn’t miss the flicker of shame that colored his face in the silence. He fixed his eyes on his twisting hands, fingers interwoven over his stomach. 

“I—” He cut himself off, stiffening. “My feelings have always been irrelevant. It is Lady Edelgard’s will that you remain at our side, and so it shall be.” His voice was tight, with an almost mournful tone.

That wasn’t exactly a no. Despite herself, the knot in her throat began to loosen. 

“Your feelings are not irrelevant to me,” she insisted, hesitantly pushing off from the tree and hazarding a step nearer to him. A recklessly trusting move in the wake of her earlier caution, but she got the sense it was time to press her luck. It occurred to her that much had happened since she brought her father up to speed—many moments during which Hubert could have turned on her, had that been his intention.

He seems far more wounded than murderous, Sothis had said, and Byleth saw that there was truth to that.

Hubert’s eyes widened at her advance, but he didn’t move away. “You knew all of this before the battle with the Agarthans, and still, you raced nearly to the epicenter of the darkest spell I’ve ever seen to attempt my rescue. Why?”

“Lady Edelgard was eager to save you, and I would not leave her side in such a scenario,” he hedged, still refusing to meet her gaze.

She wasn’t letting him off that easily. “With your knowledge of dark magic, were you truly under the impression that I could be saved?”

The ensuing silence spoke volumes.

“I…was not,” he answered at last. His words carried the weight of a heavy truth. “I assumed you had exhausted your reversal abilities. I should have stopped Lady Edelgard from pursuing you immediately… Yet, if I had, you likely would not be here now.” His voice sharpened moderately, but it was tempered by the warmth lingering in the corners of his half-scowl. “Fool that you are, you fail to reach for the reins of time when it’s your own life at stake.”

Their eyes met like the last step of a spell, creating a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Byleth controlled her breathing and pushed the subject further. 

“You want me here, then?” The question came out far more apprehensive and fragile than she had anticipated.

A wolfish twist of Hubert’s lips, and with a gasp, she was being crowded back into the tree bark behind her. “Is that what you want from me, Professor? A pledge of my desire to keep you close?” he purred almost mockingly. He braced his hands against the trunk on either side of her head—caging her, but holding his body far enough away that they barely touched. “A bold request, surely”—his voice soured—“given that you’ve betrayed my trust, as well as attempted to drive a wedge between Lady Edelgard and myself.”

Byleth sputtered. “Drive a wedge between you and Edelgard? In what way?”

Hubert’s grimace deepened. “Do not attempt to deny it. You requested she lie to me on your behalf to protect your perceived misconduct, with no regard as to how that might affect me or my relationship with her highness.”

The professor deflated, her form slackening into the wood behind her. She stared at his lapel as she murmured, “I am sorry. I have been selfish regarding your feelings in this. I thought—”

“I know what you thought, but you were mistaken.” He leaned closer. “I am not an impressionable child you need to shield from the truth.”

She swallowed heavily, turning her face to the side in an attempt to hide the flush from his breath on her cheek. “I never thought of you as a child, but I am supposed to be your teacher. The power of such a position would require that I not abuse it to my personal benefit.”

This seemed to give Hubert pause, his lips pursing as if he’d just remembered something unpleasant. “I never thought of you as my teacher—it would be more accurate to call you an adversary. Professor is merely an honorific, an acknowledgement of your competent leadership, nothing more.”

A shiver ran up her spine that felt like the sunrise after a long, bloody night. “I’m fairly certain that’s the first time you’ve ever said something complimentary about me.”

It was his turn to blush, backing up several inches with a shake of his head, as if to clear it. He didn’t remove his hands from the tree, however, so he remained hovering, leaving her with less than a foot of breathing room. “If that’s the case, I apologize,” he said at last, in a lower voice than before. “It wasn’t for lack of appreciation of your abilities…” He huffed, turning his head before continuing. “But I cannot allow myself any further digressions from what I came here to discuss. Lady Edelgard and I find ourselves backed into a corner of sorts, and her highness is convinced that you will accept and aid us, even knowing the true scope of our schemes.” He met her gaze again, almost guiltily. “And, despite myself, I agree with her.” 

With that, he pushed away from Byleth and began to pace.

“Tell me what’s going on. Why is Edelgard not here? Is she safe?” Byleth’s normally mild tone had spiked to an almost shrill note.

Her reaction melted something inside of Hubert. Of course, her first concern is for Lady Edelgard’s safety, he thought. In that much, she had been an ally to him all along, from that first battle in which she threw herself between Edelgard and an advancing axe.

“Physically, she is fine, and I expect her to remain so. Mentally, I think it would be accurate to say that she has been wracked with guilt over the details of our lives we chose to withhold from you.” He paused, looking down at his hands. “They are details that do not paint us in the best light, but she wants you to know them now.”

“Why is she not here? Could she not face me with this?” Byleth repeated, appearing only slightly mollified by his reassurance.

“Lady Edelgard is occupied keeping an eye on the enemy, as well as under their surveillance. It was her express order that I come to you with this information, while she attempts to keep them distracted.” 

It was at this moment that he realized he had prepared no succinct summary of the situation with which to tidily present to the professor. He had been in such distress about this impending conversation, that he’d forced it from his mind in order to maintain a semi-normal presence in the day’s classes. He floundered as he tried to come up with a brief explanation, shuffling rapidly through his memories.

While he tarried, Byleth’s mouth pressed into a solemn line. She crossed the short distance between them and took one of his hands in her own, as he’d seen her do with Edelgard. Hubert stiffened, but allowed the contact. Her hand was unexpectedly warm in his, even through the fabric of his gloves.

“Please, explain. What sort of trouble are you in?”

With no plan of attack, he proceeded to be far more honest than he’d intended, letting her immediately coax him past the point where he reflexively began to withhold information, to the true, fragile heart of the thing.

“Those who slither in the dark have maintained an influence over us since we were children,” he explained, surprising himself with the bitterness in his tone. “An influence which we have never effectively been able to shake, despite our loathing. They offered us their power to unite Fodlan, and we claimed practicality and accepted…” It took two slow exhales before he could voice his next thought. “Since we met you, however, that arrangement rings increasingly false. Edelgard has been refusing their requests, but with each step away, they only grow more desperate to maintain their control over her.”

Hubert definitely was not expecting the cloaked arms that abruptly encircled him, pulling him tightly against the professor’s chest. The hug was firm, genuine, and much more welcome than he could have ever anticipated. He froze, caught between the desire to relax into the embrace and the instinct to shove her away, knowing how little he deserved such a gesture.

“Thank you for trusting me with this,” she said earnestly, her chin moving over his shoulder. “I suspected Edelgard had more contact with them than she initially shared. They would want to keep a close eye on their masterwork, and, well…with what you told me about your father, I thought it likely that he had been replaced, like Tomas.” She released him from her hold, rocking back on her heels; he felt her absence in the pit of his stomach. “I am so sorry for what you’ve gone through, Hubert. This isn’t your fault.”

He gaped at her, perplexed. She had worked out that Marquis von Vestra was now an Agarthan, but somehow concluded that Hubert deserved no blame in creating these circumstances. How could she possibly justify such a notion?

“Of course, it’s my fault,” he insisted with a step back. “You are not of the nobility, so I would not expect you to follow the inner workings of house politics, but you should at least know that House Vestra has served and protected House Hresvelg for generations. It was my house that was breached first by the enemy. Thus, I bear responsibility for everything that followed as a result.” His hand sliced the air with his next words. “If the Vestra’s had been more vigilant, Lady Edelgard would never have been taken by that filth.”

“Oh, Hubert…” Byleth wore a pained expression that bordered on pity. He flinched away from her touch on his forearm and the dull sympathy in her eyes. “I doubt very much that Edelgard sees it that way.”

“There is more you must know,” he announced, spurred by the urgency he now felt to demonstrate his inadequacy to Byleth. No soothing attempts to ward off his demons would continue once she knew everything, of that he felt certain. “Edelgard and I enrolled here to gain access to Church intel and resources we could use to ensure their downfall. We coordinated the attack on the Tomb of Seiros. The Death Knight is loyal to her highness and accompanied the Agarthan mages in that assault on her orders, though it was not an arrangement she wished to continue. Those who slither in the dark responded by abducting our agent.”

Byleth’s brow furrowed as she processed this information. She did not look nearly as perturbed as Hubert had anticipated, even with her often muted reactions. 

After a few moments, her expression cleared to one of surprise. “Jeritza?” she asked, almost sounding exasperated with herself.

Hubert nodded, cringing internally. It wouldn’t be long before she realized how he had manipulated her emotions to keep this secret.

“I should have realized. That’s who I heard when we fought the Agarthans in the tunnels.” Her posture stiffened, and blue eyes locked with his pale green ones. There was a tinge of accusation in her voice as she continued, “I thought you were being strangely affectionate with me after the battle!”

Byleth pressed her palms over her eyes, face flushing as she retreated several steps. His hands half-reached for her, but hesitated into paralysis. 

Expression hidden behind her makeshift barrier, she asked, “What changed since then? Why reveal yourself?”

Hubert exhaled shakily and returned his hands to his sides. It would be selfish to touch her now, he decided. He couldn’t justify the notion that she would find him comforting after all that had been said.

“There is an immediate danger to you and our classmates. An interloper among us, masquerading as a student. They were confined to the infirmary until now.”

Byleth uncovered her face enough to meet his eyes again. “Jeritza or—”

“Monica, yes,” he interjected. “Jeritza tipped us off to her falsity, then she revealed herself as a spy in Lady Edelgard’s quarters a few hours ago. Her goal was clearly to secure our cooperation in keeping her identity a secret. Her highness led her to believe we would provide her aid—merely for the purposes of extracting her intel and revealing her to the Church.”

The professor’s expression brightened, and a slow grin spread across her face, as she dropped her hands back to her sides. “Then Edelgard sent you to me, to secure my help?”

“Precisely.” He didn’t understand why that information raised her spirits so abruptly.

Byleth let her head hang back, exposing her throat as she stared at the cloudy, twilight sky. “I am so proud of her,” she breathed to herself.

Hubert was shocked. Regardless that he always felt pride about Lady Edelgard’s accomplishments, the professor should not feel the same in the wake of this news. Most people would be enraged or hurt, as he was by her withholding. “Are you not angry?”

Her smile softened to something sadder as she lowered her chin to look at him again. “Are you angry with me?” she countered.

This took the wind out of him. The bristling fury he’d felt for her had grown quiet over the course of their discussion. In its place was merely a twisting anxiety about how she would respond to his own divulgence.

“I almost wish that I was,” he admitted. “I was far more at ease when I could claim to despise you.”

His instincts screamed in protest at this reveal, small though it was in comparison to everything else he had told her. He felt the sudden urge to flee, but his feet restrained him, rooted to the spot.

Byleth breathed a laugh, sounding vaguely relieved. “It’s hard to hold onto anger for those we care for, especially when they explain their actions.” Her eyes sparkled with a teasing affection that terrified as much as excited him, and he suddenly could not recall a word of their prior conversation. 

“I did not say I cared for you.” He meant for the denial to sound cold; instead, the words came out in a desperate rush, convincing no one, especially himself. Byleth’s face fell slightly, and he tried to recover his footing. “I wish I had not been forced to turn your emotions against you… It…”

He was saying too much, again. His stomach twisted painfully, lodged somewhere too high within his ribcage. “It isn’t what I wanted…what I want, but I cannot regret guarding Lady Edelgard’s plans,” he charged on. “I have devoted my life in service of her goals, and I will choose her protection above—”

The second hug was even more of a surprise than the first, sharply cutting off his speech.

“Hubert,” she shushed him softly. “Don’t you know by now, that you’re not the only one who feels that way about her? We don’t have to be at odds for you to preserve your loyalty to Edelgard.”

And she just kept proving that to him, didn’t she? Even when she challenged his instincts, everything Byleth did only seemed to unlock new options for Edelgard’s future—for all of their futures. As comfortable as Hubert told himself he was silently slaughtering his way to a new dawn for his country and his chosen family, the path they had laid was not without—often crushing—weight. Bearing it well didn’t make it any less heavy to hold. Yet Byleth was able to sweep their plans aside like the worst case scenario he and Edelgard had been trapped in for so long was nothing compared to the power of her will.

Something uncoiled in his chest, as he realized that this embrace was different than the last. It felt softer, more vulnerable—the lines of their bodies conforming against the other. Byleth had turned her face in, so her forehead rested on his neck, her breath ghosting over his collar. If Lady Edelgard changed her mind and asked him to take the professor’s life, this would be the way to do it.

And Byleth knew that. She was far too shrewd in assessing the strength of her opponents, and she had ample time to witness his skills in battle and in class. She had to know how dangerous Hubert was when he wanted to be. Minutes after accusing him of bringing her there to kill her, she was presenting him with a second opportunity to quite literally stab her in the back. He had told her he did not intend to harm her, and she believed him. Despite all that he had done—threatening, eavesdropping, manipulating—she kept trusting him anyway. Gesture after gesture of attempts to bridge the gap between them.

His knees began to tremble beneath him. He did not deserve this. Byleth’s arms tightened, almost in response to the thought—a firm reassurance.

Don’t you care for her, as I do? Don’t you want to trust someone again? Edelgard had asked him.

Hubert would feel guilty about it later, he knew, but maybe, just this once, he could let himself enjoy the way Byleth made him feel.

He hugged her back, left arm snaking around her waist and the right curling across her shoulders. She let out a soft “umpfh!” of surprise as he pulled her tighter against him, and the sound shot through him like lightning. He felt it in his toes.

Recoiling from the new sensation, Hubert withdrew immediately, and she let him go. Despite the briefness of the embrace, her cheeks were bright pink, and she half-hid a sheepish smile behind her hand.

A few beats of silence, then, “If I play it right, I think I can bring this Monica issue to Rhea. Is it likely the Agarthan will reveal your relationship with them?” Her tone was almost all business again, though Hubert’s pulse still thrummed with prurient, disorienting thoughts.

“I—no, but it’s possible.” He forced himself to focus. Lady Edelgard was in a perilous position—he could not let himself be distracted from that fact. “This one seemed…slightly more unhinged than those we’ve dealt with in the past.”

“Hmmm. In that case, it would be best that she not survive the attempt to apprehend her.” Admiration clenched painfully in his chest. “I think with just the Agarthans at play, I can handle Rhea. She has a”—her mouth pursed distastefully—“troubling fascination with me, but she and Seteth should take my word if I insist I overheard Monica threatening you and Edelgard after being caught in a lie. You two knew the real Monica, right? Caspar told me he thought you had been childhood friends.”

They spent the next five minutes or so hashing out the details of their plot, then she turned to him with a wistful quirk of her lips. “To avoid tipping our hand, It would be better if you remained at Edelgard’s side today, rather than slipping off to meet with me. Your absence will be noted.”

He didn’t understand at first. “I fail to see what good that does us now. I had to…”

Byleth’s grin unfurled slowly as he realized what she was proposing. “I have been practicing my control over the longer jumps,” she said. “I think I can drop right back into our conversation by the dormitories, though you might not remember this discussion until tomorrow.”

“You are truly more devious than I gave you credit for,” he breathed. Then, regaining his sense, added, “I am certain I can adapt. Give me the synopsis when you arrive.”

She ghosted her fingertips across the back of his hand, her eyes tinged with an unnerving sadness, despite the smile lingering at the corners of her mouth. “I’ll see you in a moment.”

Edelgard had spent the better part of her morning trailing Hilda and the pretender from a distance. The princess still struggled with how the Golden Deer lieutenant had become wrapped up in this, as well as what her intentions were, but for the moment, Hilda seemed to be on their side. She managed to prevent the imposter from accessing the library or the dormitories unsupervised, and must have also insisted on walking her to her classroom, if their current path was any indication.

Hubert intercepted Edelgard near the Officer’s Academy, looking disheveled and harried. “Lady Edelgard.” His tone was particularly intense for such a brief greeting, and she gave him a pointed once-over.

“Has something else happened?” she asked in a low voice.

Hubert looked flummoxed by this question, wild eyes darting about and catching the distant image of Hilda cajoling Monica into the Black Eagles classroom. His expression flattened into one of analysis. “It would seem we both have had a surprising morning,” he hedged. 

Edelgard was prepared to file the subject away for further inquiry when they were alone, but then the professor charged into view, clearly also headed for their classroom. Byleth did not see them, and her expression was blank as the day they’d met, but Hubert blushed furiously upon spotting her. He must have done as Edelgard asked and revealed all to the professor.

And it went well, as I thought it would, she concluded, glancing at his expression again. She only allowed herself to experience the slightest sinking feeling in her abdomen about pushing him toward Byleth. Edelgard’s personal misgivings were nothing compared to her mission.

Hubert noticed her examining him and immediately soured. He shot her his most accusatory glare, but the pink of his cheeks took all the bite out of the gesture.

This is all your fault, El, he seemed to say. Edelgard had started letting him call her that in her head again, recently.

The following day, Edelgard had made it halfway to the dormitories flanked by the Agarthan imposter and Hubert, when a shockingly bashful Claude stepped in their path. Wearing an expression that she had never before seen on the man, he plucked the false Monica’s hand from her side.

“I knew I would see you again. We haven’t been introduced. I’m Claude von Riegan,” he said with a small, uncharacteristic bow. 

“This is Monica von Ochs, as you’ve heard, I’m sure,” Edelgard interjected, questions lingering in her tone. He had not yet released the woman’s hand. 

The red-head blinked several times at him, before looking to Edelgard for assistance. “I met him on my way to the library last night,” she explained. “He warned me of the curfew and helped me avoid the patrolling faculty.”

Hubert made a small noise of disdain that he barely covered by transitioning into a coughing fit. Her retainer had spent a coffee-filled vigil at one of the study tables to prevent the Agarthan from searching for Solon’s records, but it seemed his efforts were unnecessary. Claude had headed the problem off far more effectively.

“Alright there, Hubert?” Claude asked, dropping the hand he held and looking toward the princess and her retainer at last. His eyes sparkled teasingly, and he smirked when Hubert shot him an ugly look.

“Perfectly well,” Hubert wheezed back.

Claude returned his attention to the red-head. “I was hoping last night’s daring rescue would buy me some goodwill with you. Now, would you dare,” his voice turned faux-austere, “to cross house lines and join me for the evening meal?”

Edelgard attempted not to show an inappropriate level of shock at this proposal. The pretender’s expression was caught between a gloating grin and a girlish simper. Her allies would certainly be pleased if she could both keep Edelgard in check and infiltrate the Alliance’s upper-echelon as well. For her, it was an easy—

“Yes,” the red-head replied in a voice so saccharine, it turned her stomach. “I would be delighted, so long as Edel has no objections.”

Did Byleth make the arrangements already? I thought they would take more time to convince, and this was not what Hubert said they discussed, Edelgard mused, trying to keep her lips from pursing peevishly.

“Of course I do not mind.” Her voice was firm and dismissive, as if this issue was beneath her. She breezed past them with a parting, “Enjoy yourselves,” as Hubert followed tacitly in her wake.

The slitherer wearing her friend’s face and the snake who she’d begun to think of as a friend headed in the other direction together.

Her gaze cut accusingly to her retainer. A small shake of his head dismissed the notion that he had any further knowledge on the situation than she did. 

Before they could discuss the matter further, Hilda appeared—a broad grin on her face.

“I thought that might work! Come on, you two. Claude will keep her distracted for a little while, at least. Byleth’s waiting for us in the greenhouse.”

Hubert didn’t miss a beat. “You need to explain yourself more thoroughly than that if you expect us to follow you.”

Hilda’s eyes twinkled in an endearing and vaguely concerning manner. Her high voice was cloying when she answered. “I suppose, if you really want to stand her up and miss this one-time opportunity to prepare for what’s about to happen, that’s absolutely an option.”

Hubert scowled, and Edelgard quickly cut in. “Hilda, please, explain as we go. How did you know Monica was a threat before we had even informed the professor?” 

Did my teacher use her gift with the Deer? Anxiety squirmed in her chest, though her spine stayed straight as a rod.

As they headed for the greenhouse, Hilda answered, “Well, I thought Monica’s sudden appearance was kinda questionable from the start, then I overheard her threatening you two. We share a wall, you know. I knew then that she must be one of those nasty sorcerers like Tomas. I bet that you would need some help keeping her from learning anything useful, until we could trap her.”

Edelgard was struck so hard by this realization that she skidded to a halt. “You followed her when she left my room the other day? That’s why you were already there with her in the library?”

Hilda tugged impatiently at her arm. “Come on, it’s not that shocking that I would go out of my way to protect my classmates, is it?”

Hubert huffed a laugh. “It is quite the shock, considering your reputation.”

Edelgard agreed, but more than that, why would Hilda want to help her after overhearing their conversation? “What made you so certain that I planned to keep her from roaming free? You must have overheard me agree to the plot.”

Hilda turned to fully face Edelgard, perching her fists on her hips, then sinking into one. “Please,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I knew that if the Agarthan didn’t seem to know about us, which she obviously doesn’t, then you were playing her and needed our help. I know how much you hate them after what they did to you, and you had your friend to think about. Byleth explained things later, but Claude and I had already been running interference for hours by then.”

Shock laced its way through Edelgard’s system like a clarifying tonic. The easy way with which Hilda assumed her loyalty was especially surprising, since by the princess’ estimation, she and Hilda had the least in common of the three Deer she had confided in. She had been right to trust in Byleth’s strategy after all—her secrets had bought some measure of trust from the Goneril heir.

“You can thank me later,” Hilda said. “Right now, we need to go meet the professor. There have been some developments since you last spoke.”

“My father volunteered to assist with this. His involvement will ensure a swift end to the conflict,” Byleth explained from her perch beside the exotic plants Dedue usually tended. “Linhardt and Lysithea will hide themselves within earshot in case they are needed. You two,” she gestured to Edelgard and Hubert, but only met the first’s eyes. “Will lure our quarry.”

“Where will this take place?” Edelgard asked, edging forward tensely. It was clear how difficult it was for her to relinquish control of this situation to Byleth.

“The old chapel. Alois says they used to run voluntary training drills in the field beside it. We will be resuming that activity today. Monica must be included because of how behind she is in her studies.” There was a slight tick in Edelgard’s brow at her lost friend’s name. Byleth kicked herself internally, but continued. “Rhea is supposed to be in meditation on the far side of the compound. With any luck, she won’t be alerted to the conflict until it’s over.”

“I thought you and Hubert discussed an indoor confrontation? Fewer escape routes?” The princess looked distressed by the shift in her expectations.

Her shoulder was rigid under Byleth’s comforting hand. “It’s too big of a risk. We can presume that she has a mastery of Warp, which means there would be nothing to stop her from bringing the building down upon us and warping away. It’s much safer for all of you if we corner her in an open space with plenty of maneuverability.”

Hubert was petulant in response to this logic. “If such a scenario were to occur, you could simply reverse time. Staging this out in the open increases the likelihood…” He trailed off as Byleth slowly began to smile at him—weary and sad. “You already did that. This is your adjustment,” he concluded, avoiding her gaze.

Edelgard heaved a breath, and her hand abruptly grasped Byleth’s. “Thank you, my teacher.”

Byleth nodded and squeezed the princess’ hand before pulling away. “I will only be able to use my power thrice more today. We must not lean too heavily on it, or we may not have it when it’s needed most.”

Chapter Text

Her father’s rule for ambushes was to arrive over an hour before the target, so Byleth was unsurprised to find him waiting in the shadow of the old chapel with his horse when she got there.

“You’re late, kid.” His mouth was quirked at the corner, but he seemed tense.

“I was going over things with Hilda and Claude, again. They’re holding the most likely escape routes, but they’re not happy about it. They wanted to be here for the action,” she said, joining him against the back wall of the building. Adjacent to a taller stone battlement, it was well hidden from the area’s approach.

“That’s the sign of a good leader,” replied the Blade Breaker. “They listen to you, all of them do, even when it’s not what they want to hear. It took me years to build that kind of unshakeable loyalty in our mercenary company.”

She tried not to cringe away from his praise. It triggered a flutter of embarrassment and unease. Was he really seeing her accomplishments, or was it just another benefit of Sothis’ power? Byleth felt more than heard the spirit huff disapprovingly at this thought.

“What is it?” her father asked.

Byleth didn’t want him to know the depth of her insecurity. After their last talk, she felt as though she had lost a measure of his respect and needed to protect what remained. Instead, she went on the offensive. “You mentioned that there were things you kept from me. I’m willing to bet they’re things you should have told me when you showed me Mother’s grave.” It was true, despite being a deflection.

Jeralt heaved a long, slow breath, looking down at the horse reins he held loosely in one hand. “I know I don’t talk about her enough.”

“You never talk about her,” Byleth corrected, her arms crossing. “And that’s not an adequate answer.”

“I’m sorry,” he blustered. “She…it took a long time for me to make sense of what happened to her…and to you. After what you told me last week, I’m still not sure I fully understand. That’s why I brought us back here in the first place, but Lady Rhea’s been reticent on the subject.”

Byleth stiffened, recalling her conversation with the Archbishop the day prior. “Rhea claims my mother was a dear friend, that she knew the both of you when you were courting. At first, I assumed it must be a lie, since you never mentioned it, but it’s true, isn’t it? That’s why Mother’s grave is here. Was this where I was born?”

Jeralt deflated visibly, sinking back on his heels. “Yeah, kid…I lied about you when we arrived. I didn’t want Lady Rhea to know you were Sitri’s child. For all the good it did; I doubt she ever believed me.” He shot Byleth a look of discomfort that she was beginning to recognize. He’d looked the same when she asked why Sitri’s grave was at the monastery. “And, I guess I didn’t want you to know that I faked your death before you were a year old—because of the woman whose leadership I placed us both back under.”

A chill spread in ripples from the center of her abdomen, a hybrid sensation made of her shock and Sothis’ icy understanding. “You faked—Why? ”

The Blade Breaker shook his head, reaching into the satchel at his waist where he usually kept his flask to produce a worn leather book. “I’ve been reading over my diary entries from back then, trying to figure out how to explain this to you.” What appeared to be a bookmark winked out near the spine, but he opened the pages to reveal that the ribbon was attached to a much longer lock of vibrant green hair. “Your mother’s,” he said, gesturing to it. “Lady Rhea had someone bring it to me with the news of her death… She wouldn’t let me see the body for days, and she insisted you be kept in the Church’s nursery while I grieved.”

The sensation of crying washed through Byleth, but when she swiped at her face, it was dry. Sothis was suspiciously silent. 

“I thought she died in childbirth. Why would that prevent you from seeing the body?” Byleth’s voice was unusually small. The image that she had always conjured to represent her mother sank like a stone in her stomach.

Her father issued a rough exhale, then began to read from the journal. “Day 20 of the Horsebow Moon. All is cloudy. I can't believe she's dead. Lady Rhea said she died during childbirth. But is that the truth? And still, the child she traded her life for doesn't make a sound… Didn't even cry at birth.”

Oh, Byleth. I am so sorry, Sothis whispered in a voice thick with tears, then fell silent. Retreating as much as she could to make space for Byleth’s reaction.

Jeralt met his daughter’s eyes for a moment, brow creased with concern, then continued. “Day 25 of the Horsebow Moon. It's raining. The baby doesn't laugh or cry. Not ever. Lady Rhea says not to worry, but a baby that doesn't cry...isn't natural. Had a doctor examine the child in secret. He said the pulse is normal, but there's no heartbeat.”

No heartbeat? How could that be? And yet Sothis’ certainty confirmed it, as if she had expected this would be the case. Something like betrayal twisted in Byleth’s stomach.

The professor laid a hand on her silent chest, attempting to smother the ache that rose with this knowledge. The jagged edges of the stone wall behind her were sharp points of clarity against her skin, and she leaned into them, then turned to press her face into the rough, cold touch—hiding. “I always knew there was something wrong with me…and with Rhea. Did she do this to me?”

Byleth heard him shut the book. The warm weight of his hand on her shoulder followed. “I don’t know for sure, kid, but I think so. I was terrified of her after that. She was always finding reasons to keep you away from me, like she didn’t want me to keep asking questions about your behaviors. A fire broke out one night, and I saw our chance to escape. I convinced Rhea that you died, and that I needed some time away from the monastery to clear my head.” He huffed a laugh, roughing his hair with a gloved hand. “I remember thinking that would be the only time I was happy that you were so quiet—made it much easier to sneak you out of here.”

She swirled to fix him with a sharp look. “Then, what? You took me to Remire and never looked into my lack of a heartbeat again? We’ve been traveling for years with your company, visiting every major city across the continent with experts who might’ve—”

“Byleth,” he interjected soothingly, hands coming to grip her shoulders. “There were others. Of course there were. None of them had a clue, and after the second time someone offered to pay me to keep you for study…” His eyes hardened. “I wasn’t going to risk making you a target. Why do you think we were always traveling?”

The furrow in her brow deepened. “Because we’re mercenaries who go where the job takes us?” Her tone was downtrodden—she’d already begun to string together what he was going to say.

“No, kid. Most companies aren’t as far-ranging as ours was.” He let his hands slide down to squeeze her upper arms affectionately. “You drew a lot of attention”—a quirk appeared in the corner of his mouth—“especially when you were young. You were eerily still and silent compared to others your age, and you could wield a sword like a veteran before you were ten. If we stayed too long,” his face fell slightly, “people would start to ask questions.”

Byleth shrugged off her father and returned her forehead to the stone of the wall, speaking into it when she replied, “Your company. Fliss and Kevran are the only ones I remember being there from early on. I’m the reason, aren’t I? They found me unsettling.”

“No.” Jeralt’s horse shifted, and he she heard him pat it gruffly before he continued. “More like, the more we learned about them, the less I trusted them around you. Actually, Fliss dismissed half of them on her own. She didn’t even give me the details most of the time. She’d just tell me they were unworthy company for our girl, and we’d leave it at that.” 

A smile pulled at Byleth’s lips despite herself. That sounded like Fliss. She had never been one to suffer fools.

“I haven’t told her about the sallow kid, yet, but I imagine she will have opinions about that, too,” her father said, a smirk stealing into his solemn tone.

This got her to turn back around, again with narrowed her eyes. Jeralt’s smirk stretched into a triumphant grin. “He’s not sallow.”

Her father’s face fell slightly, and he sighed. “Please tell me you aren’t doing all of this for him. I don’t get the feeling that he would return the favor, from what I’ve learned of him.”

A step closer, her tone flattening. “And just what have you learned of him?”

The Blade Breaker snorted. “I know how aware he seems to be of you whenever you’re together, but he is the same and more so with the imperial princess. He stopped her from pursuing you during the sorcerer’s attack.”

“And he should’ve done it sooner!” she countered, bristling. “Better for me to die taking a hit for them than for all of us to die.”

“I’m just worried about you, kid. It’s clear there’s more than duty between them.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose—a habit she’d picked up from Edelgard. “There’s more than duty between all of us. I didn’t save Edelgard or follow her to the Black Eagles because of duty. I wish that I had. That’s what I was trying to tell you before. My feelings for them are too complex for teacher and student, for imperial heirs and former mercenary. I have no right to think of them as”—her voice fell—“mine.”

Jeralt fixed her with a hard look. “That’s how I felt with your mother at first,” he answered. “She was one of Lady Rhea’s monks, as close an attendant as Seteth is now. Rhea doted on her like she was her child. Sitri belonged to something that seemed so much greater than me, but in the end, it was her choice who she loved.” He began gruffly patting his horse again, as if uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. “What will you do when they graduate?”

Byleth deflated. “Sothis asked me the same thing.”

“Sothis asked?” the Blade Breaker replied incredulously.

“Yeah, we talk. I told you,” she answered, as if this were an obvious concept he should have immediately grasped. “She’s here, now.” Byleth gestured toward her head.

Jeralt blinked at her. “No, I remember. It was more the revelation that you discuss your love life with the goddess in your head.”

Byleth grew even more bewildered by this. “She’s my friend.”

“You know that her name is that of the Church’s—”

“Yes.”

Her father fell silent, and Sothis’ tumultuous emotions amplified as she corporealized for Byleth at her side. I wish to speak to him. Will you help me? the girl asked, floating unseen between the professor and her father.

Byleth nodded. “She wants to talk to you.” Jeralt looked as if he was bracing himself.

Please convey my deepest apologies for the suffering you both experienced as a result of my presence in you from birth. While our friendship is most dear to me, I do not think it worth sacrificing your childhood. I would never have chosen this.

Byleth was stunned by the depth of Sothis’ feelings on this issue—the primary one close to shame. The professor had known her spirit friend was deeply affected by the news Jeralt had shared, but this seemed like more than that. She relayed this message to her father, who looked equally perplexed.

“She’s…sorry?” He scratched the horse between its ears and looked at his boots. “Tell her—”

“She can hear you as I can.”

Jeralt shook himself, looking somewhere to the left of Byleth’s shoulder as he continued. “Then, Sothis, do you know how you became fused with my daughter?”

For the first time since Byleth began asking her about this topic, Sothis surprised her. The spirit took a deep breath, clasping her hands and hovering closer to Byleth.

Tell him that I think I do, but, should I reveal this secret, you both might wish that I had not told you.

She shot her a shocked side glance. What? When did you remember? How long have you kept this from me?

Days at most. Sothis looked deeply troubled. You must understand. The implications are… It bodes poorly for us, no matter what, but I can bear that knowledge alone. You have been through enough because of me.

She repeated Sothis’ words to her father, who echoed her thoughts in reply: “Tell us, please. We have to know.” 

Byleth nodded her agreement, and Sothis pursed her lips.

Very well. Some are my own conclusions, but based on everything I have learned, I believe them to be sound. You have guessed that I am the Church’s goddess Sothis, the progenitor god, and you have heard of my people—the Nabateans. They were…my children, and most of them were slaughtered…using my body.

Her body? Was this what Sothis had meant before when she told her someone stole her form?

Yes, Sothis answered the undirected thought. I did not have as much of the detail as I do now, but…it seems enough.

Byleth repeated the goddess’ words for her father.

“Did someone take control of you somehow?” Jeralt asked, perturbed. Byleth shared his confusion.

You could say that… First, there was endless war with the others. The Agarthans. Sothis looked away from them as if reopening memories. They wanted our power, and eventually, they grew cunning enough to get the better of me. They unleashed magic that tore the land apart in their attempts to cut us down, and I was forced to expend all of my power to restore it. Then, when I was sleeping and vulnerable, they sent their agent to strike.

The goddess’ eyes met her vessel’s again, and Byleth felt the memory that had ripped through her during the fight to rescue Flayn steal through her senses once more. The feeling of her limbs carving through butter crawled over her skin. The stab of phantom pain in her chest, as if her heart were being excised by a blade.

I have no heart to remove, came the sullen thought.

Sothis’ reply was hushed. Are you so certain? 

“What is she saying?” the Blade Breaker cut in. His piercing unease was unique—much like his daughter, in most situations where others were prone to panic, Jeralt usually radiated a stalwart calm.

“She says…the Agarthans tricked her, and…” Her eyes flicked back to Sothis, and she grew silent as the spirit’s words sank in.

What are you implying?

A shared memory replayed in her mind.

The Sword of the Creator differs from her Thunderbrand in one key way. It bears a hole...where something should have been, but is no more.

“I don’t understand,” Byleth replied aloud, mostly to put off an anxious Jeralt.

Sothis floated closer and grasped Byleth’s hand in her own smaller one. The touch felt feather light—the graze of a warm breeze. After years of capturing my children and experimenting on them, the Agarthans must have developed a way to harness our power for their own. It is this same method that they used upon me…to turn me into a weapon wielded by their champion. My memories from this time are horrific and scattered—aberrant sensations beneath so much pain—but when you wield the Sword of the Creator, they become somewhat decipherable.

Something tensed and dropped in her stomach. The Sword of the Creator. Oh. Oh.

“The Agarthans turned her into a weapon,” Byleth summarized numbly.

The furrow in Jeralt’s brow deepened. “A weapon?”

A horrible understanding wrapped itself around her throat. This was why fighting with the Sword felt like fighting with Sothis at her elbow. It was something she and Sothis had found themselves grateful for—many times—but the origin was ugly and ringed in blood.

She retrieved the blade from her back, felt it pulse to life under her hand like the heartbeat she didn’t have. Sothis sighed, and a dull pressure that had been squeezing Byleth’s thoughts made itself known through its absence. She examined the weapon. The warm glow of the grip. The strange serrated points down one side—that had suddenly begun to look suspiciously like the segments of a spine.

Jeralt’s eyes were saucers, staring at the sword. “Oh, kid… I see what she meant about wishing we hadn’t learned this.”

“What does this have to do with my heart?”

Sothis looked down at the garish blade forged from her body, glowing between them. Rhea must have put me inside you somehow, and to do that, she would have needed a powerful talisman, likely made from my body or blood. This weapon—she gestured to the Sword—was forged by the same people who forged the other Relics, most of which have a glowing stone embedded within them. A magic item such as that, one powerful enough to hold my essence… ‘Tis possible it could function as a heart, if implanted.

Byleth swallowed the bile rising at the back of her throat. You think that Rhea put a stone created by your murderers in my chest when I was a baby?

Sothis nodded solemnly. Likely the day of your birth. That may also explain why she wouldn’t let your father see your mother’s body—Sitri may have been carrying the stone prior. Rhea would have been able to heal your wounds, but not your mother’s after she passed.

Byleth shuddered at the thought. Had Rhea killed her mother to create a vessel for the goddess? At the very least, it seemed possible. 

She relayed all of this to her father, who looked as nauseous as she would expect him to in response to such news. “I’m sorry, Byleth,” he said, running a hand roughly over his face. “I should never have brought you back here. We should…we should leave. Now. As soon as we can.”

Something steeled and stiffened every joint in her body, and she met his gaze with icy determination. Sothis’s form flickered and dissipated, as she settled back into the corners of Byleth’s mind. A ribbon of satisfaction trailed out from her presence, as if she knew exactly what her vessel was going to say, despite the horrors of what had been done to both of them.

“I’m not leaving without my students.”

The chapel was at their backs as Edelgard emerged from the inky black of Hubert’s Warp spell, some ten yards from where they had just been standing. The guise of her childhood friend was creased in fury as Byleth and the Blade Breaker bore down upon the Agarthan pretender with weapons drawn.

“So, you’ve made your choice then,” the red-head jeered, a wicked dagger appearing in her hand. She retreated several steps before throwing a crazed smile at Edelgard. “Tormenting you has been fun, but I won’t miss being this weakling girl.” A haze of magic wrapped around her like a cocoon, dissipating almost as quickly, and she dodged Byleth’s first strike in what Edelgard assumed must be her true form. Wild orange hair and an outfit that better suited Manuela’s opera days than a battle, with a dramatic slit down the torso and long curling spikes encircling her hips. She was much younger than Edelgard had expected.

“You’re outnumbered. Stand down, interloper,” Jeralt commanded from his mount, rounding on her with his lance. His blade cut through the open air where her hip had been moments prior. She danced back, ducking into a roll to avoid another slash of the Sword of the Creator. 

“It’s Kronya,” she spat, twisting deftly to avoid the Blade Breaker’s follow-up attack and slicing her dagger down his horse’s flank.

The creature huffed in pain as Jeralt cursed. A shallow cut, but it would still impact their mobility in close quarters. The Blade Breaker backed off quickly to dismount.

“Kronya,” Byleth repeated the name with a strange, new coldness to her voice. Not the Ashen Demon—emotionless, blank—but frigid, iced in loathing. “What did you do with the child whose face you stole?” She snapped her whip-like blade into the stone to her right as she approached Kronya on slow, confident feet.

Byleth’s fury weakened the internal barriers Edelgard had been fortifying since learning of Hubert’s affection for the woman. Flaring fondness for the professor crashed through—a pride in her, as if she belonged to Edelgard, like a sibling or Hubert. Someone she could rely on to act on her behalf when it counted.

Kronya grinned horribly. It was even more garish now than when she had looked like Monica. “Were you under the impression I would value the life of a sheep like her?”

Her laughter was interrupted by a huff as she threw her weight back to avoid the tip of the Sword of the Creator, flashing inches from the Agarthan’s face before reassembling in Byleth’s hand.

Jeralt flanked the pair, as the professor continued her assault. “I’m under the impression”—Byleth grunted as she threw a Nosferatu with her free hand—”that you killed a student of this Academy and kidnapped another. There will not be a third.”

Hubert slipped an axe into Edelgard’s hand, retrieved from where he had stashed it earlier in preparation for this battle. They shared a brief look, then approached to form a loose circle with Jeralt around Byleth and the enemy.

Kronya was starting to look a little nervous, eyes darting rapidly between the two Eisners, before she spun to flick a spell at Hubert. He easily deflected the attack, laughing darkly, and countered with a miasma of dark flames. Her eyes widened fractionally as she sidestepped the fireball, almost colliding with Edelgard’s swinging axe. The Agarthan managed to twist enough to keep her shoulder intact, the arc of the blade just missing her.

The princess swiveled to strike again, but Jeralt had already surged forward to attack with his lance. He managed to graze Kronya’s arm, earning a hiss from the Agarthan. “You’ll pay for that.”

A low hum of magic charged the air, and Hubert called out, “She’s going to—”

A black blur, and her warp deposited her on the outer ring of the group of fighters, directly behind the Blade Breaker. Time seemed to slow as he turned. It was clear it wasn’t going to be fast enough to deflect the slice of her dagger.

Edelgard’s eyes flickered to Byleth, whose face was stricken.

It’s too much, Byleth. You can’t keep doing this... We’re already past our limit.

Two laborious breaths, then…

I will do what I must.

Hubert had been closely observing his professor from the first, but even after she revealed her ability to reverse time, he had still struggled to identify the instant in which she made a return. But this time was different.

Half a breath after he caught the pressure change of Kronya’s impending warp, Byleth’s expression metamorphosed in a flash from a sharp battle-snarl to thoroughly drained. Her previously flushed but relatively dry face was now shining with sweat, damp strands of blue clinging to her skin. Understanding flooded Hubert’s chest, and he followed the line of Byleth’s frantic gaze to the Blade Breaker—weight thrown forward still in his failed attack.

Of course. Those who slither in the dark would be thrilled if Kronya eliminated one of Rhea’s most powerful officers. This was the interloper’s attempt to save herself from whatever punishment she would face for failing her infiltration mission. And, from Byleth’s frantic expression, Hubert could assume Kronya had succeeded, perhaps more than once.

He did not call out a warning as had been primed to do. If Byleth had drained herself as much as she appeared, clearly his first instinct had not been effective. There wasn’t time to warp behind where she would appear, and that would be foolish regardless, as Byleth was surely about to attempt a ranged attack in that spot.

Instead, the instant Kronya’s warp popped her out of existence, he cast Banshee on the spot he expected her to appear. Byleth’s sword uncoiled to strike just in front of his aim. Kronya appeared like water, contorting herself and dancing back to avoid the slice of the blade, but she was prepared for neither the swirls of purple magic from Hubert’s attack nor the throwing knife that followed, retrieved from Edelgard’s hip sheath while he was preoccupied.

Something solidified inside of him as he watched their attacks land—the magic singeing her skin and hair, the knife embedding itself in her flank. A still-grinning Kronya fell swiftly to her knees, and he turned to see his satisfaction and relief reflected in the triumphant flash of violet eyes. The sound of Byleth coldly cleaving off the head of their downed opponent shimmered through the imperials, sinking in like a promise. Kronya’s broken body leeched a circle of red as Byleth threw her arms around her father’s neck, and Linhardt and Lysithea appeared from the nearby smattering of trees.

“Is anyone injured?” Lysithea called, tugging along the yawning healer behind her.

Hubert would have five memories of that battle. No less than two more than should have been possible, according to Byleth’s account. At the end of every single one was the death of the Agarthan, as well as the frightening certainty that no matter what happened, the three of them could find a way to handle it.

Chapter Text

A hesitant knock on Edelgard’s door roused her from her work, tensing every muscle and setting off piercing alarms in her mind, too reminiscent of the last time she’d had an unexpected caller. 

The candles had all burned low. Hubert was the only one she usually saw up at this time of night, and he didn't knock like that. Cautiously, she approached the entrance to her room.

“Who calls at such an hour?” she demanded, expecting Linhardt or perhaps Ferdinand. The former kept odd hours and the latter had been known to pester her with inane challenges late into the evening.

“It’s only me,” came Byleth’s soft reply.

Edelgard’s insides somersaulted in a manner she chose to leave thoroughly unexamined, as she swiftly removed the barrier between them. The door swung open with such force, in fact, that it bounced against the far wall with an echoing thud that was certainly too loud for the hour. 

Byleth’s eyes widened marginally at the noise, and she blinked twice in the silence that followed, gaze darting around before settling squarely on Edelgard.

There were a few sparkling moments in which the princess took her in. She was wearing the Academy uniform Seteth and Rhea had selected for her, and it was a rare treat to see her in an ensemble coordinated to Edelgard’s, no matter the hour. 

“Professor, please, come in.” She stood to the side of the doorframe to let her pass.

Byleth remained frozen where she stood. “It is… I apologize,” she breathed, something like guilt hovering in the set of her mouth. “It is far too late to be bothering you. I see I have interrupted your studies.” She gestured to the several tomes Edelgard had laying open on her desk, surrounded by dwindling candles. “We can speak about this another time.”

Byleth turned as if to leave again, and before Edelgard could restrain herself, she had stepped into the hall, directly between her teacher and the stairs. “I can see that you are distressed. Did something happen with Rhea?”

The professor’s mouth twisted with an emotion Edelgard knew painfully well—impotent fury. Byleth and Jeralt had spoken to Rhea the previous evening after the incident with Kronya, and Edelgard understood that it had gone well. But there was to be another conversation regarding their plans to leave for Gronder Field at the week’s end, and Edelgard knew how firmly Byleth was campaigning to cancel the trip.

“I’ll take your expression to mean it did not go as you’d hoped,” Edelgard said.

The professor’s eyes flashed, but her voice was even when she replied. “She has put off the decision until Alois and Shamir return from their mission. But…” She stared at her fingers, fisted in the hem of her coat. “You are closer to the truth than you know.”

“Tell me.”

With the full gravity of command in her tone, it was every bit the demand of an imperial princess, but it was anyone’s guess how effective that would be. Byleth rarely responded to her authority the way Edelgard anticipated.

She was pleasantly surprised when the other woman’s shoulders rounded, and she sagged where she stood, stepping defeatedly through the entrance. Edelgard shut the door behind her, much more gently than she’d opened it. As Byleth fidgeted in the center of the room, Edelgard faced her second dilemma of this encounter. Where should she invite Byleth to sit? Her bed was far more comfortable than the desk chair, but would it be appropriate to offer that, considering Byleth’s position and the complicated relationship she had with Hubert? The lack of seating had never been an issue in the past, as the only person she entertained was her retainer, and he usually insisted on taking the chair, knowing her preference. But Byleth had clearly had a perturbing few days—Hubert would agree she was due a little extra care.

In the end, Edelgard pulled the chair near to the bed and settled in it, directing Byleth to the mattress. She sat without a flinch, looking down at her fisted hands on her knees. “I learned how I became the way that I am,” she breathed, flushing as the words left her mouth.

Edelgard’s pulse jumped in her throat, and she swallowed down the jittery anticipation of such a secret. “That is the reason you wanted to speak?”

Byleth’s eyes shone with something she couldn’t quite parse. “I think you will understand how I’m feeling more than anyone else… And, I suppose it seems fair. I know most of your secrets now, I think.”

Edelgard inclined her head, a smile stealing into the corner of her mouth. “Most, yes.”

“I don’t mean to imply that I had been keeping this part from you and Hubert. I only found out yesterday, directly before the battle.”

“And did you speak with Hubert about this already?” Byleth shook her head, lips pursing. Edelgard filed the expression (and the fluttering sensation in her chest in response to this news) away for later dissection. It wouldn’t do to dwell on them now. Instead, she steepled her fingers on her lap and leaned forward. “I confess I am exceedingly curious, most of all about why you think I can relate to your origin.”

Byleth leaned back, staring at the chandelier filled with dwindling candles. “I’ve always known how alike we are, from the moment I saw you fight.” She paused and crinkled her nose. “No… That’s not quite right. It was the way you looked at the battlefield... My father used to say I had ‘old eyes’, but I never understood what he meant until I saw you.” Byleth lowered her gaze to Edelgard’s. The princess fought the urge to squirm under the praise and scrutiny, her cheeks heating in a faint blush. “When I learned that we shared the Crest of Flames…I was happy. I remember being disgusted with myself for feeling that way, because of all that you suffered for that Crest, but it felt like something tangible I could point to—something that would explain this kinship I’ve felt with you from the first.” Byleth shook her head, looking away again. “But it’s all soaked in blood, Edelgard. Everything that ties us together. Everything that feeds our power. We are creatures from darkness, you and I.”

Edelgard steeled herself and laid a tense hand over Byleth’s—trembling in its clenched fist on her knee. “Hubert is fond of saying something to the effect of: ‘only those who know the darkness well can truly snuff it out.’”

Byleth’s earnest expression wobbled for a moment, and Edelgard kicked herself for bringing him up a second time. “Of course he would think that,” the professor breathed, tone bordering on wistful. “I…am terrified of what he’ll say when he knows the truth about me.”

Yet she came to me? Am I quite certain this is not a dream? Edelgard withdrew her hand from Byleth’s, attempting to shutter whatever bewildered look was stealing up her features. “You are being especially cryptic, my teacher.”

“I’m sorry,” Byleth replied. She was stone faced, but Edelgard heard the press of unease in her voice. “I’m working up to it.” Byleth looked to the side, as if distracted, then rolled her eyes almost imperceptibly. Hubert had told Edelgard about their professor frequently speaking to the spirit she housed while in his presence, but this was the first time the house leader had caught her doing so.

“Is Sothis with us?” Edelgard asked, gaze darting about as if to catch a hint of the goddess.

Byleth froze, then seemed to force herself to relax, pressing a palm into the mattress at her side and tipping her ear toward her shoulder. “I shouldn’t be so surprised when you notice her,” she said sheepishly, then paused, canting her chin upward. A smile perked the corner of her mouth. “Sothis wants me to give you a message.”

Edelgard found herself suddenly breathless—a hard, brittle thing sitting in her chest at the thought of interacting with the same goddess her siblings had prayed to in desperation, the goddess who left their prayers unanswered. The goddess against whose doctrine Edelgard had been quietly plotting a coup for years. What would such a creature have to say to her?

“Go on.”

Byleth’s eyes danced with a sparking emotion Edelgard couldn’t decode, but there was a melancholy note to her voice. “She claims she’s the one who recognized you first, all those months ago... She felt as I did, that we were…alike.” The professor’s gaze fell as Edelgard attempted to swallow around the lump rising in her throat. “And she’s sorry. All the horrors inflicted upon us are a result of her and her children’s actions… If she had the power, she would tear down the edifice erected in her name and give you back your life.” Byleth’s lips pursed in a frown. “As it happens, I plan to do that regardless of how much of her power remains.” 

The fierce look in Byleth’s eyes was like the whip of a strong spell, shattering through Edelgard’s senses. She let her weight fall back into the wood of the chair, her hands fisting in her skirt against the urge to rub her eyes. Instead, she fixed her unblinking stare on the far wall and waited for the cool sting of gathering tears to fade. “Does she mean to say the Agarthans are her children, as well?” Edelgard asked, her voice thankfully dry and even.

Byleth shook her head, and the movement unknotted some of the fear that had gathered in Edelgard's stomach. “The foundation of the nobility’s power and the Church’s supremacy. The Relics that can only be safely wielded by those who carry the bloodline. Those are her children.”

What can she mean by that? Ice crept up Edelgard’s spine. “The Relics?”

Byleth couldn’t have had the foresight to bring the Sword of the Creator with her for this discussion, but she suddenly wished desperately for its horrific countenance to lend itself to her explanation. 

She had come here as if sleepwalking, trapped in a collapsing moment of anxiety, frantic questions ringing in her head: How long can I take to process this before it’s a secret I’ve been keeping from them? Did they know about the Relics? Will they accept me? Will they accept me? WIlltheyacceptme?

Her feet—or rather, the impatient goddess in her head—brought her to Edelgard’s door, full consciousness only catching up and slamming into her with paralyzing panic the moment a quiet knock echoed in the hall from a hand she did not raise.

You will be glad of my influence once you actually say that which needs to be said, Sothis complained. She was correct to call you cryptic. You are handling this quite poorly.

Sothis’ critique was ignored in favor of peering into the corner of the room, avoiding Edelgard’s wide-eyed stare.

“Speak plainly, my teacher,” the princess beseeched. “I cannot help you if I do not understand.” 

Byleth squirmed beneath sharp, violet eyes. The papercut slice of Edelgard’s pursed frown hit her, and she turned back to face her student. Floundering for a visual aid, Byleth rolled up her sleeve and called her Crest, allowing the mark to flare to life, decorating her arm. “Crests come from the blood of Nabateans. We knew that. But the Crest we share is from the body of the same Nabatean, from whom we hold different parts. You knew that the experiments that gave you the Crest of Flames involved blood from ‘one who rivaled the Immaculate One.’” She paused, nibbled on her lower lip.

Here it comes.

“Did you know?” Byleth continued more softly. “About what the Agarthans turned their bodies into?”

Edelgard fixed her with a piercing look, sat up in her chair, and shifted forward to graze her fingers across Byleth’s bare forearm. The Crest mark dissipated into a charged silence. “I told you all that I knew about Crest origination prior to this conversation,” Edelgard said, still staring at Byleth’s skin below her fingertips.

A slow exhale ebbed some of the tension from Byleth’s frame, and she placed her other hand over Edelgard’s searching fingers, sealing closed the space between them. She felt Sothis’s influence ringing in the succinct explanation that finally tore from her lips. “The Crest stones are forged from Nabatean hearts, and the Relics from their bones. I, like you, am the result of experimentation with what remained of Sothis’ original body. I lack a heartbeat, and Sothis believes that when I was a child, Rhea implanted me with her Crest stone in place of a heart.”

Byleth felt Edelgard stiffen, and her stomach dropped into her toes like the weight of every book on Edelgard’s desk was sitting within it. 

“Lack a heartbeat?” Edelgard’s free hand rose to touch her temple. “I—how would you …” The fingers left her forehead, surging toward Byleth’s neck. The professor flinched as Edelgard pressed two cool digits over the pulse point in the curve of her throat, waited a few moments, then frowned sharply. “ Who told you that you are without a heartbeat, Byleth? Because I fear that you have been misled.”

Edelgard never called her by her name, and hearing it was like a lightning strike in her abdomen, lancing through the hot fear that had been bubbling there since she arrived, and leaving behind…something decidedly more concerning. Byleth’s cheeks colored and her stomach clenched painfully as she struggled to respond. “I am quite certain,” she squeaked out, feeling an alarming kinship to Bernadetta in that moment. “I don’t know how it works—no one, perhaps Rhea, does—but, listen.” She gestured to her still chest. Edelgard’s eyes widened owlishly at her request, and she rose from her chair to stand over the blushing swordswoman. Something apprehensive and shy flickered between them as Edelgard hesitated, angling her ear toward the fabric between the top pair of buttons on Byleth’s uniform. The professor turned her chin up and to the side to provide an unimpeded path for the princess as she lowered her head to Byleth’s breastbone.

A trill rocketed down the professor’s spine at the contact, and Sothis’ amber amusement followed the sensation. There were several moments of anxious silence while she held her breath and waited. The time in which she expected Edelgard to pull away and alter her assessment passed, and still, Byleth waited, becoming keenly aware with each passing moment how inappropriate such a request from her teacher was to begin with.

As if through gritted teeth—You were wrong to take us here.

I didn’t realize what I was doing at the time, Sothis murmured back, sounding somewhat chastened for the first time since they got there. It was not like walking as oneself. But regardless, it has been to your benefit.

Finally, a harsh exhale against her collar, and Edelgard’s chin hooked over her shoulder, arms encircling her.

“Edelgard?” Byleth’s voice was shaky and unsure, muffled by the froth of white hair in her face.

“Call me El,” she replied—warm but uneven, breathless.

“What?” 

“My parents and closest sisters called me that when I was young. Hubert did as well, for a brief time.” Edelgard pulled back and her eyes were shining like the first violet ray of a brilliant sunrise, aglow at the collision of night and dawn. “I thought the girl who would permit such an indulgence was erased, much like her hair color.” Her left hand fluttered through the ends of the white strands. “But you have stood with me and shared my burdens in such a way that I no longer feel she is completely lost to me.” 

Edelgard sank back into her chair, almost sheepishly. The breathing room was a relief that promptly iced over in panic—this lightheaded haze crawling through Byleth’s senses was unnervingly familiar. The urge to flee followed like a rush of cold water.  

“I want you to understand what it means to me, to have you at my side,” Edelgard said, and the inflection and stuttering smile as she spoke combined to cleanly gut Byleth of her urgency to end the interaction. “You’ve known for some time that Rhea has ill intentions for you, haven’t you?”

Clever child. Sothis’ pride was a soft, warm thing beneath her own.

Byleth nodded.

“I thought as much. You always struck me as somewhat wary of the Archbishop, even before our meeting with the Deer. What she did to you…violating your body for her own ends… Suffice it to say, it saddens me how much we have in common, and I could not fault you for wanting to be anywhere but living in her fortress. That you have remained is a statement in itself.”

The candlelight from the desk had begun to dwindle, several pillars having burned themselves out. The flickering collection that remained cast dramatic shadows across Edelgard’s nose, calling Byleth’s eyes back to flashing violet.

“Even now, I don’t find myself apprehensive about what you will do in response to this news. You have become the light that chases away the darkness. Therefore…perhaps not in front of the whole house,” Edelgard added, “but in private, it would mean a great deal to me, if you would call me El.”

“That’s what your family called you?” Byleth repeated, flinching at the placidness of her response—inside she was singing with emotion.

Edelgard nodded, an embarrassed flush climbing up her chest. “You do not have to strain yourself if it feels unnatural. I was not implying—”

“You misunderstand me, El… You mean a great deal to me, as well. Perhaps you already know, but I,” her eyes flicked up to Edelgard’s then away, “intend to remain at your side when it is time for you to leave Garreg Mach. I have for some time.”

And you wondered why I was so adamant that you come here, she heard Sothis scoff at a distant mock-whisper.

Edelgard, for her part, looked at a loss for words, something that Byleth was aware she would be wise to capitalize on. “I—I have taken too much of your time this evening. Thank you for listening to my rambling explanation. We can speak of this again at a more appropriate hour.”

The princess blinked thrice before inhaling sharply. “Of course. Please do not hesitate to come to me with worries in the future, my…” It seemed as if Edelgard had been heading into her common term of endearment: my teacher. But instead, she fell promptly silent and stood, an awkward skew to the set of her shoulders.

Byleth followed suit, and the princess escorted her to the door. “Hubert will understand, Byleth,” Edelgard said as she turned the knob, her voice a register lower than when she had last spoken. “I know how he presents himself to others, but…he cares very deeply.”

Byleth shook her head, bewildered by the subject change, and replied: “I’ve always admired your devotion to each other.” With a wince and no spirit intervention to blame that line on, she merely exited without so much as a “goodnight.” A failure to end the interaction with any more grace than she began it.

Something was lodged in Byleth's throat like a stone as she charged swiftly away from Edelgard's door. Every attempt to swallow it only sharpened the memory of the hitch in her breath when Edelgard's head met her chest, the little stutter of Byleth's heart when the princess twice called her by her name...

No. Nononono. This isn't happening. This cannot happen, Byleth thought, taking the stairs at a reckless pace.

Slow down! Sothis chided. Did you not tell your father just the other day that you felt more for Edelgard than duty? Why should this come as such a shock?

As if on cue, Byleth’s foot caught the edge of a stair at the wrong angle. Her momentum tugged her sharply forward, and she tumbled the last several feet, landing in a heap before the door.

If only my foolish friend heeded my counsel, Sothis sniped.

A sharp inhale revealed Byleth’s audience, but she could not see them from her current position: arms raised over her face to protect her head as she landed.

The magic that suddenly charged the air was achingly familiar, and her stomach dropped, as she lowered her arms to find Hubert kneeling before her, a shadow of a smirk in his serious expression. "Quite unusual to find you in the upper dorm at this hour, Professor." His voice was layered with suspicion and fascination.

Byleth stopped breathing, staring at his left hand, aglow in healing magic. "When did you learn—"

"I've always known this much," he interrupted. "I learned healing long ago to ensure Lady Edelgard's safety, though it's never come very naturally to me." His confidence flickered with his magic. "I admit, reviewing the basics with you was...productive."

"Why did you pretend to have no knowledge of it?" she asked, while his fingers feathered across the spot on her forearm that had caught the stairs the most sharply. The scrape was hardly concerning, though now that she looked, it was a noticeable red, beading with a sheen of blood. Hubert’s hand that had been assessing moved to grip her wrist, bending her arm at a right angle and bringing his spell to the wound.

The nudging touch was that of an unskilled healer, but the precise control he exuded over the flow of power belied his prowess in magic. A steady energy stream was the most crucial component when healing small, superficial wounds, making his clumsy probing inconsequential. The gash gradually sealed shut regardless.

His eyes flicked up to hers, then quickly back to the now smooth skin below his spell. He swallowed and released the magic, but kept hold of her wrist. “I don’t make it a habit of revealing all of my skills to a suspected enemy,” he answered her question at last.

As he was moving through that sentence, something in his tone caught on the corners of her mouth, inching them upward. “And now?”

Hubert met her eyes again. “I suppose you could say I’m attempting your strategy.” He loosened his grip on her wrist slowly, trailing his hand into hers and gripping to pull her to her feet with him. She allowed this, rising to face him, their clenched hands sandwiched between. The electricity rattled in her teeth and bones, jarring against the discovery of the similar feelings she was having for Edelgard. A light blush dusted Hubert’s pale complexion, and Byleth fought the sudden impulse to push closer and try to deepen his color.

What am I going to do? she asked her confidant.

Again, I fail to see why this is such a calamity. They are both clearly enraptured by you.

The spiraling shame within her chest revealed how little she valued Sothis’ read of the situation. Should it not pain me, to have to choose between two of my closest—

I do not recall suggesting you choose one.

Hubert released her hand and stepped back, a knowing glint in his eye, as if he saw the goddess through Byleth’s silence.

The Professor reddened, Sothis’ suggestion sticky in her throat.

“Thank you. For healing me,” Byleth choked out, sounding far more winded than she ought to.

Hubert’s eyes crinkled slightly, but his mouth remained in a neutral purse. His magic, though, simmered at the edges of her vision, charging the air. Almost a threat, or rather these days, a taunt—pushing and poking at her to see how she’ll react, what she’ll reveal. It had always been like this with them—more a contest than a flirtation—and nothing like the humming glow of kinship she felt with Edelgard. Still, the slow appraisal he gave her from her eyes to her toes quaked the ground beneath her feet.

“Goodnight, Professor.” The magic dissipated, as he turned on his heel and headed up the stairs.

“Goodnight,” she parroted too softly, several beats too late, watching him go.

Hubert sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the creases in his palms and thinking about Byleth’s skin beneath his. He wondered who she had been there to see so late in the evening. Twisting jealousy squirmed in his gut, and he scolded himself for his weakness. So, unbearably weak when it came to Byleth.

He had been saving his shaky proficiency with healing magic like a safety net, insurance if she turned on them. He had seen her bleeding before, had seen her far more injured than she was tonight, and he had withheld. But something had structurally shifted within him. The walls that made that segmentation possible were no longer there, and seeing her at the bottom of those stairs was like taking a lance to the abdomen. His instinct was to pull her to him, checking her for injury with urgent, undignified hands. He forced himself to settle for scanning her with healing magic instead.

Something about healing her had felt particularly unusual, and it kept niggling at him. He was a relative novice in the art, but he had practiced enough at this point to know there was something strange about the pulse of Byleth’s blood. The resonance was unusual—not the staccato thud he expected, but a more sustained rush, building to regular peaks.

It must be related to the goddess. Perhaps this is why the professor usually insists on heal—

A coded knock that he would recognize anywhere cut through his musing. He immediately rose and crossed to the door to let Lady Edelgard inside.

“I heard you return,” she said, looking solemn. “I hope you are not too weary to speak of important things.”

“Has something happened?” Hubert was instantly on high alert, tightly gripping the chair he had been drawing over. Edelgard soothed a hand over the one fisted on the wooden back, drawing it off the furniture with a shake of her head. She led him by the wrist to where he had been prior to her entry, seating herself on the bed to his right.

“Nothing dire, I assure you. I merely…had a rather illuminating conversation with the professor, and I thought I should speak with you about it.”

Hubert was now tensed in a whole new way. Byleth had been there to see Lady Edelgard? “Then please do so.” His eyes cut sharply to hers.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I was as surprised as you are. She…wanted to talk about our similarities, and share a facet of her origin she knew I could relate to…”

“A facet which you are now going to share with me?” Hubert prodded. She had kept Byleth’s secrets once from him already, and her expression was adding stones to his stomach, anticipating a repeat performance.

“I have shared that it exists and that Byleth intends to tell you of the details.” She held up a firm palm as he inhaled angrily to interrupt. "As it is not essential to our success, I believe it is hers to reveal. I would merely caution you to handle that conversation with care. She described herself as ‘terrified’ of your reaction.”

Hubert’s stomach was a cold hunk of granite. He swallowed the shards in his windpipe down, so he could speak. “She said that?”

“Yes.” Edelgard nodded urgently. “I imagine she’s worried you’ll think she's a monster…as I once was. You can understand why I would be protective of this piece of her history.”

“Lady Edelgard…”

“And that brings me to my next point. I have made the decision to allow her to call me El in private, and I would like to extend that to you, as well.” Hubert’s eyes bugged at the news. It felt as earth-shaking as when she told him she intended to refuse the Agarthans and change course all over again, except this time…also strangely warm. Buttery in the hunch of his shoulders, easing them back down from their perch beside his ears.

Even so, his rigid patterning could not allow for such indulgence. “That was questionable even when we were young,” he protested. “Now, it would be a clear sign of disrespect to refer to you in such a way. I could not possibly degrade—” 

“That’s enough,” she cut him off. Her stern look set him at ease, and he hated how much he needed her to talk him back from his own overreaching instincts. He was supposed to serve her, not the other way around. “You forget how well I know you, Hubert von Vestra.”

He did. He always did. And when she cracked his shell open with a declaration like that—offering up this bright, vulnerable gift—the gooey parts of him he preferred to hide were all the more visible to her.

“You would be absolutely unbearable,” she continued with a smirk, “if only the professor were to call me El. I recall your behavior earlier this year. No, far better for you to share the privilege,” her voice fell, “dear as you both are to me.”

A choked noise tore from his throat, and she raised a challenging brow. Something scattered and sharpened within him, and the indignant words that rushed out were in no way well-prepared. “Forgive me for saying so, but for how well you know me, it perturbs me how poorly you judge my intentions.” Edelgard’s brows shot to her hairline. “There is not any scenario in which I would reject closeness between you and an object of my affections because of paltry jealousy. Protesting your faith in her when her motives were suspect was a necessity, but now that we are certain of her loyalty, there is no one who I would rather see at your side or hers.”

It was Edelgard’s turn to look taken-aback, her mouth actually hanging just a touch ajar. Chasing the momentum, Hubert continued more softly: “I would never allow you to prostrate yourself over my feelings, especially on this. I can understand why having the professor call you that might be…healing, but with me, a painful reminder of the life that was taken from you.”

A sharp exhale cut the silence. “That is not the way that I feel. I merely meant…” She exhaled again, this one even more forced. “Byleth is changing the way I feel about my past. I can…think about my sisters again and feel joy, instead of the rage that has plagued me since the experiments. I can remember sparring with you in our youth.” Her lips folded softly upward. “You smiled more back then. You would grin whenever I beat you, then you would bow and say,” she dropped into a poor imitation of his adolescent voice, “I would expect nothing less from you, El.” Her smile faltered. “Those moments felt like I could fly.”

The faraway look in her eyes stabbed at his heart, then her cool hand over his own, loose against his thigh—it vibrated through him like a grindstone, gradually wearing him down. “Moments such as those…felt so distant for so long, as if they must have happened to someone else. But now, I want them back. I refuse to let those who slither in the dark take any more from me.”

Was he breathing? He wasn’t breathing. Hubert took several faux-normal breaths and tried to stop himself from leaping from the bed. For all the time he spent in her room and she his, he always sat in the chair. He was wise to do this, he surmised, as it felt dangerously intimate there at her side.

Her voice dropped to an even softer tone, chin lowering to her chest so he was staring at the crown of her head. “I scolded you before for maintaining walls between us, but I see now they are in large part the same walls that I built to protect myself after the experiments. Ever my dutiful confidante, you ensured that they were fortified and never violated, so naturally I will need your assistance to tear them back down.”

His mouth was incredibly dry. She had brought him to the bed, spoken at length about tearing down the walls between them, and still had her hand draped gingerly across his in his lap. She couldn’t possibly be implying…?

Surely not. 

He felt a hot flush creep up his face regardless as he stammered out. “Very well, Lady—El. I could not deny such an earnest request from you.”

Edelgard laughed like the sun cresting the tops of Enbarr’s historic towers, violet eyes sparkling merrily. “Lady El was not a term I offered.”

Hubert dropped his gaze immediately, a petulant set to his mouth. “It will take some adjusting, certainly, but I will—”

“I am teasing you, Hubert.” Her smile was wide and unapologetic as she rose from the bed, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Thank you. That is all I wished to speak about.”

He walked her to the door, opening it and hovering closer as she passed him. “Whatever you need, I am always here for you.”

He didn’t miss the delightful flush that crept up her neck as she turned away to stride into the hall with a parting, “Of course I know that.”

Hubert only realized later that she had used her childhood endearment to distract him from whatever secret Byleth had disclosed to her. He couldn’t help but be impressed, as he always was, by Edelgard’s cunning, and irritated with himself for being so easily negotiated into quiet appreciation of it.

Archbishop Rhea certainly looked the part, standing resplendent and perfectly centered in the stained glass window decorating the south wall of her chamber. Shamir and Alois were speaking with Catherine near the entrance to Rhea’s office, and Seteth and Jeralt stood to either side of Rhea, both looking grim.

“Ah, Byleth, thank you for joining us,” Seteth said as she approached. The tension around his eyes was clear, but his mouth creased in a half-hearted smile for her.

She answered the expression as best she could, then turned her attention to Rhea. “Have you come to a decision on the mock battle’s location?”

Rhea’s hands were posed delicately over her stomach, and they twitched sharply at Byleth’s question. “Dear child,” her voice was thick with cloying sweetness, “I know how strongly you feel about this subject. I could not finalize our plans without your input.”

Byleth withheld the snort that threatened to issue forth in response. Instead, she nodded, her eyes flitting briefly to her father. Jeralt had a signature series of creases in his brow that usually meant trouble. Byleth had expected where this would go, but had vainly thrown a bit more weight behind Rhea’s obsession with keeping her close.

Sothis would surely criticize her arrogance, if she were awake. The goddess’ stunt the previous evening had sapped her of her energy, and she had been sleeping since shortly after Byleth stumbled to her room.

“Shamir. Alois. Please proceed,” Rhea called in a slightly louder tone, pulling the attention of the Knights of Seiros out of their side conversation.

Shamir flicked her hair out of her eyes and led the trio to stand in front of Rhea. “If the goal of this organization is to gather and experiment on rare Crest-wielders like Flayn as you’ve surmised, removing all the students from the school will make us more vulnerable to attack. With the additional issue of their shapeshifting ability, there’s every chance that during travel or the mock battle, they could kidnap more of the students for their purposes.”

Relief was like a cool breeze in the stale chamber. Byleth chewed her lip as she waited to hear if Alois would share Shamir’s opinion. The boisterous Knight did not leave her waiting long. “Shamir is correct that the Knights alone cannot guarantee the students’ safety,” he began, and Byleth’s heart soared. “However, our students have demonstrated time and again that they can protect themselves quite competently. Many of them were involved in Flayn’s rescue, after all. I would hate to see them miss out on this important opportunity to celebrate their history because we failed to respect their growing skill in battle.”

Rhea inclined her head to both knights with a serene smile. “Worthy arguments. Well considered on both sides.”

Byleth felt her eyes bulging from her head at that quip from the Archbishop. “Celebrate their history?” she spoke out of turn. “Why is celebrating a thousand-year-old battle on the same soil a worthy reason to take the risk, when we could easily have the mock battle in Garreg Mach’s feeder fields?”

Rhea’s head swiveled gradually toward Byleth. The muscles in her jaw were taught, and Jeralt’s eyes to her left looked concerned.

Just as Rhea took a breath to respond, Seteth said, “She is correct in that, Rhea. I already consulted with the surrounding farmers to identify an area that would suit our needs without damaging their harvests.”

Startled, Byleth and Jeralt both turned to stare at the green-haired aid, who merely pursed his lips at their scrutiny. Rhea’s gaze remained fixed on Byleth.

“Your concern for your students’ is admirable, Professor, but I worry that you would hold them back from reaching their full potential.” Rhea’s emerald eyes were narrowed, but her voice was saccharine. Byleth thought she could see a hint of the dragon in the Nabatean’s wide, predatory pupils. “I agree with Alois. We must not underestimate the power that we have cultivated here. We will double the number of Knights, and I,” she laid a hand over her heart, “will personally be there to ensure that no harm comes to the students. We will leave for Gronder Field as planned.”

Byleth gritted her teeth and backed down immediately. “As you say, Archbishop.” It was not yet the time for a direct confrontation with Rhea, though a rising tension in her stomach told her that time was coming.

She noticed she wasn’t the only one who looked unhappy. Seteth, despite his closeness to the Archbishop, wore a deeply troubled frown as Rhea floated back to her office. Their eyes met briefly, and she gave him a nod of acknowledgment—a gesture he returned.

Chapter Text

Edelgard had prepared—in theory—for the trip to Grondor Field, but actually executing it was…more surprising than she had expected.

The first surprise came in the form of her traveling party. Rather than riding out with the Black Eagles and their standard retinue of support staff as expected, she was instead among a motley group of students at the center of a tight formation, ringed by other students, then the Knights of Seiros and faculty.

On horseback, Edelgard followed the angry Fraldarius swordsman. Felix was ignoring Flayn and Ferdinand, who were chatting animatedly about the many applications for Airmid Pike oil to his right. Bernadetta and Linhardt rode at Edelgard’s back, and she could hear the latter pestering Marianne for more details as to why she would be included in this high-risk group. In truth, even Edelgard did not know why the Alliance healer was present. Byleth had explained very little as she and Shamir arranged the students to set out. Edelgard had gathered that all the students bearing Crests from the four saints were present, which was logical, considering the Agarthans’ attempt to steal Flayn’s blood for Saint Cethleann’s Crest, but Marianne had no such Crest.

“Edelgard, would you grant me a question about your altercation with the mage in disguise?” Dimitri summoned her attention from her right. She turned toward the prince to find Claude beyond him, leaning forward on his horse, one eyebrow raised high.

“I will permit you to ask, though I cannot guarantee that I will have an answer that will satisfy you,” she said primly. Dimitri’s intense earnestness grated against something inside of her she couldn’t quite make out—a dull sort of longing tied up with chestnut hair. There was always a good reason not to dig into why, and now was no exception.

“You and the real Monica were childhood friends, were you not?”

Exasperation cut through her exhale. “Is this truly all you wanted to know? Yes, we were often in each other’s company at various political events. Hubert theorized that Baron Ochs was trying to ingratiate her into my service.”

Dimitri nodded, adjusting his hands on the reins with wooden motions. “I had heard as much. My true question was: were there signs that the person who returned from the dungeon was not truly her, prior to your altercation?”

Edelgard’s eyes cut sharply across him to lock with Claude’s. The Alliance heir looked as perplexed as she felt, but he inclined his head to her as if to say: Proceed with caution. Edelgard was shrewd enough to know that she needed to respond tactfully, so as not to arouse any suspicion, but being disingenuous with Dimitri always felt particularly uncomfortable—as if she had an instinct running counter to this behavior. It was why she so often devolved into sniping at and scolding him, disguising her hesitation.

“I had questions about her mannerisms, yes. Physically, she was a perfect copy, but the way she moved her face when she spoke and her laugh…they were certainly off-putting, compared to the girl I knew in my youth. Of course, I assumed it was merely a side-effect of her traumatic experience. A long imprisonment such as that…it can certainly change a person.”

Dimitri’s lips thinned, the muscles in his jaw tightening perceptibly. “Thank you. That sets me somewhat at ease,” he said, though his tense stance gave the opposite impression. “At the very least, we should be able to identify aberrant behavior in those who we know well.”

“The code phrases the professors made us learn should also be useful for that,” Claude interjected. Though he was half-hidden from her behind Dimitri, Edelgard saw Claude’s fingers tentatively graze the other’s forearm as he spoke. The prince turned toward him, and they had a brief, silent exchange that made Edelgard’s stomach roll uncomfortably.

She had not known when she confided in Claude that trust existed between these two, and it was not something the crafty archer had made known since then. What would Byleth say when she learned of this? Though Hubert was many riders ahead of her in the outer ring of Crest-less students, Edelgard could hear his response clearly in her head: This presents the perfect opportunity to reinstitute our original plan for the two rival heirs.

She was surprised with the rapidity with which she rejected his anticipated suggestion. Had she truly changed so much since the beginning of term? The ghost of Hilda’s smile as she explained her intervention with Kronya hovered in Edelgard’s periphery, whispering that much had changed, in fact.

“Dimitri,” Edelgard called his attention back to her with a start. Blue eyes were wide and somewhat guarded as they met hers. “Byleth made mention of her wish for us to create an inter-house plan to keep one another protected during the mock battle.” His expression softened slightly at the mention of the professor and the goal.

“She believes that is when we will be the most vulnerable to this shadow group’s interference,” Edelgard continued, ignoring the unabashed grin Claude had directed her way over Dimitri’s shoulder. “While we do not know the method by which they take others’ forms, the year since Monica’s disappearance points to a ritual of some length, so it is much more likely that they will attempt to infiltrate our support staff than to replace a student again. We must make plans in secret and share them judiciously with our fellow students only.”

Dimitri’s brows were lowered in serious consideration, and he swiveled his head to look at Claude, who quickly schooled his features. “It’s a sound strategy. I’m embarrassed I didn’t think of it myself,” said the archer, voice far too even for the cheeky glitter in his pupils.

Edelgard suppressed the mother of all sighs. Claude had suggested the need for a student-only safeguard to Byleth at their meeting prior to departure, giving the same arguments that Edelgard had just summarized. Though she had known that Claude would be insufferable for days, the logic was clear, so she voiced her support. The way Byleth glowed when Edelgard did so made it worthwhile, and they agreed to present the scheme to the other students as Byleth’s directive, to keep their inter-house alliance a secret.

It was Claude who insisted Edelgard be the one to bring it up with Dimitri.

It makes the most sense, and it’ll mean more coming from you. Trust me, he had said.

This was all the more perplexing a claim taken beside the clear friendship that had formed between the two while Edelgard wasn’t looking. That would make Claude the ideal person to bring such an idea to Dimitri, would it not?

“Did you have something specific in mind, Edelgard?”

Hearing her name in Dimitri’s voice was like a crack forming in a window pane. She felt it radiate through her with an uncomfortable dissonance, as it always did, but this time all the more piercingly. She had known there would be consequences to this mission of becoming more vulnerable with those she cared for, but she had not anticipated that exchange to ever involve Dimitri von Blaiddyd. 

And of course, Claude’s careful eyes were watching her too closely for this kind of inner crumbling. “Well…you may think it too extreme,” she began. “But I was considering perhaps forgoing the use of our battalions for the contest, and rather directing them to hold formation at the entrances to Grondor Field.” Both pairs of eyebrows across from her shot up in surprise, and she hurried to justify her thinking. “Their uniforms are only a vulnerability to be exploited in the chaos of a battle between three disparate groups. Likewise if there are shapeshifters among them, it will be difficult for them to attack without alerting the rest of the company to their falsehood. Any altercation would draw our attention to their location, preparing us to unite to do battle with an outside force.”

Dimitri was the first to recover, something like hope hovering in the corners of his eyes. “The scope of the battle will be more limited, certainly, but defeating the most of a small number of skilled combatants on such a large stage poses a worthy challenge of its own.”

“You’re talking as if we’ve all already agreed,” Claude feigned a protest, smirking like a cat. Suddenly, she began to wonder if this, too, had been part of his original idea, and he had merely set her up to offer it as if her own. “But in all seriousness, why not?” He winked, and she was furiously certain that she was correct. “The Golden Deer don’t need battalions to take you two down.”

A deep laugh huffed out of Dimitri, and both he and Claude looked a little surprised by it. A perplexing warmth hummed in Edelgard’s chest at the sound. “I am always glad to be able to test my skills against two such skilled opponents, no matter the outcome, but this battle shares its name with the war that founded our kingdom,” Dimitri said. “It’s a matter of pride for my house. We will not disgrace the king of lions by losing today.”

Edelgard’s lips quirked upward at Dimitri’s serious pledge in the wake of his unexpected laughter. “I am not nearly as selfless as the two of you may presume, because without our battalions, our faculty support becomes all the more meaningful. Between the skills of the Eagles and Byleth’s strategy, we will simply be unstoppable.”

Claude shot Dimitri a smug look. “We’ll see about that, Princess.”

The sun was hot overhead, and too much underbrush at their backs had Hubert on edge, despite the alterations to the battle parameters. The agreement to send their battalions to stand guard at the perimeter of the battleground had rippled through the formation of students in hushed tones, reaching Hubert through Leonie’s terse explanation. The most cunning part was that the message included explicit instructions to make no one among the support or Church staff aware of the change in plans until the battlehorn commenced the contest. 

Then the three house leaders will dismiss their battalions and ensure a match in which all can focus on demonstrating their skills, not looking over their shoulders, Leonie had recited to him.

This secrecy was presented as a necessity to avoid tipping off any spies, so they could not pivot their strategy. Hubert, however, saw the threads Edelgard and Claude had woven to keep Rhea, in particular, from the option to privately veto this plan. Glancing at the statuesque Archbishop atop the knoll overlooking Gronder Field, Hubert felt a sort of giddy anticipation, similar to the lull between a target ingesting a poison and that poison taking effect. If he knew anything about Rhea, he knew that she was going to detest this unexpected undermining of her theater of war, and any public retaliation from the Archbishop would only lend strength to Edelgard’s cause.

A shimmer of glee passed through him as the trumpets marked the start of the battle, and Edelgard shouted her order to their assembled uniformed soldiers. The battalion commanders followed in lower tones with specific formation instructions, and Hubert’s gaze darted away from the Archbishop to Lady Edelgard’s confident shoulders and prim mouth as she presided over the departure of the battalions. When he turned back to Rhea, she was whispering something to Seteth, her hand over her face.

“I expected a backup plan, should trouble strike,” Byleth caught Hubert’s attention from his left. The smile in her tone was startling. She rarely sounded so warm preceding battle.

“Let this be a lesson for you, then. Lady Edelgard defies expectations.” The comment was perhaps sharper than he intended for it to sound, but her lips quirked up in a contemplative half smile regardless.

“Yes, she certainly does,” she replied, a soft fondness coloring her tone and cheeks. Hubert stared at the warmth there, something snagging in his subconscious at the sight.

Now is not the time, he headed off the thought, returning his attention to the larger battlefield.

The rocky outcroppings that framed the valley had three sizeable gaps in their protection. One, closest to Rhea’s observation perch, was guarded closely by the Knights. Their battalions were now swiftly converging at the gap closest to the Eagles’ starting point, and off in the distance, he could hear the other house’s support soldiers doing the same. Seteth had disappeared from Rhea’s side, and Hubert surmised he was likely being sent to dissolve their strategy. 

His hand gripped Edelgard’s forearm. “The Archbishop is sending her footsoldier. We must engage immediately to avoid interference,” he hissed.

Violet eyes darted toward the overlook, then back to Hubert and Byleth. Understanding sang between them as Byleth adjusted her grip on her dulled training sword and Edelgard nodded.

With a hand pointed proudly toward their opponents, his lady led them to certain victory.

“Forward! Now!”

Petra shot into the air on her pegasus, while Caspar charged ahead of the ground units, gauntlets clanging against each other as he ran. Ferdinand quickly outstripped the brawler on his horse, with an uncertain Bernadetta riding at his heels. Byleth, Edelgard, and Hubert followed them swiftly on foot.

Flayn, who was bringing up the rear with Linhardt and Dorothea, shouted exuberantly after them. “We shall not be defeated!” 

Hubert found the creature’s enthusiasm irritating at best, but Edelgard slowed and graced her with a battle-hardened smile over her shoulder. “Remember Flayn, you are to follow Dorothea’s lead in this battle. Stay at her side at all times,” she called back. There was a softness to the reminder that surprised Hubert, considering the girl’s closeness to their enemies.

“I will not let you down!” came the fierce reply. 

“Don’t worry so much, Edie. We’ve got this!” Dorothea interjected, flashing a protective sigil that wrapped a faint barrier around the young healer as they ran.

They were across the stream and heading toward the wooden stage with the ballista the Church had set up in the center of the field before their classmates came within striking distance. Dimitri was leading an assembly of Blue Lions that emerged from between the sparse trees at the top of a rise. The Blaiddyd heir’s hands were clenched around his spear, boldly charging toward the Eagles with the blaze of competition in his eyes, but his confidence was nothing to the cold focus of Felix behind him. Ashe and Annette were hardly intimidating in comparison as they fanned into a V formation, Felix and the prince the tip of their spear.

To feel pride for Bernadetta Varley seemed like a laughable concept six months ago, but when her arrows plunged into the dirt at Dimitri’s feet, causing him to stumble and collide with his comrades behind, the cold thing beneath Hubert’s ribs swelled painfully with triumph on her behalf.

What are these people doing to me?

“Well done, Bernadetta!” Byleth’s voice was as warm as the center of his chest, as she broke away from her students, eyes fixed on Dimitri. They had agreed during an earlier discussion that Byleth would be the one to face the prince. The overwhelming strength of the Blaiddyd Crest could be effectively countered by her Crest of Flames; Byleth had proven that in their mock battle at the beginning of term. Though Hubert was certain that Edelgard could best Dimitri at her full power, his lady could only safely use her minor Crest of Seiros under Rhea’s direct observation, making the professor the natural choice.

The prince had just regained his footing and was dodging a follow-up barrage from Bernadetta’s bow when Byleth’s Nosferatu hit him square in the chest. Hubert could tell that she’d used her full power for that strike, but Dimitri barely flinched. Instead, he darted deftly to the side to reveal the Fraldarius swordsman, poised to strike. Byleth’s training sword snapped up to meet Felix’s, and Hubert headed off interference from Ashe with several bursts of dark magic, pushing him back so that his comrades blocked his shot to Byleth.

“I am Ferdinand von Aegir!” came the supercilious battle cry as its owner swooped in to check the prince, while Byleth beat back Felix’s relentless onslaught.

Caspar was effectively distracting Annette with feints accompanied by ear-splitting battle cries, when Petra’s silhouette streaked across the sky from the far-side of the field. She swooped low behind them, calling out: “I am thinking the Golden Deer are planning an ambush! Only Professor Manuela, Hilda, and Raphael were being visible to me from the sky.”

Edelgard signaled her receipt of the message, then turned to Hubert. “They must be hiding in the vegetation somehow, sparse though it is. They intend for the small number of visible fighters to draw us in, so they can surround us. I imagine a mildly poisonous gas would help to flush them out.”

Hubert’s face split into a grin. She was speaking about one of his old family spells, Haze of Vireye. Though it caused coughing and mild confusion, it lacked power with a disproportionate mana drain, so he rarely utilized it. But Lady Edelgard, as ever, was most correct—this was the perfect application for such a spell—and her triumphant smile said she knew it.

A loud CRACK returned their attention to the battle before them, and Hubert was disappointed, but unsurprised, to see that Dimitri had managed to wrest Ferdinand’s lance from him and cleanly snap it in two.

“Retreat, Ferdinand!” Edelgard ordered at a shout, signaling Dorothea to use her ranged magic to cover his escape to their line. Flayn followed with a wash of healing magic as the red-faced noble returned crestfallen. Bernadetta fired another arrow—this one at Annette. Though it was certainly dulled, Annette crumpled upon the impact, gripping her abdomen.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” shouted the suddenly frantic archer, eliciting a waving hand from the other student, as if to say: I’m okay. Ashe ceased taking shots at their mages to check on his fallen friend, and Caspar joined Byleth to counter Dimitri and Felix’s push, buying them a few more moments to coordinate.

Edelgard wasted no time letting the Aegir heir feel sorry for himself. “Ferdinand, take Hubert on your mount to flush out the Deer. Petra, signal them when they’re triple an archer’s range from Professor Manuela’s group. Linhardt, join Petra and follow them from above, then engage the Deer when Hubert’s spell has revealed them. I will send Byleth to support you as soon as we have captured this position.”

“Gladly,” Hubert replied, cracking his knuckles at the thought of gassing Claude out of a tree.

Ferdinand nodded his acceptance and held a gloved hand out to hoist Hubert onto the back of his heavily armored bay. The dark mage ignored it with a roll of his eyes, shoved his foot into the stirrup Ferdinand had vacated, and used his grip on the horse’s hip plating to swing himself up into an awkward perch on the back ridge of the saddle. The cavalier scooted forward to accommodate Hubert behind him, and the latter relinquished the stirrup back to Ferdinand. 

“You should hold on to me,” the noble’s downtrodden voice issued over his shoulder several seconds prior to Hubert being prepared to move. Regardless, with a snap of the reins, the horse surged into action, and Hubert clenched his thighs around the bay’s midsection, sliding forward slightly to jostle into Ferdinand and the throwing lance strapped to his back. His hands instinctively rose to clutch at the other man’s shoulders to keep him from bouncing off the back of the saddle as they picked up speed.

Hubert turned to look over his shoulder at the fighters around the ballista. Edelgard had joined Caspar and Byleth, whose boot pinned Felix’s chest to the ground as she wrapped a red strip of cloth around his arm—the sign of an eliminated student. To their left, Edelgard’s axe was locked against Dimitri’s lance. The latter was attempting to use his greater strength and height to break Lady Edelgard’s stance, but thanks to someone’s incessant challenges, she had regular practice bringing down a taller lance-wielder.

Just as Ferdinand and Hubert entered the scattered trees where they expected to find the Deer hiding, Edelgard dropped her weapon and threw her weight to one side. The sudden loss of her resistance caused Dimitri to lurch forward, giving her time to draw the throwing axe from the harness at her back. Hubert lost sight of them as his lady pivoted like a dancer, fixing herself back-to-back with the professor.

Refocusing on the task at hand, Hubert cast a simple ward over Ferdinand and himself to protect from the effects of the haze he was about to summon.

“Your concern for my welfare is unnecessary. Flayn already prepared me to continue with the battle,” a peevish Ferdinand said.

Hubert scoffed. “Are Lady Edelgard’s words so easily forgotten by you? I intend to cast a spell to weaken and reveal our enemies. I cannot have you incapacitated as well, or I will be without transportation.”

His tense riding partner fell silent—a rare reprieve—as they made their way closer to the Golden Deer starting point. When Petra flitted across the tree tops above and signaled to them, Hubert prepared to weave his spell.

It had been some time since he used the Haze of Vireye, but the day his father taught it to him was still fresh in his mind. A prepubescent Hubert had repeatedly failed to sustain the casting during his first attempts; now, he could still feel the phantom pain of gloved knuckles striking him after each try. The Marquis had been vicious, even then—that was in part what made his replacement so convincing at first.

The shift of the man against Hubert brought him back to the present, and he grit his teeth against the curious comfort of Ferdinand’s presence. Reliance on others was never something the dark mage had handled with grace, and now was little exception.

“Stop here” he ordered. “Did you not see Petra’s signal? I suppose you were merely preoccupied with your vanity, again.”

Ferdinand bristled as Hubert slid swiftly from the back of the saddle and began to flow into the casting. “Behavior such as yours is most unbecoming in Edelgard’s closest servant. The nobility should—”

“I am attempting to concentrate, Ferdinand.”

A pale mist, thick with the scent of rancid meat, began to seep out from the ground beneath Hubert’s feet. Though moments ago Ferdinand had looked like he very much intended to continue his tirade on noble ideals, he now covered his mouth and nose with his hands to stave off the smell. Hubert flashed him his most satisfied smirk, picturing a similar look of befuddled frustration on Claude’s face when Lady Edelgard received the prize for absolute victory over the other houses.

It was at that exact moment that a dulled arrow struck Hubert hard enough in the shoulder that he was knocked prone, his spell breaking and head colliding with the knee of Ferdinand’s startled horse. The beast reared, and it was probably due to Ferdinand’s quick intervention that a hoove didn’t land squarely on Hubert’s skull—but they fell close enough that it was a very near miss.

“Oops,” came the soft call from across the cluster of trees. “You okay there, Hubert?” 

It was exactly who he had feared it would be.

Claude leapt from the lower limbs of a tree with a look of mild concern, whistling a signal that caused Marianne to also reveal herself.

Ferdinand had already dismounted and was attempting, with fluttering hands, to ascertain Hubert’s wellness. “Cease your hen-pecking and focus on the enemy,” he hissed, shoving Ferdinand away and rising on his own, hands raised to cast on the healer who had come forward to help him.

There was a dissonance that rang in his limbs as he bridged the gap between them with a roiling Miasma, causing Marianne to cry out. Claude’s expression dropped from amused concern to calculated fury in an instant, and Hubert dodged quickly to the right to avoid his counterattack, so powerful that the dulled arrowhead lodged itself in the tree bark where it hit.

“So that’s how it is, huh?” Claude’s voice was heavy with scorn, and Hubert felt the weight of his judgment in his shoulder joints—as if it should matter to him what an Alliance noble thought of his tactics.

His next spell, Banshee, was like a hum that morphed into a scream, a fixed point surrounded by shuddering air, gyrating towards the archer. Claude saw it coming and rolled out of the way. Ferdinand was still standing there uselessly, weapon sheathed on his back.

Hubert opened his mouth to summon his classmate’s attention, just as a curious, dull throbbing stole over him with the stinging seal of white magic. Hubert’s eyes darted back to the young woman in priest robes, who was solemnly folding her hands in front of her.

“Ferdinand, do you not intend to redeem your earlier performance?” Hubert attempted to say, but the harsh press of Marianne’s magic smothered his voice beneath a skillfully cast Silence.

Claude, realizing what had happened, whooped. “Nice one! I knew you could do it.”

Marianne shook her head. “I’m not very good at that spell. The effect is already fading…”

Hubert drew his dagger from his hip, attempting to cross the field to Ferdinand and his horse before Claude and Marianne could incapacitate him. He certainly was not expecting the harsh swipe of a wooden lance beneath his feet, sending him plummeting to the earth again.

A tormented Ferdinand stood over him, switching his focus between Hubert and the pair of Golden Deer. “You have tainted our victory, Hubert! Marianne approached you in good faith as a fellow student to heal your assumed injuries, and you took advantage of that.” The tip of Ferdinand’s lance sunk into the ground a foot from Hubert’s side, but it might as well have gone straight through his ribcage. “I apologize, the only fair resolution would be for us both to be marked as fallen opponents.”

Fallen, indeed. Hubert could barely breathe past the fury and shame warring for dominance within him, much less stand, and Marianne’s spell still ensured he could not speak.

“Are you…you’re serious about this?” Claude asked Ferdinand. He still had an arrow poised on his bowstring should the answer be less than satisfactory.

“Edelgard will accept nothing less than an absolute victory, as she should. The Adresti—”

The sound that split the sky was piercingly familiar, and Hubert realized with a pitiful spike of worry that Petra and Linhardt should have joined them by now. The Winged Demonic Beast that he heard screaming overhead would certainly explain why they had not.

“Is that what I think it is?” Claude’s aim snapped up to the sky, and Hubert’s eyes followed his to see large, dark wings on the horizon.

Marianne’s Silence finally wore off enough for Hubert to caution them in a strained voice. “If one is attacking, there are bound to be more. This is no coincidence. We must gather our forces quickly.”

“We must regroup around Flayn! It is likely they would target her again,” Ferdinand insisted, mounting urgently.

Claude shot Hubert a measured look, then exhaled. “After we handle this threat…if I have to involve Teach to make you take accountability for that stunt back there, I will. If you’re smart, you won’t make me do that.”

Hubert gave a curt nod in reply, loathing the seed of fear burrowing into his chest at Claude’s words.

The students’ ploy—sending the battalions to guard the mouths of the small valley—would have likely been an effective deterrent for Agarthan interference had their forces been ground-locked. Byleth had been reasonably confident that only a small subset of the enemy mages were proficient in warp, but even so, flying mounts could sail through their defense, largely unhindered. The Winged Beasts swooping in at the Agarthans’ beck and call was a less expected iteration of this strategy, but the outcome was the same—Byleth Eisner, a sword in one hand, a white magic spell in the other, charging ahead to fell the sky monsters.

Byleth’s training sword had been abandoned moments prior. She had insisted on setting up caches of real weapons in the different starting points on the battlefield in preparation for such an outcome, but the Sword of the Creator had not been among them. It was under guard back at their war camp along with the other Relics—a point on which Rhea had been unyielding. Caching them would have left them far too vulnerable to theft, the Archbishop had insisted.

Fitting that she would take better guard of the weapons than the lives in her care, Byleth commented to Sothis as the first of two Winged Beasts in view swooped low to meet the professor. She was without the extended range of the sword forged from Sothis’ body, and Byleth resolved staunchly not to miss the sizzle-snap of the goddess’ magic singeing through the blade, joining with hers as they fought.

Why have you not drawn your bow? Are you truly so dense as to expect—

Byleth threw her weight to the right to avoid the swipe of large talons, bending low into her back leg to make the movement fluid and pivoting her momentum into a counterattack before the creature could rise out of range. The clean thwp of the Killing Edge through the scaled flesh of the Beast’s leg was like the release of a breath.

Before Sothis was there to hold her hand on the battlefield, the Ashen Demon had carved her way across Adrestia, and she could again if needed. It was a comfort to be reminded—the growth she had experienced since coming to Garreg Mach, the overwhelming feelings and twisted power she’d discovered—nothing could shake loose the unflappable warrior who lived in her bones.

The severed foot fell twitching before her, and Byleth danced back to avoid the spray of black blood as the creature careened clumsily back into the air.

Did you think I forgot how to fight without your power at my fingertips?

Sothis’ voice was warm with affection when she replied. Hm! ‘Tis quite sacreligious of you to criticize the perception of the goddess…but perhaps there is some truth to your claim. It has been some time since I had to watch from such a distance.

Byleth whipped her hair out of her face, the high whistle of a Pegasus Knight cutting through the rush of blood in her ears and turning her gaze to the east. Petra and Linhardt dipped across the horizon at a frantic pace, pursued by yet another Winged Beast. Their mount appeared to be injured, side stained red and veering wildly in its attempts to dodge the continuous aerial attacks. Despite this, Petra’s legs were the only things anchoring her to the careening pegasus, bow drawn taught in her arms over Linhardt’s lowered head as she attempted to get the right—

Shwwwppp.

The remaining foot of the Beast Byleth had maimed came within a finger-width of her shoulder as she dodged urgently to the side, narrowly avoiding the razor talons slicing down. The creature shrieked in frustration, lashing out again and again, more sloppily each time as it weakened from the earlier injury.

I believe this a primary example as to why I feel ill at ease, Sothis harrumphed.

I’ve survived closer calls, as you know.

Byleth’s Killing Edge was loose at her side as she darted back repeatedly, taking only the smallest of shots and letting the Beast tire itself. The third of the creatures was still hovering near the western edge of this section of the battlefield, closest to where the Golden Deer had begun the contest. She hoped it was the Knights, not her students, holding its attention. The day was clear enough at the attack's onset, despite the peculiar mist that had now begun to cloud the battlefield. Even so, Rhea would have surely seen these monsters approaching before the ground forces and could have ordered the Knights ahead.

Sothis’ soft understanding was a strange counterpoint to the growing chaos around her. But you fear that is not the case.

Byleth swapped her grip on her sword so the blade crossed perpendicular to her body.

It would fit the pattern, she said in answer.

The next time the injured Beast lunged for her, Byleth pivoted forward instead of away, leaving a long, deep line of black along the junction of the creature’s wing and body. So quick and fine, the pain wasn’t immediately apparent to the Beast through its bloodlust. It surged toward her again, and the incision Byleth had made ripped apart like a threadbare seam, sinew shearing along with the hide. The wing on the effected side crumpled, accompanied by the crunch of bones and alarmingly human screams, leaving a shivering mass of black leathery skin and glossy Beast blood pooling around it.

Byleth felt pity for it as she turned back to the east, to Petra and Linhardt, the latter of whom was clutching at the former’s waist as she led them to dodge low between the sparse treetops, increasingly clouded with low fog. Clever as always, the Brigid princess was using their smaller size to wear down the larger creature with the snap of sharp branches against its hide.

Byleth took off running in their direction, stowing the Killing Edge in its sheath at her hip and pulling the bow from the harness on her back. As Byleth knocked her first arrow, Petra let hers loose. It sailed through the open air to snag a hole through the Beasts’ wing, slowing, but not stopping, its pursuit.

Petra or Linhardt seemed to have caught sight of Byleth’s approach, because the pegasus quickly looped back to draw the creature toward the professor’s position. They met near the middle of the field, soaring over Byleth’s head to land closely behind. Linhardt slid to the ground with a groan of gratitude, while Byleth lined up her shot on the Beast. The arrow left her hand with a whisper of magic sparkling at her fingertips and imbedded itself in the creature’s left, lower chest. This impact was followed by a second shot from Petra, firing over Byleth’s head from the back of her land-bound pegasus. Hers pierced the long, narrow neck, issuing a garbled scream and bringing the beast careening toward the earth.

“Dodge!” Byleth shouted urgently, reaching for a slow and bleary Linhardt to pull him from the creature’s path.

Her fingers missed the cuff of his robe as he threw himself too late in the wrong direction, and the massive black body was primed to collapse atop him.

Time unwound like a spool of thread wrapped around Byleth’s finger, and this time, she didn’t fumble the rescue.

“Got ‘em!” came Bernadetta’s startlingly confident cry, as the Winged Demonic Beast she, Dimitri, and Edelgard were facing cartwheeled to the ground, one wing riddled with arrows.

The prince’s prompt follow-up revealed how unlikely it was that he had used his full strength in their earlier match, as his Silver Lance plunged through the air with such force it pierced through bone. The Beast collapsed almost immediately, Dimitri’s weapon lodged in its skull like a needle in a pincushion. He retrieved it with a sickening squelch of black blood gurgling in its wake.

“It is incredibly unsettling that our enemies would have such control over Demonic Beasts,” Dimitri observed in the moment of respite, wiping the Beast blood from the shaft of his weapon with the robe of a felled Agarthan mage.

“I thought we were dead for sure,” Bernadetta added, retrieving her arrows gingerly from fallen opponents.

Edelgard shared their unease. This was not a tactic she had been made privy to during her time collaborating with the Agarthans, though it certainly explained the unusual concentration of Beasts on Arundel’s lands earlier in the year. “Indeed. It also implies that they have even more unexpected methods with which to infiltrate and oppose us. It’s a bold move to reveal a power like that at this juncture.” She knelt in front of one of the other bodies they had cut down, following Dimitri’s lead to clean her axe handle on the archer’s tunic. “If that was their best card to play, I would expect they would have kept that secret in reserve.”

Dimitri’s solemn nod was accompanied by the low whistle of their fellow house leader, approaching at the head of a motley group: Marianne and Leonie alongside Hubert and Ferdinand. Edelgard didn’t miss the brief flash of light that flickered across Dimitri’s face upon seeing Claude unharmed. Contrastingly, Hubert’s expression did not change at all when her eyes met his drawn countenance, though he immediately quit the back of Ferdinand’s horse and made his way to her side.

“Are you uninjured?” he breathed near her ear.

“I bore a few blows, but nothing beyond my capacity.”

The shadow of a smirk colored his tone. “I thought as much, but it would not be prudent to make assumptions in a matter regarding your safety.”

Claude’s more casual pace brought him to their loose cluster several steps behind Hubert, and the grin he shot Dimitri made Edelgard’s stomach somersault. The closeness there was increasingly baffling to her—how had she missed such a crucial detail?

“Has anyone seen Flayn?” Ferdinand’s voice cut through her frustration.

“She stayed behind to heal Annette. Felix, Ashe, Caspar, and Dorothea were with them,” Dimitri replied.

Some of the worry ebbed from Ferdinard’s eyes at this knowledge. He had a great deal of respect for Dorothea’s abilities, Edelgard knew. The mage had served him cutting defeats in the training ring enough times for her to earn that much from the noble.

“What about the professor? The Crest of Flames has to be the most valuable of those gathered,” Leonie interjected.

“We parted ways when the ambush started,” Edelgard said. “She intended to gather scattered students to central locations to make it easier for the Knights to support. I was to find everyone I could and head toward Lady Rhea’s overlook. Hopefully, we will meet the Knights on our way there.”

“You mean to say that she’s fighting alone?” Hubert’s voice was several degrees tighter than his baseline, and Claude’s eyes flicked toward him with interest.

“You don’t think Teach can handle herself, Hubert?” the archer probed.

Hubert’s muscles tensed him into a pseudo-statue, joints creaking at the slightest rise and fall of his breath. Edelgard’s chest squeezed in sympathy. She had never loathed her respect for her teacher until the moment it smothered the protest in her throat and let Byleth charge off on her own.

She will be fine. She is the strongest warrior I know, she had told herself. Pity that it didn’t dull the churning in her stomach. Hubert was likely practicing the same ineffectual ritual now.

“You twist my meaning,” he said at last, far too late. His tone bordered on defeated. Claude’s eyes glittered as he noted the reaction, but he let it go.

“Edelgard, Dimitri,” the archer said, turning to his fellow house leaders. “We should send our classmates on to meet the Knights and head for Flayn’s last location. From the looks of your armor, you, like us, battled a Demonic Beast before coming here. It’s possible that their party has encountered one or more, especially if the enemy’s goal is the same as the last time they attacked our student body.”

Edelgard inclined her head in agreement. She and Dimitri had already resolved several skirmishes with the Agarthan foot soldiers, sending Sylvain, Dedue, and Lorenz ahead toward Rhea’s perch. Few, if any, stragglers should remain, unless one of the classes was splintered far more than they anticipated.

Dimitri frowned, looking toward the sky. “I worry that I have not seen Ingrid since the battle’s onset. She was to scout the area and report back, and as a Pegasus Knight, she may have been forced to face one of these flying creatures on her own.”

Edelgard suppressed a sigh. He likely wasn’t trying to immediately contradict her internal assessments.

“Petra and Linhardt are likely in a similar situation,” Hubert offered. “They led Ferdinand and I to the ambush site, but afterward, promptly disappeared.”

She did sigh then. “That is worrisome. Our best option for locating either of them in this mist would have been sending the other. No one else brought a flying mount to my knowledge, save the trio with the Knights.”

Leonie’s voice called Edelgard’s attention away from her vassal. “I can discuss this with the Pegasus Knights, if we encounter them on our way to the overlook,” the lance-wielder offered.

Edelgard nodded her gratitude, while Dimitri said, “That would be a great help. Thank you, Leonie.” His brow creased, and he turned uncertain eyes back to Claude. “I suppose the best way to help friends we cannot locate is to ensure the battle ends as swiftly as possible. If you believe Flayn’s party is in danger, I will follow you.”

The pledge carried weight beyond its circumstances, and this moment was stacked with the few, rare instances Edelgard had seen an unexpectedly genuine emotion flicker through Claude’s persona. For just a second, he looked almost dazed by the prince’s intensity. Edelgard grit her teeth around the scowl that was trying to drag down the purse of her mouth and reveal her unease.

Hubert’s observation was terse on the heels of Dimitri’s words. “You lack magical support. I will accompany you, as well.”

“Very well,” Edelgard answered. “I shall lead the way.”

They arrived at a critical moment for the other party. Ashe, Annette, and Felix were attempting to hold back a land-bound Demonic Beast and several ground fighters, while Caspar and Dorothea kept a squad of six Agarthan magic users off Flayn so she could continue to pour healing magic into the trio within range of the Beast’s vicious attacks.

Hubert’s Miasma hit a sorcerer from the side, preventing him from completing his counter for Dorothea’s Thunder, which struck directly following, downing the enemy.

“Hubie!” Dorothea’s loathsome nickname elicited a renewed scowl from him. “So nice of you to drop by.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder and drew the blade from her hip, dodging deftly to avoid an incoming Nosferatu from a dark bishop.

Her magic must be fading, he thought, noting the tactics change.

Dimitri’s voice echoed across the battlefield. “Felix, Annette—fall back!” He and Edelgard had headed immediately to face the mammoth form of the largest enemy of the day’s ambush, and the only non-winged Beast they had seen so far. Hubert could hardly make them out through the mist that had grown increasingly disruptive as the attack drew on, but the Beast’s barbed tail occasionally snapped into view far to his left.

“Watch this!” Edelgard shouted, followed by a furious bellow of pain from the creature.

Hubert’s chest warmed with pride as he attacked another of the magic wielders closing in on the group’s right flank. The woman, a mage, attempted to dodge, but careened promptly into one of her comrades, causing them both to get caught in the swirl of his Banshee. He took the moment of reprieve to assess the area more completely through the haze.

The location for this clash was near the base of the ballista’s central incline, though he could only see the corner of the steps. It was clear the party had been attempting to station Ashe at the ballista to defend against additional Winged Beasts. The body of one such arrow-riddled Beast that they had nearly tripped over upon their entry implied the group had done just that, before the approach of these additional enemies caused them to attempt a retreat.

The magic users he had struck had righted themselves and were preparing to cast again on his allies.

“I’ve got this!” Caspar bellowed, charging into view and planting a blow that brought the dark mage swiftly to her knees.

Not to be outdone, Hubert followed with a burst of flame. The warlock the felled mage had collided with was more savvy than her acolyte, and deflected his magic with a flick of her wrist. “I’ve heard of you. You must be the Imperial Princess’s little lapdog,” she rasped with a sneer.

Without so much as a twitch of an eyebrow in response, he cast another fire spell, this time aiming just to her left. The deflection flew up uselessly around her body, as the flames burst in a scorching ball in the grass beside her, causing her to glance briefly at the area of impact. In that moment, Caspar rushed her blind spot—surprisingly without an ear-splitting announcement of his attack—and the ensuing clang of his gauntlets was punctuated by the telltale crack of broken ribs.

Before Hubert or his comrades could finish her, she smirked and warped, reappearing on the opposite side of the Demonic Beast.

"Coward!" Caspar yelled after her.

The sound of beating wings heralded the arrival of more fighters. Hubert looked up to see Seteth swoop through the rising fog, riding a wyvern and carrying what appeared to be Ingrid's limp form strapped behind him. He quickly searched the battlefield for more reinforcements, but none appeared.

Seteth made a beeline for Flayn, landing behind her and Dorothea. "Flayn! Are you well?

“Yes, brother.”

“That is a relief. Do you have magic remaining to staunch the blood from these injuries? I fear she is in grave danger." Ingrid's left arm was streaked with deep gashes, and the smaller scratches littering her face and other arm led Hubert to believe she may have fallen from her mount, hitting branches on the way down.

Flayn's face firmed, and she nodded, as the Eagles tightened their formation to protect the pair while she worked. Seteth squeezed the healer's shoulder, then took flight again to join Dimitri, Edelgard, Felix, and Annette in their battle with the hulking Demonic Beast.

Hubert set his sights on the Warlock who was attempting to circle back around behind their party to renew her assault. Several spells were thrown in rapid succession, forcing her to dance back out of his range. 

He shared a glance with Dorothea, who shook her head. Pursuit would leave their comrades vulnerable, and baffingly, Hubert actually cared about their continued safety. Thinking about the conflict with Marianne earlier and the cost of his pride, he remained where he was.

Byleth could hear but not see the remaining conflict raging on. The fog had thickened to the soupy levels of mist they had slogged through on Lonato’s lands. She knew it was magical in origin, but the location of the caster was the issue.

Linhardt was close at her heels, having staunchly refused Petra's offer to ride with her again following their defeat of the Winged Beast that had been pursuing them. The healer had recovered somewhat from the motion sickness he had been experiencing thanks to Petra's savvy maneuvers, and he now held the shine of Nosferatu at his fingertips, ready to strike should an Agarthan materialize before them.

They were getting close to the source of the fighting, and the hair on Byleth’s neck stood up as she heard the roar of a Demonic Beast—one of the largest classes by the sound and definitely not the same as the winged ones they had been facing up until now. She shared a glance with Linhardt, whose mouth was a firm line.

“Your healing will likely be more crucial than your offensive magic in this fight, especially as mine is dwindling. Conserve your energy accordingly,” she said, waiting for his nod of understanding before turning back to the murky ten foot stretch she could see around them.

The rasp of unfamiliar voices just ahead gave her pause.

“The filthy beast child is better protected than we anticipated. Perhaps we should withdraw and leave the extraction to Myson’s team.”

“The chances are low that we will be able to shadow it from the monastery following Solon’s failure. Why do you think they called Odesse out from the tomb for this? We must succeed today, or face Thales’ wrath.”

Odesse, Myson, and Thales. We have not heard those names before, Sothis commented.

Yes, and it sounds as though this Myson still has spies within Garreg Mach.

“You trust too much in Odesse. He won’t save us if we face the Felled Star.”

Linhardt’s hand wrapped urgently around her upper arm, and he leaned in close to her ear to whisper. “The fog is thickest here. One of these two is likely the culprit.”

Byleth nodded her agreement, holding one finger over her mouth before creeping silently forward.

“Pfft. We escaped in Gaspard, and she was there.”

This must be the magic user from Lonato’s insurrection! We thought something about that whole scenario seemed suspicious. The Agarthans likely orchestrated the attack, Sothis hissed, careful not to startle Byleth while she snuck toward the enemies.

“You said yourself that we were spared because they counted us among the peasants,” the mage responded to his ally.

“Precisely. What demon shows mercy like that? The reports about her must be exaggerated.”

The pair slowly materialized before Byleth, one holding his hands together in a strange casting position, while the other held a pair of daggers. They were facing toward each other, putting Byleth in the eyeline of the caster, but he had not reacted to her yet, far more focused on glaring at his companion.

Taking the chance, she strung two arrows on her bow. The creak of the string as she pulled it back drew the caster’s attention, but it was too late for him to counter her.

“Behind y—”

A wet gurgle cut him off as one of her arrows embedded in the caster’s throat. The other snagged the arm of the rogue as he swirled to meet her. Linhardt’s Nosferatu hit him like a slap, causing him to rock back on his heels unsteadily. 

“Nicely done!”

Byleth didn’t waste the opportunity, stowing the bow and retrieving the Killing Edge in a fluid motion. Her blade met the Agarthan’s right dagger strike with a soft shhhnng, but the left was poised to sink into her ribcage. She turned just in time, releasing the opponent so his energy would bring him forward. He was skilled enough to not let this rattle him though, managing to cut a shallow slice in the flesh of her side as she went past. 

Byleth hissed in irritation at the wound. Feeling the tingle of Linhardt’s magic immediately dancing across her skin, she waved him off. “It’s a scratch.”

Seeming to realize he had picked the wrong target to start with, the rogue attempted to dodge his way around her to get to her student.

Not likely, she thought, matching his steps. Sothis’ pride was a warm breeze behind her movements.

“Your friend was smarter than you.” The poisonous smirk stretching her mouth felt like something she had picked up from Hubert. “He knew facing me meant dying here.” The caster’s still corpse to their right reinforced her words. The rogue had his mouth and nose covered, but she saw fear dull his eyes, as they darted around the area, searching for a way out.

“If you heard that much, then you know we’re just the foot soldiers. We don’t make the decisions. Surely—”

She darted forward, taking two wide swipes at him with her blade. He dodged them both. Cold laughter rang in Byleth’s head.

“You put on that lackluster uniform and came here today, knowing you were targeting children. There’s nothing more I need to know.” 

His daggers crossed, trapping her sword between them.

“And Seiros hasn’t done the same?” the man snarled close to her face. She felt flecks of saliva hit her cheek. A crazed smile split his face, and she recognized Kronya’s brand of madness in the pale gray of his eyes. “You have no right to judge us. Monsters know nothing of justice.”

Sothis gasped as Byleth released the Killing Edge entirely, forcing him to quit his stance or else plunge forward upon the blade. Spinning, she pulled an arrow from her quiver and, before he had regained his footing, plunged it into the junction of his neck and shoulder. “Seiros will answer for what she has done, as will you.”

The hand closest to his wound spasmed, dropping one dagger to the earth, but the other arm was still up in a shaky guard. Byleth retrieved the Killing Edge and his discarded dagger. The arrow wobbled ominously against his collarbone as he shuffled forward. “Ah, should’ve listened to Dian…fled when we could.” It was clear he was in shock, the dagger waving in his hand with little force or direction. “I thought…”

His eyes rolled back, and he promptly collapsed backward, though the rise and fall of his chest continued.

Byleth shared a glance with Linhardt, her healing magic telling her he had fainted, not died. “Yes, he lingers. I…would rather not end him here, though,” the bishop said, turning his gaze to his feet.

Byleth studied him for a moment. She had known for some time that Linhardt, more than anyone else in the Eagles, suffered over the deaths in their wake. It was something she had been actively trying to mitigate for him—limiting his offensive magic and keeping him near the back of formations in a support role.

Between her student’s wishes and the ultimate punishment she wished to serve those attacking them, it was a surprisingly easy choice.

“If he survives, we’ll heal him and take him prisoner,” she told Linhardt. “He’s a good deal more talkative than the ones we met under Garreg Mach, at least. But for now, our magic should be saved for your classmates.”

“Thank you, Professor,” he replied, flashing her the soft smile she saw in class when he discovered a new bit of knowledge or perfected a healing art.

Sheathing her weapon and dropping the spare dagger she had no holster for, Byleth readied her bow instead. “Stay close.”

They took off toward the dark shadow in the near distance, now visible through the thinning mist. If the army on Lonato’s lands indeed used the same magic, it should be gone in mere minutes, but her students may not have that long. A few pulses remained after several close calls, but following the half of a mock battle prior, her energy was flagging. Only righteous fury and fear for the safety of those she cared about kept her on her feet now.

As they got closer to the Demonic Beast, she made out a Wyvern swooping low overhead; its rider wore billowing robes and held a lance, poised to pierce between two plates on the back of the monstrous creature.

“Now!” she heard Edelgard shout from the Beast’s opposite side. Seteth’s strike landed along with the sound of three or four other weapons and the flash of magic, earning a weakening howl of pain. Byleth grinned at the knowledge that Edelgard was calling the shots of this encounter.

“Professor, I can sense Flayn past the Beast. She is attempting to heal someone but her magic is fading,” Linhardt said urgently.

Byleth nodded and led the way around the perimeter of the Beast’s attack range until Hubert, Dorothea, and Caspar came into view, standing in tight formation around Flayn and the prone form of Ingrid. “Oh no,” she breathed.

How long ago did that happen? Do I have the strength to go back and do it all over if she cannot be saved now?

You must push on, Sothis cautioned. More will perish if you attempt what you’re suggesting, perhaps even yourself.

She felt the truth of Sothis’ words, even as Linhardt’s soft: “This is bad,'' summoned a stab of anxiety.

Her student rushed forward, Byleth guarding him from the remaining smattering of Agarthan ground forces. Hubert’s eyes locked with hers as they approached, and the relief there warmed her bones. The students parted in unison to allow Linhardt to pass through and take over for a particularly pale-looking Flayn. Despite her threadbare appearance, she quit Ingrid’s side only to turn and channel healing magic into a flagging Annette.

“Ferdinand?” she asked Hubert, taking aim at a mage attempting to creep up on their left.

She released her arrow just as he replied, but the shot missed. “We sent him on to the overlook with most of the rest of the students. The only Eagle unaccounted for is Petra.”

“She and Linhardt were attacked, but I got to them in time. She should be on her way to join Ferdinand and the others, if she hasn’t reached them already.” 

Hubert’s spell hit the mage she had targeted square in the chest. “I see. And how many Beasts have you personally brought down today?”

Byleth’s mouth twisted sheepishly as she shot another arrow toward an approaching enemy, this one catching them in the leg. “I wasn’t counting.”

Sothis’ answer was a reprimand. I’m certain you know quite well it was four.

Hush, you.

Hubert’s grimace deepened as if he could somehow hear their exchange, but she was saved his response by the death cry from the Demonic Beast beside them, drawing their attention. Edelgard was perched on its head, axe embedded in the ridge between two plates on its skull. Grinning and covered in blood, she spotted Byleth below and shouted a joyful: “Professor!”

Byleth waved back her greeting.

Dimitri, standing just below Edelgard’s perch (and almost certainly the one who boosted her onto the monster’s spine) and Claude at his side, also turned to look at Byleth, wonder and elation in their eyes. It seemed that this was almost over, the remaining ground forces scattering and fleeing in the wake of the death of their most powerful weapon of destruction. Seteth landed close behind where Byleth stood. He briefly confirmed that Flayn was uninjured and Ingrid still alive, then he approached Byleth’s free side.

“What the students, your students, accomplished here today is nothing short of extraordinary, Professor.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the tension in Hubert’s frame increasing at this praise. She felt she likely shared his frustration, skewering Seteth with a look worthy of her old title. “Yes, they have triumphed today with remarkably little support from the power responsible for their education. Despite the droves of Knights that accompanied us here, you are the only Church employee who braved the front lines to ensure their safety, save those of us who were already on the field. If the fog was not thick enough to prevent you from locating and aiding your sister, surely others could have followed.”

“I am certain there is a reasonable explanation as to why more reinforcements were not sent to this particular group. I—”

Byleth held up a hand, a shiver of surprise jolting up her spine when Seteth actually fell silent, a guilty look on his face. “I suppose we shall see if you are correct. In the meantime, I owe my students my attention,” she said, brushing past him to greet the party that felled the Beast.

“You may pay for those comments,” Hubert said in the steps between Seteth and Edelgard. The smile in his words was abundantly clear.

“On the contrary, I think you all have been paying for my silence for too long, and I’ve grown tired of the pattern.”

Chapter Text

They had intended to make the long ride back to Garreg Mach the following morning, but between the mounts and students, there were too many wounded for the wagons. The Church had been prepared for minor training injuries, nothing more—the scant number of healers in Rhea’s retinue made that abundantly clear. Thankfully, the majority of injuries could be dealt with in two or three sessions with a skilled bishop, including magic burns, sprains, a dislocated shoulder, and several stab wounds and lacerations, triaged by the student healers in the field. 

Hilda had taken two nasty swipes across the back of her shoulders from a Winged Demonic Beast, revealing hints of rib and collarbone beneath flayed flesh. Sylvain’s horse had born the brunt of an arrow barrage from two Agarthan archers, but when the steed collapsed, it crushed his left leg beneath its body. Both students were sedated in the infirmary tent alongside Bernadetta, who had devolved into a severe panic attack as soon as her group reached the rendezvous point.

Ingrid, however, was in the worst shape by far. She had received several wounds from the Beast she was facing prior to falling from her pegasus. Then the rapid descent lodged a forked branch in her lower left abdomen, in addition to the internal damage a fall of that height would cause. Manuela had shooed the Church healers away and tended to her herself for several hours, but no one was certain if she would wake again. Byleth had relieved her colleague, and now stood at the foot of Ingrid’s cot, wringing her hands and thinking about how differently this might have gone if Rhea had only listened to her.

“I witnessed her fall, you know,” a low voice interrupted her worrying. She turned to see an afflicted Seteth standing near her shoulder. 

He doesn’t look like he slept, she thought, noting the dark rings beneath his eyes and his unusually disheveled appearance.

His blue Officer’s Academy robe, likely soiled from battle, had been removed, and he wore only simple gray pants and a white shirt, though those too were flecked with grime. With the perils of Beast blood, he should really have discarded the whole set.

Perhaps their blood does not pose the same risk to Nabateans, Sothis ventured.

“I had wondered how you managed to find her from your wyvern,” Byleth replied to his comment, nodding toward Ingrid’s prone form. Her voice was the toneless drone of the Ashen Demon, and Seteth flinched at the sound.

“Dimitri was under the impression she was one of the first to be attacked, but Mercedes told me that Ingrid drew the Beast away from her, Dedue, and Sylvain, as they were already outnumbered by ground forces. She is a hero.”

Byleth’s eyes narrowed marginally, hackles rising. “You say that as if it should have ever been something that was required of her today.”

Seteth looked taken aback. “I…well, certainly…” He quickly deflated. “No, of course you are correct, Professor. This was to be a celebration of their progress, not a test of how far they would push themselves to protect one another.”

Byleth released the breath she had been holding. “Have you spoken with Rhea, yet?”

Seteth shook his head. “Only to confirm Flayn’s safety. Between you and I, she…is not handling this as I expected.”

“Oh?” Byleth was surprised to hear him admit it, though she, too, had been further disquieted by Rhea’s behavior. She knew the woman possessed great healing magic—Catherine would prattle on about it whenever the possibility presented—and yet, after the battle ended, the Archbishop ordered her attendants to prepare her tent and shut herself inside. That had raised a few brows among those less entrenched in Church politics.

Something dark flickered across the Nabatean’s face, and his jaw clenched and unclenched repeatedly.

Perhaps he is not as loyal to the Archbishop as we have been led to believe, Sothis murmured.

I’m hoping you’re right. His Intel would be invaluable.

When Seteth let the silence continue long enough that it seemed clear he did not intend to elaborate further on that statement, Byleth tried a different tact. "I spoke with Catherine and the other Knights,” she began in a low voice. “Apparently, she and over half of the senior forces were sent to guard the camp when the ambush began. She surmised Rhea intended for the students to retreat there, but the distance from the battlefield combined with the magic fog makes that claim out of touch, at best."

Seteth wouldn’t look at her, and his body was as tense as a board, a vein standing out and throbbing in his forehead. Perhaps Byleth should feel apprehensive about continuing to push him, but the injured students surrounding them spurred her onward. "You entrusted Flayn to my care. What if she were lying here now? Or worse, what if the enemy had taken her for a second time? I overheard two of them speaking, and that was certainly among their goals today. If my students and the other house leaders hadn’t gone after Flayn’s party, either of those futures could very well have come to pass.”

The advisor swallowed audibly and turned his face so she could not see it. His voice was barely above a whisper when he replied, the harshness of his tone a mismatch for his volume. “Do you truly think I have not thought of that? That I’m not haunted by it? That Rhea, who has spoken of Flayn as if she were kin, would prioritize the protection of her armory over Flayn’s life? I know what has come to pass, but I have to believe she—”

“Had a good reason?” Byleth’s eyes were slits, pinning the Nabatean where he stood, volume and tone mirroring his. “You’ve used that line before, Seteth, and I think we both know it’s growing thinner by the hour. She may have met those who made it to the overlook and shepherded them to safety, but she did not battle, and her considerable healing abilities have not graced this tent, though they are sorely needed. Even your sister—as drained as she was from back-to-back battles—came to check on Ingrid and offer the help she could.”

Seteth closed his eyes and folded his hands in front of him, taking two long exhales before speaking again, much more calmly. “You have given me much to think about, Professor. Thank you for your candor in this matter, and for your fierce defense of Flayn’s well being… Despite the criticisms you boldly hurl at one who should be beyond reproach, I am still without a doubt that letting Flayn join your Eagles was the best decision I could have made. She has achieved tremendous progress in barely a month’s time, and I am under no illusions as to whom that credit is owed.”

Byleth’s head was shaking before he finished speaking, though the shadow of a smile curled her lips despite herself. “While I appreciate what you’re trying to say, the credit is owed entirely to Flayn’s hard work and dedicated study.”

Green eyes sparked with something both defensive and fond. "Very well. I will consider all you have said and take what action I deem appropriate.”

“And what of the captive?” Seteth’s brows shot up, making clear that he hadn’t expected her to know of their Agarthan prisoner. She tilted her head down, an almost pitying shade coloring her voice. “Seteth, who do you think left him alive and directed the Knights to apprehend him?" The laughter of a goddess rang like bells in her mind. "I imagine his interrogation has been the Archbishop’s priority, rather than our students. Will you be sharing whatever intel is gleaned with me? Or will I and the students be left in the dark again, no matter the risk that may pose to us?”

The advisor gritted his teeth, turning from her to pace brusquely back and forth before Ingrid’s sickbed, one hand clutching his chin. “ Again? Surely, you’re not speaking of Flayn’s kidnapping. I told you everything I kn—”

“Actually, I was referring to the theft of the Lance of Ruin. I’m certain you and the Archbishop were aware of the possibility of Miklan turning into a Demonic Beast as a result of using the weapon without a Crest.”

Seteth’s eyes seemed to bulge from his skull, the speed of his pacing increasing by half. Byleth waited out the flurry of panic, though she kept her gaze trained closely on him. After several moments, he slowed and stopped before her, a great sigh heralding his words. “You are right to be frustrated, Professor. I cannot say I would have taken such withholding as gracefully, were I in your position.”

Little does he know how poorly we took it, Sothis harrumphed.

“Then you can understand why it cannot continue as it has?”

His gaze flitted to Ingrid's still form, then beyond her to Sylvain and Bernadetta, before finally settling back on the professor.

"I do…but, despite what you may believe, I can only do so much to correct that. My power is limited to my influence; I cannot act counter to the Archbishop's wishes."

Byleth nodded curtly, mouth drawing into a hard line. “I see, so she would prefer I remain in the dark. I understand that this puts you in a difficult position, especially with Flayn’s involvement. I have no intention of betraying your confidence, and I think I’ve made my motives perfectly clear.” She sucked in a breath, looking down at her clasped hands, nerves fraying for the first time in this altercation, as her righteous fury began to waver. “Perhaps we haven’t known each other long enough for me to ask you for this level of trust…but I’m asking anyway. We made a commitment to guide and protect the students of this Academy, and that matters to me. Whatever your feelings for Rhea, I know it matters to you, too.”

“ Of course, it does, but that does not negate the years of service—”

“Don’t decide now. Think about it, speak with your sister, and give me your answer when we return to the monastery. If we’re going to be allies in this, I want you to be fully committed.”

His eyes were much warmer than she expected when he said, “I promise to give it my full consideration.”

The additional wagons and reinforcements arrived midmorning two days after the attack, and after a pitiful six hour march, much of which was in spitting rain, they were ensconced within the high walls of Garreg Mach once again.

Edelgard was returning to her room after a much needed bath, when she came across Claude on the dormitory stairs. His hair was wet, and he was back in his regular school uniform, rather than the more reinforced gear he wore into battle. “Ah, just the person I was looking for!” he exclaimed, blocking her path with a cheeky grin.

“What is it?” Edelgard had every intention to seek out Byleth following their return, and irritation simmered below her cool exterior at this unwelcome interruption.

Claude’s smile only widened, as if he could predict the direction of her thoughts. “I have a proposition. During the attack, our cross-house teamwork was impressive, and we should celebrate that. I’m thinking a grand feast. And by a ‘grand’ feast, I mean a fairly regular feast in the dining hall. Maybe a few decorations if you and I are able to arrange for them.”

Edelgard wasn’t particularly surprised by this suggestion, though she objected to the timing. “You couldn’t have mentioned this sooner?”

Claude sank into a seat on the steps above her, hand still stretched across to grip the railing, forming a barrier between her and the second floor. His face fell slightly as he began to explain. “I wasn’t sure how Ingrid would handle the journey. It wouldn’t seem right to celebrate if she was in worse condition when we arrived, but I just spoke with Dimitri, and it seems Manuela is cautiously optimistic about her waking within the next few days.”

“I see, and why are we two the only ones planning this celebration? Should we not include Dimitri, as well?”

The archer’s eyes sparkled at the question. “His princeliness already agreed, but he and Felix were on their way to assist with Ingrid’s pegasus. Apparently, now that it’s recovered enough to be aware, it won’t let any of the healers or handlers near. They trained extensively with the pair in the past couple of months, so Marianne hoped they might have better luck.”

“Marianne? Why–ah, yes, I recall that she has a particular affinity for animals. Has she been helping with their healing since she recovered?”

Claude looked surprised and pleased, tilting his head to one side. “Yes, the horse and pegasus injuries really upset her, and the majority of the healers have been focused solely on the humans.”

“I see. Perhaps I should send Linhardt to assist them? He and Marianne often tend the horses together.” Though he would not appreciate having his rest disrupted, Edelgard knew he had a fascination with the Alliance healer and would likely answer the call.

Claude’s smile widened. “If he’s awake, sure. I was honestly a little apprehensive about how she’ll handle Dimitri and Felix on her own. Big personalities, those two.”

“Indeed. I will speak with him after this, then. Now, to return to the feast you suggested…”

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd had always struck Hubert as a puppet type of person. Like most of his feelings were stored in another body or a box beneath his bed, and he was merely acting the part handed down to him by dead monarchs.

What an unwelcome surprise it was then to see him sitting across from Edelgard and Byleth, with the fragile, hopeful eyes of someone who cares far more than they’ve been letting on.

Hubert’s grimace must have been especially sour because the sharp snap of Dorothea’s foot beneath the table was followed by a pointed widening of emerald eyes across from him. He had jumped slightly at the impact, jostling his fork so that it clattered loudly from his plate to the floor. He felt the scrape of Byleth’s gaze at the sound but didn’t return the look, instead training his attention on the songstress across from him. 

They were several seats down from the house leaders and Byleth, so it was unlikely they heard Dorothea’s low comment: “This is not the time for your jealous seething.”

Dedue, seated to Hubert’s right, turned his head slightly toward the pair, but said nothing.

Wonderful.

“This is not the time for this conversation, ” Hubert countered at a hiss.

Dorothea’s eyes sparked with interest, pinning him to his chair. “Oh, you do plan to discuss it with me, then?”

“I—no. I don’t know what you mean,” Hubert fumbled spectacularly, his face heating.

Her smile was a flash of white teeth that was far more mocking than amused. “That shade of red is quite becoming on you, Hubie.”

He stood up abruptly, wishing he could Warp from the room when Edelgard and Byleth both turned their heads toward him with open, curious expressions. 

Dorothea always knew more than she revealed—it was one of the reasons he’d begun to warm to her. She would charm her way through a room, her low birth and bright smiles lowering guards, and she would leave with a stockpile of secrets to employ as needed. She had traded him quite a bit of information since they arrived here.

If Dorothea was cuing him that she had picked up on any of his feelings for either woman sitting at the head of the table, he could be certain she wanted something, and after six hours of riding in the rain, he was not in a giving mood.

“Oh, sit down. You’re making a—”

Hubert stalked away from his seat, wrestling with his urge to leave the pageantry of this meal behind entirely. Of course, that would prevent him from surveilling the emerging situation that was clearly transpiring with the Blaiddyd heir, but staying would require him to either return to Dorothea or select a new spot to sit. 

While Hubert was deliberating the issue, Marianne slipped in one of the side doors opposite where he stood, and he recalled his conversation with Claude days prior, after Hubert attacked the Golden Deer healer as she came forward to aid him.

If I have to involve Teach to make you take accountability for that stunt back there, I will. If you’re smart, you won’t make me do that.

Darting a glance toward Riegan, seated across from Edelgard, Hubert wondered briefly if he had already made good on that threat. But no, Hubert knew the professor well enough by now to be certain that if she had been told, he would have received a scathing rebuke. One that, despite many instincts screaming the opposite, he was beginning to think he might deserve.

Unity. The word felt so strange in this context. He had always imagined a united continent, following Edelgard’s undeniable conquest of the opposing nations. But it was becoming increasingly clear that she and Byleth were striving for another sort of unity entirely—one in which you don’t attack your allies for glory in a meaningless school exercise.

Strangling the rage inside of him at the humiliation this evening had become, Hubert crossed the room to catch Marianne before she made her way to a table. “May I have a word with you privately?” His voice came out colder than he intended, but Marianne nodded nonetheless, a small furrow appearing between her brows. She followed him the several steps back to the door she had entered from and out onto the terrace overlooking the fishing pond.

He turned to her, fingers knitted rigidly together at his stomach. “I owe you an apology.” The words tasted like bile. “I should not have valued our success in the mock battle more highly than my regard for you as a classmate. My behavior was regrettable at best…and I am sorry.”

Marianne looked bewildered. “Oh no, I’m certain I wasn’t taking the test seriously enough. Um…your attack was a surprise, but as classmates, we should all push each other to do our best.”

Hubert was beginning to understand why Claude had so staunchly defended Marianne—she was clearly not the type to do so herself. A heavy exhale rattled through his chest. He could leave it here. He had taken responsibility, had he not? It wasn’t Hubert’s fault Marianne was so self-deprecating as to twist his obvious betrayal of her trust into her own failing.

He could make a dismissive statement and head back inside. Perhaps the relief at having weathered this conversation would be enough to see him through the rest of the meal across from a smug Dorothea. But looking at Marianne’s downcast eyes, he didn’t feel relieved.

You’ve grown soft. The thought echoed through his head in his father’s voice, and the wave of petulant defiance that swept through him carried his next words up and out of his mouth. “Forgive me for correcting your interpretation on the heels of my apology, but I’m certain that both you and Claude were under the impression that I was gravely injured by Ferdinand’s mount. Rather than assure you I was well and resume our match, I took advantage of your concern in an attempt to overpower you... I used your compassion against you.”

Marianne’s lips parted in a small “O”, and her gaze darted up to Hubert’s then back down again repeatedly. “I see. Ferdinand said something similar to me, but I’m not good at judging others' motives. I’m sorry to have caused such discord. If I had been more aware—”

“No.” His hand cut through the air with rising frustration. “You are not understanding me. You are not in the wrong. I am. It is as simple as that. You can choose to forgive me or not, but do not make my failure your burden.”

Soft footsteps padded close to the doorway behind them. Blue eyes darted nervously over his shoulder then back to her hands clenched in front of her, a reflection of his own posture. Hubert didn’t turn to see who was listening, though he assumed it would be one of the Deer, come to guard their tremulous healer from Hubert’s cutting demeanor.

Marianne let out a low breath, firming her shoulders slightly and finally meeting him eye to eye. “If you insist… I forgive you, as the goddess would want me to. I-is that all you wished to speak about?” She flinched at the quaver in her voice, and Hubert, damn him, felt her unease like a needle in his skin.

“There was one other matter. The Silence you cast on me was masterful. Should you ever require a sparring partner”—this tasted like a lie, but rang with bitter truth—“I think we both could learn something from each other.”

Gathering that forcing Marianne to respond to praise would likely only make them both more uncomfortable, he turned and swept back into the dining hall. Hilda was lurking in the doorway, looking every bit like the cat who ate the canary, and he shot her his most withering look as he passed. As he made his way back to his vacated seat, Riegan’s eyes caught his from further up the table, and Hubert inclined his head in terse acknowledgement.

If Claude’s answering wink made Hubert’s blood simmer with irritation, that was a small price to pay to avoid Byleth and Edelgard’s scathing disappointment.

Soft, indeed, he thought, as he allowed Dorothea to draw him into a conversation about the best ways to utilize Flayn’s healing in future battle scenarios.

“Do you find that you miss Enbarr?” Dimitri asked, moving the food around his plate in a manner that he clearly thought was more subtle than it appeared.

Edelgard shook her head, a soft smile pulling at her expression as she thought of her early years in the castle—the adventures with Hubert, the combat lessons with her child-sized axes. “No, to my surprise, I do not. What Enbarr once was to me has long since faded. Now, it is merely the seat of my duty to my people, and that duty is something I carry with me everywhere.”

"I think I know how you feel." Dimitri inclined his head solemnly. "When you have lost as many as you and I have, ghosts begin to walk the halls. It is almost a relief to roam in a place their feet never touched.”

"Ah…" The comment, as Dimitri's often did, pierced straight through her defenses, knocking her entirely off balance. "Yes…I suppose that is true.” She had never considered how alike her and Dimitri’s childhoods truly were, and the revelation set her teeth on edge.

Byleth’s hand was a warm weight on her own beneath the table, sending her further off-course. Was her unease so palpable that everyone was aware of it, or did her teacher simply know her that well now?

"I apologize. It must be a painful subject to be reminded of,” Dimitri was quick to backtrack. “I should not have brought it up," 

“No, I…I was only taken aback by the similarities we share.” She surprised herself with her honesty. “While royal assassinations are regrettably a regular occurrence, it seems unusual for two heirs of neighboring nations to both have lost the majority of our families at a young age."

Claude seemed to think this was his queue. "Incredibly unusual, considering to your knowledge, your nations weren't in conflict with each other."

Byleth withdrew her hand from Edelgard’s, moving it to clutch her chin in contemplation. “I always thought the Tragedy of Duscur was peculiar on its own. It never made sense for the Duscur people to attack King Lambert. My father used to say they seemed like a convenient scapegoat for a political assassination made by another party.”

“Indeed,” Dimitri replied, his eyes trained on his fork, moving in slow figure eights through untouched food. “I have long held that opinion, as well.” His other hand was a tight fist on the tabletop as he looked up to meet Edelgard’s eyes across from him. “One of my goals in attending the Academy was to gather allies who might help me uncover the truth of what occurred, to get justice for those I lost as well as the Duscur people who were needlessly slaughtered by the Kingdom in retribution.”

Edelgard felt Byleth sit up straighter at Dimitri’s words, and glanced to the side to catch the glint in the professor’s eyes. “That’s a worthy goal, Dimitri. I hope you’ll count me among those allies.”

Claude’s usual smirk widened into a full grin as both Dimitri and Edelgard turned to the professor with differing expressions of surprise and wonder. Dimitri’s was fairly straightforward but Edelgard’s was layered with apprehension and the suspicion that Byleth wanted to fold the prince into their plotting against the Agarthans and the Church. She imagined Claude had come to a similar conclusion, and perhaps that had even been one of his motives in attempting to draw the three of them together so often in the past few days.

“Certainly, Professor. I would be most grateful to have your support,” Dimitri rumbled at a much lower volume than he had been using previously. To Edelgard’s confusion, he looked slightly ashamed.

The cast of his eyes tugged softly at a wisp of memory buried long ago, and despite her halting mistrust, there were promises available to her that were within the realm of public knowledge. Something soft and vulnerable was jumping in her throat to respond, and she found herself powerless to stop the pledge of support that would earn her many harsh words from Hubert when he learned of it. “I would not like to think the Empire is responsible, but the corruption amongst the nobility in my country lends itself well to such plots. It is my intention as Emperor to eradicate such rulers who would prey on and manipulate the people they should serve, and for that reason, it would seem our goals may align. I will do what I can to help you enact justice.”

Wide, blue eyes returned to hers, shining with emotion. “I…you… Thank you, Edelgard. That means more than I can say.”

“This calls for a toast!” Claude proclaimed, standing and raising a goblet along with his voice. “Everyone! Two days ago, we fought as one and prevailed against overwhelming odds. Tonight, we celebrate that victory and honor those who were injured—not as three houses or three nations, but as one academy, united in our goal of bettering ourselves to best serve the people of Fodlan!”

“To serving Fodlan!” Byleth added, rising with her drink above her head and a smile that could stop an army.

Edelgard and Dimitri followed suit, then the entirety of the student body was on their feet, answering the call in unison: “To serving Fodlan!”

Later that evening, Byleth made her way to Seteth’s office to press the issue of his loyalties. Her hand raised to knock, she was stopped in her tracks by the soft sound of the Archbishop’s voice carrying through the wooden door.

“...an overreach of her responsibilities. We would not have seen nearly so many injuries had the battalions been on the field, as planned,” Rhea said, sounding more candid than Byleth had ever heard her prior.

“But I spoke with the captains,” Seteth replied carefully. “Every entrance to the valley was besieged by Agarthan soldiers. Had they not been where they were, there is an even greater likelihood that the students would have been overwhelmed by the combined force of the Winged Beasts and their ground units.”

So Seteth is as informed as we presumed him to be, Sothis observed, noting his use of the term “Agarthan.”

“Had they been on the field, taking out the mage casting the fog would have been a much simpler matter,” Rhea countered, “placing me in a position to direct reinforcements where they were most needed, rather than operating blindly, as I was. Truly, Seteth, it pains me to hear you defending our new professor when she so carelessly allowed Flayn’s safety to be undermined. I would think the wisest course of action would be to remove Flayn from her class at once, and instead, you request that Byleth be given an even greater influence in private Church matters?”

“Rhea, you know the power she wields. Not only the Crest of Flames, but the strategy mastery she has repeatedly demonstrated. Should we not take full advantage of it? It may very well be Sothis’ influence working through her.”

A spike of panic lanced through Byleth. Can he know you live within me? He’s never given any sort of sign, like Rhea has.

I’m unsure, Sothis answered. I think it more likely he assumes my influence because you wield the Sword of the Creator. He must know of its origins, as well as that of the Crest of Flames.

Rhea’s voice had grown colder, and so soft, Byleth could only barely make it out. “Do not speak of my mother as though her will would ever work against mine. Any actions the professor takes to undermine the Church are her own, and if she cannot be made to act in our interests, she must be contained before she can damage the legacy I built to honor mother’s sacrifice.”

A cold dread slid up Byleth’s spine at this threat.

Ha! ‘Tis only further proof of her madness that she could think I would approve of all that she’s done, Sothis attempted to ease her worry.

Byleth, sensing the conversation was coming to a close, backed up several light steps, then clomped back down the hallway to knock.

Are you certain this is wise? Sothis cautioned. You could slip away unseen.

I want to see her face.

Her knock resounded on the stone walls, and she folded her hands at the base of her spine and waited until the door swung open before her. Seteth stood tensely in the doorway, his mouth drawn in a tight line. “Professor, I’m afraid it’s not—”

“No, Seteth, do not turn her away on my account,” Rhea interrupted, her voice having returned to the airy, distant drawl of the Archbishop. But she was slow to readjust the scowl that had been creasing her mouth, and Byleth caught the tail end of it, just as it was plastered over with the serene mask Rhea usually wore. “I trust our discussion was complete enough for me to retire for the evening. We can return to the subject tomorrow should you need further instruction. Goodnight to you both.”

The Archbishop swept quickly from the room, leaving an air of foreboding behind. Her footsteps faded in the hall as she headed for the stairs up to her private chamber. Byleth’s eyes locked with Seteth’s, attempting to read through the advisor’s rigid exterior to the truth of his heart.

After a long moment of nothing but the forced calm of Seteth’s breaths—too audible to truly be calm—Byleth stood to the side of the doorway, motioning out. “You look like you could use a break. Take a walk with me?”

The puffed chest deflated, and he hung slightly forward, as if he’d collapse on the spot without the support of his ever-upright spine. “You may be right. I suppose it could not hurt. I needed to speak with you regardless about the grading of the students’ mock battle performances.”

Byleth’s mouth quirked, wondering if this was a lie he’d woven for Rhea’s benefit, should she still be within earshot. “Of course, but I suspect we have different definitions of ‘taking a break.’”

With a faltering smile in return, he followed her from the office.

Chapter Text

“I spoke with Rhea about my concerns. The conversation was… disturbing seems almost too mild a word,” Seteth said quietly as they crossed the courtyard toward the battlements overlooking the valley.  “It was as if we had experienced completely disparate versions of the attack during the mock battle.”

The complex was quiet and still, with only a few guards on patrol at predictable places, easily avoided. The students were either in their dormitories or lingering in the dining hall after the feast, save Ingrid, and the Church staff rose earliest for morning prayers before the breakfast bell, so most had turned in hours prior.

The exception to that rule stopped with his back to the view of the night sky splayed out before them, fidgeting with the sleeves of his robe as if they were too tight on his wrists.

Byleth sat on the wide ledge formed by a parapet, pulling a leg up into her chest and wrapping her arms around it protectively. She faced perpendicular to her companion as she confessed, “I overheard the tail-end of your talk.” Seteth’s brows shot toward his hairline. “Don’t look at me like that,” she chastised. “You know the stakes have grown too high for hesitations based on propriety alone.”

The advisor exhaled audibly, looking toward his shoes. “I wish I could disagree, but I fear you may be correct. If things carry on as they are, I’m afraid Flayn and I will be forced to break with Rhea and flee Garreg Mach.”

Byleth shook her head. “And what if she won’t go? She’s making friends here. From what I understand, she’s been deprived of that for some time.” Her eyes cut to the side to meet his wary glance, and he crossed his arms.

“Again, I wish I could disagree. She may be quite intransigent on the issue, and I don’t look forward to attempting to convince her.”

‘Tis fortunate that we have several stories between us and your father that may change her mind. 

You truly think it is as simple as telling them about you and what we believe Rhea did to us? What if he brings the story right back to her?

Sothis appeared at her side, her hand caressing Byleth’s forearm with the featherlight touch of a stray breeze. I have watched him with the little ones, as you have. That’s why you’ve brought him this far. I believe if he says he will help us, then he will.

“If leaving is really what you want…” Byleth looked down at her knee and began picking at a run in her tights; she’d grown too anxious to look him in the eye as she delivered her bargain. “I may be able to help you convince Flayn, but I’ll require your help in return.”

A twinkle of guarded interest appeared in his tone. “How do you intend to do so?”

Byleth huffed out a tired smile, thinking of the story she was offering to share with him and Flayn, should he agree to give information in return. At the very least, she agreed with Sothis. Byleth believed that he didn’t intend to sell her out to Rhea, but she couldn’t be sure that he would know anything of use to her and her compatriots, and this was her biggest card she could play concerning him. “I intend to explain how it is that I can wield the Sword of the Creator. That should be enough to convince Flayn that Rhea is not as she appears and that we would all be wise to flee while we can.”

When she summoned the courage to look at the silent Nabatean beside her, she found nothing but shock and confusion in the lines of his expression. “Surely you had questions for Rhea after I first wielded the sword. Did she answer them?”

Seteth’s mouth fell back into a severe frown. “No, she did not.”

“Likely because it reflects poorly on her. A sign she is in her right mind, I think. Her conscience is functioning well enough to assure her that you would not approve.”

Seteth sank onto the parapet to the right of her, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. “How did you come by such information? Surely Rhea didn’t reveal it to you.”

“No, she did not, but I can explain no further until you commit to telling me all that you know about another topic.”

He exhaled in a huff through his nose—almost a laugh. He sounded vaguely hysterical when he replied: “And what topic is that?”

“The Agarthans and your ancient conflict with them.”

Shing. Shhhhing. Shiiing. Shhhiii—

“You have been sharpening that blade far longer than necessary,” Edelgard snapped at a whisper, stilling the incessant rasp of Hubert’s whetstone against his dagger.

The ringing silence that followed caused the heads of Claude and Jeralt to swivel toward them from their seats at separate ends of the front-most old chapel pew. Hubert flushed angrily at their brief stares, stowing his tools with a poisonous look toward his liege. Edelgard pointedly rolled her eyes toward the cobwebbed rafters, trying not to look too closely at what were almost certainly spiders' nests at the junctions of the wooden beams.

This was far from her ideal meeting place, but she was no more tense than anyone else present. Everyone was on edge following Byleth’s brief message earlier that day that their secret cohort would be joined today by Seteth and Flayn. Everyone, save perhaps Linhardt, who was splayed out on his back on the dais, snoring softly. Lysithea sat nearby, leaning on the pulpit, a heavy tome spread across her knees. Hilda chewed her lip to Edelgard’s left, slightly further away than Hubert, with her legs drawn up to her chest. She hadn’t said a word since she arrived, which was unusual in itself. 

The old chapel seemed a much riskier meeting place than the forest surrounding the monastery, but the timing was ideal—just after the start of one of Rhea’s monthly extended sermons. These were a showy tradition in which the Archbishop read at length from holy texts, inviting the Church representatives from the nearest hamlets to attend in the main chapel, on the opposite end of the compound. The affair was usually a four hour process at minimum, and Academy students and faculty were not required to attend, nor were they likely to be missed in the crush of additional bodies.

The professor had stated that she intended to bring Seteth and Flayn with her today for the purpose of allowing everyone to participate in questioning them on information they intended to share regarding the Agarthans. How Byleth managed to convince them to do so without giving away all of their plotting, Edelgard did not know. The very fact that the professor was revealing their membership seemed unnecessarily risky to Hubert, but Edelgard had hushed his protest. They would never have gained Claude, Hilda, and Lysithea’s allegiance if she hesitated whenever something made Hubert’s hackles rise. If Byleth trusted them…Edelgard would attempt to follow suit. And if they weren’t to be trusted, the professor’s swift beheading of Kronya suggested that retribution would come just as quickly for these Nabateans. She had reminded Hubert of this point, to his grim acceptance.

Of course, that had been prior to their meeting hour coming and going some twenty minutes past. With every moment Byleth failed to turn up, Hubert grew more unbearable to sit so near. The furious anxiety of his impatience ate away at her as potently as the poisons he usually carried might. Edelgard felt like a locked box in comparison—all her tension contained. The hinges creaked with the effort of holding it in, but still, they held.

The deep groan of the chapel door being drawn aside had both princess and vassal surging to their feet and turning to face the new arrivals.

Byleth entered, the purse of her mouth grim but determined, followed by a rigid Seteth and a clearly confused Flayn. Edelgard noted the Sword of the Creator was strapped to the professor’s back—perhaps insurance, should the meeting go poorly.

“Professor? Are you teaching a lesson today?” Flayn asked, glancing around at the different houses present.

Byleth shook her head, shooting Edelgard a fleeting half-smile before leading the Nabateans to the front of the chamber.

“I apologize for the deception, Flayn, but your brother thought it best we not divulge the truth of today’s outing until we arrived.”

The student’s mouth drew into a hard line, and narrowed green eyes fixed onto Seteth. “I see. I suppose I should have known when you wouldn’t tell me where we were going that something was amiss.”

“Flayn, the professor and I have spoken at some length about the events of the attack,” Seteth intervened, “and she has information she wishes to share with us. In exchange, she and the others gathered here want to know about our conflict with the Agarthans.”

The girl’s eyes blew wide, stumbling back a step into the pulpit and almost colliding with a seated Lysithea. The young mage had closed her book and was roughly shaking Linhardt awake at her side. “How is it that you came to learn such a name?” Flayn demanded of Byleth, her eyes suddenly flashing with something much older than she appeared.

“The most efficient answer would be the story I brought you here to tell, one that most of those gathered here have not heard.” Byleth retrieved the sword from her back, and it pulsed to life even lying still across her palms. It was perhaps a sign of the Nabateans' trust in her teacher that they did not draw back in apprehension when she brandished her weapon.

Shock laced its way through Edelgard’s veins. She intends to tell them of Sothis, she realized. 

Byleth turned to face those assembled. “It’s time to clear the air about a few things. I believe everyone assembled has the right to know the details about my power and my history with Rhea before we move forward. Some of you know parts of my background, but very few know it all.”

The professor launched into a surprisingly concise—almost practiced—account of her power, the goddess it came from, and the role she and Sothis suspected Rhea played in the affair. To Edelgard’s mild shock, neither Claude nor Hubert interrupted her explanation with questions, though the princess could feel her companion shifting uneasily at her side.

When Byleth finished describing her lack of a heartbeat, and Sothis’ explanation for how that could be, Hubert’s breath was hot on Edelgard’s neck. “Is this what she came to your room to speak of?” he hissed, and was met with her answering nod.

“I believe so.”

A growl—low and frustrated in the depths of his throat—issued forth, then was promptly cut short as Byleth’s eyes trained briefly on the two of them. Something in her trembling gaze felt like an apology to Edelgard, a plea to trust her a little longer. Hubert’s hands shifted, and Edelgard’s eyes flicked down to catch his nails digging hard into his forearm as Byleth turned her attention to their Nabatean guests.

“Does this match what you know of the Crest Stones and their potential powers?” Byleth asked a stunned Seteth.

“I…have never heard of such a thing, but Rhea was reticent to share the location of Sothis’ Crest Stone when I asked after it, following your mastery of the Sword of the Creator. I thought it strange at the time, but if what you’re saying is true—”

“Do you truly believe Lady Rhea would do such unspeakable things?” Flayn asked her brother. She looked distraught, torn between two people she greatly respected. Edelgard could relate to her anguish—she had experienced similar disillusionment upon discovering Arundel’s true nature.

Seteth looked around uncomfortably at their audience, before swallowing and forcing out his next words. “I do not wish to believe it, but…everything she describes from our downfall is correct, and nothing the professor has said contradicts what I know of Rhea’s past attempts to return Sothis to this world. She made promises to me a long time ago that she would cease pursuing such measures, but I have feared for some time that she was not true to them. In fact, her behavior of late has disturbed me so much that I worry you are no longer safe in Garreg Mach, Flayn.”

“That’s why Seteth requested I share this with you,” Byleth added. “I explained to him that I may have knowledge that would help motivate a transition out from under Rhea’s influence.”

Flayn had reached a state of overwhelm Edelgard had never before witnessed, and promptly fell to a seated position on the dais beside Lysithea. The young mage looked affronted at first, but as Flayn’s rapid inhalations mounted in intensity, the girl’s eyes softened, and she laid a tentative hand on the healer’s shoulder. “We have all been deceived by Rhea,” she said. “You are among friends.”

Flayn shot her a bewildered glance, drawing her knees to her chest. “I appreciate your encouragement, but I doubt very much that we share the same relationship with Lady Rhea. She has been like family to me, especially after the death of my mother. I…I am certain the professor speaks the truth as she knows it, but I truly wish for her to be mistaken and to discover a simple explanation for all of this, instead.”

So Rhea is not her biological mother, afterall, Edelgard thought, recalling her long held belief that Flayn was Rhea and Seteth’s secret child.

Jeralt rose to his feet and, with slow, purposeful strides, he made his way to Flayn and knelt before her. “Lady Rhea was like family to me, too, once,” he said, almost too softly for Edelgard to hear from where she stood. “She used her blood to save my life, and Sitri, Byleth’s mother, was one of her most treasured disciples. I thought the world of her. Then, I returned from a mission to find Sitri dead, and Rhea was…the opposite of mourning. She seemed as if she was celebrating something.”

Edelgard couldn’t see Flayn past Jeralt’s shoulders, but she heard a wet, shaky exhale from the young Nabatean. 

“I understand better than anyone how you and your brother must feel right now,” Jeralt continued. “It’s a hard reality to face, especially when she’s outwardly kind so much of the time. But Seteth and I, and particularly the kid, here, argued with Rhea about taking the student body to Grondor Field for the mock battle. Your safety following the abduction was of great concern, in addition to the safety of all the students… Her plans, whatever they may be, were of greater importance to her than preventing the very real threat of you being captured again by the Agarthans.”

Jeralt shifted back and rose to his feet, moving to stand alongside Byleth. Edelgard could now see the red of Flayn’s cheeks and the steady tears streaming down them. The girl’s eyes shot toward her brother, who nodded. “He speaks the truth, Flayn,” Seteth said. “We could not sway her from that course, nor were you a priority for her during the attack. Your classmates spoke more ardently about your safety than Lady Rhea did. It was deeply unsettling.”

Seteth joined his sister on the dais, putting an arm around her and letting her lean into his shoulder. “I apologize that you had to learn of it this way, but…it seemed appropriate that you be surrounded by those who conspired to rescue you from the Agarthans. Where Rhea instituted separation, they crossed boundaries and collaborated to bring you back to me. They have earned a measure of trust from us.”

Byleth turned her attention to the gathered students. “I know you all must have questions about my power, and I promise to answer them, but I’d ask that you voice your questions about Rhea and the Agarthans first, so that Flayn and Seteth may soon seek some solitude to process these revelations.”

Edelgard had been awaiting such an opportunity. “Does Rhea know about the Crest experiments the Agarthans performed upon me and my kin?”

Seteth’s eyes met hers. He looked deeply ashamed. “Yes. We both did, though the extent of their success was always in question. I drew up plans to infiltrate Enbarr and attempt to rout out these insurgents from your government, but Rhea said that would only drive them deeper into hiding and recommended monitoring the situation until we had more intel to act upon.”

This was a shock. “You…wanted to help us?” She managed to squeeze the words out around the stone that had suddenly appeared in her throat.

“Yes.” Seteth nodded. “For what little it is likely worth now, I did. But my power has always been limited compared to Rhea’s. It seems a weak excuse for my inaction now, but at the time, I believed she intended to act when the time was right. Yet that time never came. Instead, we simply continued to guard our borders and the false history she had woven to paint our kin as humanity’s salvation…” He looked away from Edelgard to one of the few intact stained glass windows. It depicted Sothis, surrounded by a halo of light, hovering over an abundant land. “I see now that she was delaying in the hope that she could revive Sothis and end the conflict decisively with the goddess’ power.”

Flayn’s tears had already dried, and she was looking at her brother with a hard purse to her lips.

Hubert was too still beside Edelgard. She doubted that he believed Seteth’s claims, but strangely, Edelgard found that she did. Thinking of Hubert’s endless devotion to her cause, no matter the injustice wrought along the way, Edelgard could imagine how Seteth might find himself in such a position.

Claude slung an arm across the back of the pew he occupied. “Can Rhea still turn into the Immaculate One?”

Seteth raised an eyebrow. “I should have expected this line of questioning from you... She can, but it’s not as simple as that,” he answered. “Many Nabateans are capable of great feats, like Rhea’s transformation, but depending on the situation, it can take years to recover the magic required to support such an endeavor. That expenditure can result in extended periods of sleep, like the sleep Sothis fell into that allowed the Agarthans to kill her. These recovery periods can last years.”

Claude nodded. “So she can’t simply turn into a dragon whenever she feels like it. Good to know. What about you two?”

“It’s…complicated,” Seteth began, pinching the bridge of his nose. “While all of us are descended from the goddess, there were those, like Rhea, who came first. They were the most powerful of us and possessed the most potent magic. At one time, we all had beastial forms, but after Sothis’ death, we slowly lost the ability to transition between the two.”

“Lady Rhea is the only one who maintains that ability,” Flayn added. “And as I understand it, the cost is greater every time.”

Byleth crossed her arms. “And the Agarthans? Do they have similar powers?” 

Seteth seemed to have been anticipating this question. “As you already know, they have dark magic that allows them to transform into sacrificed humans. Innate abilities appear to be more rare, and they work differently than those of the Nabateans, but some do have them. One of the leaders of the ambush during the mock battle has the power to summon Demonic Beasts, for instance. I have no idea what the cost of these traits may be, however.”

“What about their numbers?” Hilda interjected. “Do you know how many of them are in hiding?”

Seteth shifted his attention to the axe wielder. “I’m afraid nothing very precise. They live underground in a settlement known as Shambhalla, which we understand to be the size of a small city, but there are likely many more of them on the surface in disguise, waiting for the call to action.”

Edelgard was unimpressed. She and Hubert had known of Shambhalla’s existence for some time. “Am I correct in assuming you don’t know where Shambhalla is?”

Seteth nodded. “If we had, I believe that may have been enough to spur Rhea to use her power to wipe them out.”

Edelgard had her doubts about such a claim of the Archbishop, but nodded her acquiescence nonetheless. 

"And what about the Tragedy of Duscur? What do you know about that?" Claude asked with an urgency that struck Edelgard as decidedly concerning. There was one person in particular on whose behalf he would be asking, and Dimitri had no claim to any of the information shared here.

Seteth let out a long exhale in preparation for his answer, but he was interrupted by a bitter Flayn, her eyes locked on Claude’s. “My father ensured that I remained unaware of the conflict until all blood had been spilled, but rest assured, I would have gone to help”—she shot a glare in Seteth’s direction, who pulled his arm back from her in surprise—“were I permitted such freedom.”

Edelgard inhaled sharply, earning a side glance from Hubert. She had been right on half of the girl’s parentage.

Lysithea drew back from the Nabatean at her side in horror. “Were your people involved?”

“Wouldn’t you have been far too young to be of any help?” Claude added.

Flayn swallowed, faltering under the press of Claude’s eagle eyes and the sharpening purse of Lysithea’s expression. “My people numbered so very few at the time of the tragedy, the only one who could have played a role was Lady Rhea, and even with what you have shared today, I find it hard to imagine her doing so. Based on the disturbing course of events, we assumed it was the Agarthans’ meddling, but our influence in the Kingdom was limited at best then… I was living in h—”

“Flayn, please, do not do this,” Seteth cut in. “Your story was not a part of this agreement. They cannot ensure—”

“No, father. This may be my only chance to build friendships with those who know who I truly am! They risked much by sharing these details of Lady Rhea’s actions, knowing we could very well betray them to her. That trust will be honored with something of equal value to us both.”

Seteth’s lips pinched like he had eaten a handful of tart Albinean berries, but he said nothing more.

“As I was saying, I was living in hiding during the Tragedy because we feared the Agarthans would seek my power,” her voice was small at first, but she gained confidence as she continued, “which was used to help subdue them in the War of Heroes.” At the scattered gasps around the room, Flayn rushed bravely onward. “We Nabateans live much, much, much longer than humans do. I am still considered quite young for my race, but I was born in Enbarr prior to the Empire’s founding.”

Edelgard clocked Linhardt listening raptly at Lysithea’s shoulder, a sheaf of paper and an inkwell half hidden behind them on the dais. His hand on the side opposite the pews could occasionally be seen darting out to scribble down a note, all without breaking his attention on the speaker.

“That would make you over a thousand years old!” Claude half-protested, a smile lingering in his tone.

“Yes, it would,” said Flayn, shining eyes turning to Byleth. “My father spoke of a cost to our power, and I paid dearly for its overuse with a thousand years of sleep… I woke up in a world much changed than the one I left, but the war and cruelty and bloodshed—of all the things I would have liked to leave so far in the past, those followed me here…as did my youthful appearance.” She pushed to her feet to approach the professor, and something in Edelgard wanted to follow. Lingering in the middle seats so far from the action was unlike her. Distance had seemed prudent when she thought Seteth and Flayn potential enemies, but her instincts about the latter had proven correct—this girl had nothing of Rhea’s soured corruption in her eyes.

“What did you do that caused such a result?” Lysithea asked, ignoring Linhardt who was nudging her and attempting to show her something he had written.

Flayn’s eyes clouded with memory. “It was the battle with Nemesis at Tailtean Plains. He was the Agarthan’s champion, wielding Sothis’ body as a devastating weapon, the very same the Professor carries today. You all have witnessed its power, and Nemesis was a much more brutal person than our dear Professor. The losses were so great, and I could not bear it. I…healed half an army’s worth of wounded and collapsed.”

Growing tired of Lysithea’s snubbing, Linhardt spoke up, “That decides that, then. You’re Saint Cethleann!” The healer had the sleepy, smug look of a cat on his face.

A titter of unease went through the group, but Flayn’s eyes flashed with something close to satisfaction. “It seems you have found me out, at last. Yes, the very same.”

“And your father, he’s—”

“Saint Cichol,” Seteth said dryly, rising to stand beside his daughter. “Though there was good reason for our secrecy, it seems we no longer have that luxury.” He shot a chastening look at Flayn, which she pointedly ignored.

“I do not wish to see this century stained by the same violence as the last,” Flayn continued, ignoring her father’s attempts to rein her in. “You, Professor, and my fellow students, give me hope that is truly possible.” She looked first to Edelgard, then to Claude. “There have already been two terrible tragedies in Fodlan since I awoke, and…I now understand that Lady Rhea has not been acting to prevent them. Is your intention to do the opposite? To see the realm returned to the peace and prosperity Sothis always wanted for it?”

Edelgard did approach the dais then, hearing Hubert and Hilda hastening to follow in her wake, not to be left behind. “I cannot speak for Claude, but that is my goal,” the imperial leader said. “I wish to see the system that prizes Crests above all else torn down, so people may stand on their own merit.”

Flayn's answering smile was dazzlingly bright. “A system in which all can succeed is a marvelous idea, Edelgard.”

“You understand that the Church would have to be dissolved to see this accomplished? Or at the very least, heavily reformed?”

Again, the age in Flayn’s look of reply was far beyond her normal, child-like exuberance. “I do. If the Church is creating strife in Fodlan, it has failed in its very goal and must be corrected.”

Claude rose from his seat as well, bumping his shoulder genially against Edelgard’s as he came up beside her. “I guess it’s time for me to admit my ulterior motives for roping you into our search for Flayn.”

“This should be good,” Hubert said under his breath, earning him a sharp side-eye from both Byleth and his liege.

“Yes?” Edelgard raised a brow at the archer.

“I want to see the divisions and prejudices across Fodlan dissolved.” Claude held her gaze with steady eyes. “Not just peace for a generation, but lasting reform for the continent, and I think that’s something we should work together on.”

Edelgard had to duck her head and look away, thinking of how she had been willing to have him assassinated at the beginning of term. If not for Byleth, she likely would have revived that a plan and killed the Alliance heir before ever getting to know him or their similarities. Edelgard swallowed past the lump in her throat. Her voice was low and rough when she replied. “It seems we are allies in more ways than I anticipated.”

Claude’s trickster eyes glittered with the things he didn’t say, but the smile pulling his lips up was real.

“Wonderful!” Flayn exclaimed, clapping her hands together enthusiastically. “And you, Professor? Are you of the same mind?”

When Edelgard turned her attention to Byleth, she caught her staring softly at her, lips parted and eyes warm with thoughts Edelgard could not decipher. Her teacher shook herself with a self-deprecating twist of her lips, and redirected her gaze to the young Nabatean. “I want the future they both describe, yes, but more immediately, I want to see us all safely removed from Garreg Mach. We cannot remain much longer in the seat of Rhea’s power.”

Flayn nodded seriously. “I should like to join you, then. Very much so.”

“Flayn!” Seteth exclaimed. He sounded weary, almost as if he had expected her to be heading toward such a conclusion, but had hoped he was wrong. “We cannot ally ourselves with Rhea’s opposition! That would only put you in greater danger than you already are at present.”

“Father, did you truly expect for me to hear their story and follow you dutifully back into hiding?” She shook her head “I wish to form bonds and participate in the creation of a Fodlan worthy of my protection! I did not sacrifice so many years to merely let things continue as they have. I’m certain that’s not what you want, either. Regardless, the professor holds Sothis within her very heart. What could possibly be more loyal to mother’s memory than following her to serve the people of Fodlan?”

Seteth looked helplessly at Byleth, who responded with a shrug. “Assuming my students have no protest, I would be happy to have you both with us.”

The advisor let out a heavy breath. “You are correct, Flayn. I want for both of our sacrifices to have created meaningful good within the realm, but this rag-tag group of youths is unlikely—”

“You will recall that these are the very same youths that rescued me from a dungeon you never would have located without their assistance. At the beginning of this, you said that we owed them our trust for that. Is your mind so changeable, father?”

Seteth swiveled around to take in the gathered students, Byleth, and Jeralt, before his eyes finally landed back on his daughter. “If we do this, you will need to lie to Rhea. Can you do that?”

Flayn’s brow creased with a troubled expression, but she soon glanced up toward Edelgard and Hubert, then to Claude. “Perhaps not as skillfully as I will need to…but the Professor tells me I am an incredibly fast learner, and there are those here who could teach me.”

There were many questions following from the Deer and Linhardt about Byleth’s power and the goddess she carried. Claude seemed concerningly delighted by everything Byleth revealed, and he kept shooting meaningful glances at Lady Edelgard throughout the remainder of their discussion. Hubert remained painfully, furiously silent, his jaw locked closed with the tension of a bowstring against an untrained arm. Nothing he had to say would be revealed with an audience present.

It wasn’t until Seteth noticed Linhardt’s intense note-taking and confiscated the stack of papers he had filled with details of Flayn and Byleth’s origins that his liege said, “I believe we should break for today. They will be finishing in the main chapel within the hour, and we should ensure the majority of us are visible and separate when they do so.”

Seteth took the opportunity to shepard Flayn quickly away from Linhardt’s observation, followed by Hilda and Lysithea. Linhardt turned his sights on a taciturn Jeralt, peppering him with questions about Byleth’s behavior in her youth, when the goddess was dormant. The man shot his daughter a look of annoyance, answered by a slow smile and nod of encouragement from the professor.

“No more notes, Linhardt, and you can have three questions from my father.”

“Notetaking is essential to thorough research, Professor!” the mage protested.

At almost the same time, Jeralt huffed, “So I don’t get a say in how much I’m willing to share?”

Byleth shook her head, looking first to Linhardt. “It’s too big a risk for you to have written records here.” Then, she turned to her father, brow raised. “And Linhardt is a tenacious and gifted Crest scholar in his own right. He may discern something of use to us from your conversation. Understanding how Sothis influenced my development could be essential to unlocking greater power.”

Jeralt exhaled. “Alright, kid. I’ll humor you, but only while we’re on the outskirts of the compound.”

Linhardt shot Byleth a beaming grin. “Thank you, Professor.” The Blade Breaker motioned for him to follow, setting a swift pace out of the chapel that the young imperial hurried to keep up with.

Riegan tapped Edelgard’s shoulder and requested she walk with him. Despite Hubert’s grimace of protest, his lady readily agreed. She hesitated only a moment, fixed her bright eyes on Hubert’s seething ones and, in a voice pitched just for her vassal, said, “You must remain and speak with her, but do not let your anger overshadow what she means to us and our future.”

Then his lady was gone, leaving Hubert facing the piercing gaze of their professor.

The dull thud of the oaken door swinging against its frame shook his jaw loose, and he clenched and unclenched his hands repeatedly at his sides for a long moment. His voice was deceptively mild when he finally said, “I take it this is what you revealed to Lady Edelgard following Kronya’s attack?”

Byleth first seemed taken aback, then chastened. “She told you about our conversation, but not the contents?”

He nodded, throat tight around the fuming words he was restraining in favor of feigned calm. “She also told me that you were ‘terrified’ to speak to me of this. Is that true?” 

The professor gulped, looking down at her twisting hands. “Yes. I expected you would return to treating me like an enemy.”

“And your solution for preserving my alliance was to keep me in the dark, yet again?” he snapped. The facade quickly crumbled, and his eyes narrowed and tone sharpened defensively as he continued. “Any harshness of my current response will be owed to your own withholding. Had you told me of this when you shared the details with her highness, we would be having a very different conver—”

“Do not,” in the span of a breath, her anxious, hesitant look was gone, and she was in his face, spitting the words, “pretend like you haven’t given me every reason to assume your trust for me was balancing on a knife’s edge—”

“Precisely, so what did you expect to occur when you repeated this same course of action I protested last time? Am I to feel differently because the contents of the secret Edelgard kept for you was not directly related to me?” A vein in Hubert’s forehead had begun to pulse in time with the pound of his heartbeat in his ears. “Am I to follow the lead of Riegan and his ilk and be unboth—”

“So that’s what you’re truly upset about, then?” Byleth sneered. “No prior knowledge or private audience compared to the others. You’re jeal—”

“No. I simply misunderstood our dynamic to be something that it obviously is not—a mistake I won’t make again.” A terrible hush followed his words, with the feeling of an anvil sinking through his abdomen. He could see the gears turning in her head over this rebuttal, the dimming light in her eyes. He assumed she was concluding that his anger was based on her having an Agarthan tool for a heart, no matter how little he cared about that. 

In the icy silence, he almost took it back. His knowledge of this had been a last resort, rather than a rule, and it stung more than perhaps it should, as he’d treated her similarly during the Kronya ordeal—only revealing their past when cornered. Perhaps he was a hypocrite, but he couldn’t shake the outrage that she hadn’t trusted him enough to confess the secret despite her unease. Foolishly, he thought they had forged something new between them after their conversation in the woods, something that would make her want to share a discovery such as this with him.

Byleth’s eyes skittered around the room then returned to his, hardening further. “I don’t know what gives you the impression that you’re owed any special access to details about me, but I can assure you that you’re not.” This was a lance to his abdomen, as if she had read his mind. “I knew that Edelgard would understand and react with compassion. If you want to be given the same consideration—earn it.”

Chapter Text

The scent of smoke was thick and heavy with a foreboding stillness, the forest surrounding them far too quiet and the only sound that of distant screaming, drawing nearer. Byleth's throat was tighter than her grip on the Sword of the Creator, bile threatening to climb its way onto her tongue the closer they got.

This wasn't what coming home should feel like.

Remire had been her home for many years before she set out full time with Jeralt's mercenaries. Her father had regularly entrusted her care to some of the villagers they had grown closest with, and she had felt safe and accepted among them. Now those same villagers were likely dead or…worse, if the gnarled, almost human howls echoing in her ears were any indication.

Jeralt, who was leading the riding party, stopped ahead. “Those of you who don’t fight mounted, dismount now and secure your horses here. It’s likely that we’ll emerge onto a battleground momentarily.”

Byleth and her horse, Aegis, had ridden into battle many times together, yet she still preferred to meet her enemies eye-to-eye. Unless she expected the majority of the opponents to be mounted, she usually went in on foot. She slid from her saddle alongside Edelgard, retrieving Aegis’ lead line and tying him to a sturdy tree limb. The house leader did the same with her mount, before stepping briefly into Byleth’s personal space. A gauntleted hand brushed hers, then hesitated, wrapping awkwardly around her wrist instead and giving a brief squeeze. Edelgard was flushed as she drew back, eyes downcast.

“If it is as I expect,” Byleth began quietly, drawing Edelgard’s attention back to her face, “we will soon face the Agarthans again. Are you prepared, if they reveal your broken alliance to the others?” Marianne, Claude, and Seteth had accompanied the Eagles to Remire, in addition to Jeralt and his two lieutenants who had aided them during Flayn’s rescue—Kevran and Fliss.

Emotions twitched across Edelgard’s brow as she thought on Byleth’s question, then her chin firmed, and she nodded resolutely, retrieving her axe from the holster on her back. “It’s strange. I do not fear their reactions as I once did. Perhaps…it is time that they knew, regardless.”

The barest upturn of Byleth’s lips warmed the brief moment between them, her pride for the princess softening the hard edges of the Ashen Demon rising inside her in response to the coming battle. They turned in unison to stride to the front of the party, Hubert quickly falling into step behind them, having struggled, as he often did, getting his mount to cooperate.

Byleth signaled for Petra and Claude to take to the sky, Flayn and Dorothea mounted behind them, and the rest of the Eagles charged forward through the last several yards to the village. As they broke the treeline, the extent of the damage almost took Byleth’s breath away. Over half of the squat buildings were aflame, blood spatter decorating the ground around them, punctuated by the still corpses of villagers that she tried not to look at too closely. She was not yet prepared to see the dead eyes of a childhood friend or caregiver, not while there was still work to be done.

Figures lurched around in the haze clogging the streets between the burning structures, their movements jerky and uncoordinated, shrieking and laughing derangedly.

“This is horrific,” Edelgard said. “It's even more revolting...more terrible than I expected.”

It was clear Sothis was trying to restrain her reactions—to leave room for Byleth to process this unfettered—but a hot splash of fury slipped out and washed through her at Edelgard’s words.

Byleth quirked a mental brow at her—what was so enraging about that observation?

A weary sigh and the sensation of a head dropping into a hand. They are in Remire because of you, but the methods? I believe the scale of this atrocity was an attempt to intimidate Edelgard—to surpass the horrors she already knows them capable of.

Byleth’s stomach twisted, assessing the scene with new eyes.

A threat of what’s to come should she continue to oppose them, Byleth agreed, gaze darting to Edelgard’s stiff shoulders and the twitch of the muscle in her jaw.

Precisely.

As one, goddess and professor laid a hand on the young ruler’s pauldron as they brushed past her, drawing the Sword of the Creator.

“Remember your assignments! Edelgard, take your team to the east to look for survivors. Hubert and Bernadetta, we’re skirting the village to search the south hill. Marianne, follow Claude’s lead to the west. Petra and Flayn will be providing support as needed from the air. Waste no time—we must save all we can!”

The Vestras had specialized in dark magic and subterfuge for generations, and they trained their heirs thoroughly to take on this mantle. Hubert had seen all manner of horrors during his upbringing. He had learned not to flinch at the cold, hollow sensation of a powerful dark spell. He had smiled when asked to select the tools for an interrogation. He had tested poisons and curses on the ravens from the rookery, despite the intelligence in their eyes and their accurate imitations of the adolescent rasp of his voice.

He thought of this as a fitting education for the path he and Lady Edelgard had plotted since childhood. Horror and disgust would not cause him to hesitate; compassion would not undermine his strategy.

He was wrong.

The boy meant nothing to him—but Byleth knelt over the child with open despair, and Hubert's spells faltered. The child was as young as Flayn appeared, an old burn splotching his right arm, clutched in the front of Byleth's cloak. He seemed to be saying something to her, but Hubert could not hear him over the roar of the burning buildings surrounding them. Byleth was pouring healing magic into many tears in his flesh, but Hubert knew death and when it was coming. Knowing Byleth, she had already turned back time—perhaps more than once—in an attempt to save him, and this was her final effort.

She seemed to sense Hubert's eyes on her—wild, tear-streaming gaze darting up to his as she let the spell fade. The boy had gone limp in her arms. 

"Professor!" Dorothea cried. "There you are." She and Marianne emerged from the smoke billowing out of a nearby alley, each slipping quickly from the back of Marianne’s loyal steed. 

"Oh, no…” Marianne gasped, taking in the corpse of a child splayed across Byleth’s knees. “Is this truly the will of the goddess?” She knelt alongside the professor, one hand easing healing magic over the weeping wound on Byleth’s shoulder, while the other gently closed the boy’s empty eyes. 

Dorothea looked to Hubert in veiled confusion, and he shook his head solemnly. Say nothing of the professor’s tears.

Byleth nodded her thanks to the healer, then swiped the cleanest part of her sleeve across her cheeks, smearing the soot staining her face. "Why aren’t you two with Claude?” Her voice trembled only slightly as she gingerly lowered the boy's corpse to the earth and rose to her feet.

“We cleared the western side of the village,” Dorothea said. This was perhaps the most serious Hubert had ever seen the songstress, her mouth and shoulders set like the steel of a well-forged blade. “Claude scouted the remaining forces, but he couldn’t spot you from the sky. We came to locate you and assist if you were injured, while he flew off to update Edie’s team on the status of the battle.”

“How are we faring, then?” Byleth replied, tucking the hair that had plastered itself to her cheeks back behind her ears.

"Seteth, your father, and his mercenaries cleared a path through the center of town as planned, and Caspar was engaging the last of the crazed villagers when Claude left us. It took us some time to find you, so I imagine they’ve recovered all those who can be rescued by now. Petra and Flayn will escort them to Linhardt's location at the treeline as planned."

Bernadetta, who had rejoined them from behind, groaned. “I really w-wish I could go with them. I’m…not built for this sort of thing.” Despite her shaky protest, she had just handily skewered two dark mages who had been advancing on them while Byleth cradled the dying child.

“Nonsense,” Hubert replied, not nearly as sharply as he’d expected. “Lady Edelgard will be joining the assault on the perpetrators in the main plaza, and so, too, should we.”

Dorothea nodded, shooting a glance over to Bernadetta. “I don’t think any of us are made for this, Bernie, but if we don’t stop them, they’ll hurt other people like they did here.”

Bernadetta let out a long exhale, then whistled a signal to her horse and climbed deftly back into its saddle. “You’re right,” she said softly, eyes fixed on the corpse beside them.

Byleth retrieved the Sword of the Creator from where she had staked it in the ground by the boy. Hubert noted how carefully she avoided looking at his still form again. It made sympathy lodge in his stomach like a stone.

It was the Ashen Demon who turned to him and said, “You and I will take point."

Edelgard wasn't surprised to find Solon presiding smugly over the chaos in Remire's center. The hand Byleth had severed had been replaced by a withered, ebony-colored substitution, glimmering with dark magic as he threw spells into the fray.

Hooded Agarthan foot soldiers had effectively locked out Jeralt and his lieutenants from progressing to the sorcerer's location on the stone dais at the rear of the square, so he could cast unimpeded, save the infrequent javelins Seteth hurled down from his wyvern, in between dodging arrow volleys from below. Edelgard whistled a signal to Claude and Petra, who swooped in to assist. The twangs of their bowstrings preceded the dull thud of bodies hitting the dirt, and Flayn, mounted behind Petra, managed to hit Solon square in the chest with Nosferatu. The princess heard Claude's appreciative call of: "Nice one!" all the way from the ground.

As Edelgard led Ferdinand and Caspar forward, attempting to assess the best way to break the Agarthans' line, Byleth and Hubert emerged from an alleyway across the square. There was murder in Byleth's eyes, fixed on Solon's grinning visage, while Hubert scanned the scene carefully until his gaze locked with Edelgard's and relief flickered through him. He said something low to the professor, who's attention also switched quickly to the princess.

Byleth raised her right hand in a practiced signal, and when she dropped it, both groups surged forward in a coordinated flanking maneuver. Edelgard quickly found herself fighting alongside one of Jeralt's lieutenants—the caster named Fliss. Her open, wide-sleeved robe swirled fluidly around her body as she dodged and fired off spells into the enemy mages. The motions were surprisingly familiar to the axe-wielder. Her professor's footwork had a similar lilt, and it was hard not to compare the cut and movement of Fliss' battle gear to Byleth's. Sweat had plastered the ends of short red hair to the woman’s neck, and she gratefully fell back and allowed Edelgard to cut in with her opponent.

Edelgard’s axe swung in a calculated arc, catching the mage in the forearm as he attempted to summon a fireball before she closed the distance. A common mistake of her opponents—they never expected her slight frame to move so swiftly beneath heavy armor. The man staggered back, other hand closing over the spurting fissure in his arm. 

"Aglen!" one of his allies had spotted them and was beelining through the rush of bodies to offer support.

I ought to make short work of this, she concluded, changing her grip on her axe and dancing around the caster to strike his exposed back. It was a glancing blow at best, as he turned hastily to face her again, forgetting his former opponent. The smell of singeing hair and roasting flesh churned in Edelgard's stomach as the blue lick of a potent fire spell decimated what was left of the enemy caster, catching her across the wrist as it did so. The remains collapsed, revealing the sober expression of the one who ended them.

"Look alive, princess," Fliss said, cracking her knuckles and nodding in the direction of the approaching ally, who only looked emboldened by the death of his friend.

As Edelgard prepared to meet his attack, she felt a brush of magic soothe through the pulsing burn on her arm—both familiar and not. The same song in a different voice, a higher key, than Byleth's. This woman had clearly had a hand in training the professor.

Edelgard made short work of the ally—barely older than her with daggers he could scarcely use. It struck her as odd, but she had no time to dwell on it. She needed to break through to incapacitate Solon. Hubert and Byleth would be doing the same, and she would meet them in the heart of the chaos.

Byleth's pulse thundered in her head like a war drum, the crash of battle around her a faded drone beneath the steady beat. It was as it had been in the tunnels beneath Garreg Mach—a dull, relentless slaughter falling from her fingertips. Again and again the Sword of the Creator slid from a corpse, and the limp body fell to the side as she rounded on another.

Byleth.

Sothis had been calling her name softly for some time, likely an attempt to break her from her trance.

Byleth, look at them.

She was looking, didn't Sothis know that? The spirit peered out from her eyes, but had the audacity to interrupt an essential delivery of justice with such trivial commentary? Byleth continued to ignore her.

Hubert's flames licked the air around her hungrily, driving back an incoming lance-bearer with a yelp. The dark bishop had somehow remained glued to her back despite the chaotic nature of the skirmish, ducking out of the way of the whip of her sword and firing around her elbow to keep their attackers at bay from all angles.

It was his soft call of, "Professor, Lady Edelgard has reached the leader," that drew her focus momentarily away from mowing down every opponent who dared step in her path.

She followed his eyeline, spotting white hair flashing near the dais where Solon was sequestered. There were still several scuffles separating them from Edelgard, and no quick way to clear them without harming their compatriots. Byleth couldn't see the princess well enough through the crush of bodies to see if she had support or if she had furiously charged ahead of her allies.

Whipping the Sword of the Creator out with a flick of her wrist to cut off the incoming spell from a dark mage approaching to their left, Byleth shot Hubert an anxious look. "She should not face him alone."

Hubert's mouth drew into a grim line, and he wrapped a hand around Byleth's upper arm, pulling her back against him. "She won't."

Byleth realized what he was doing a half a second before the magic around them surged and sucked inward, with the sensation of being twisted and turned inside out. For a moment, she could not breathe or even think for herself—she was one with Hubert's Warp spell, their forms briefly intermingled like the smoke from two candles, joined together by the rush of air from an open window. 

Her knees only wobbled slightly when they rematerialized on the platform behind Solon, but Hubert didn't release her arm until she steeled herself and looked up at him. His face was a little grayer than usual, and Byleth had to assume that he had used much of his remaining magic to transport the two of them. "Fall back," she ordered at a whisper as he drew his hand away.

His grimace deepened and eyes narrowed. "I'm afraid that's a request I cannot fulfill."

Byleth nodded tersely and turned on a heel to spiral an attack at Solon's back, forcing him to deflect it and drawing his attention from Edelgard, who was leaping onto the dais from his right. “Then stay behind me,” she threw over her shoulder at Hubert.

"So, the Fell Star returns,” Solon exclaimed with gravitas worthy of a theater production. “I was curious how long it would take for you to come after these wretched creatures.” He shot a smug look and barrage of dark magic back at them. “Another experiment of mine."

"It will be your last," Byleth answered, firing off a Nosferatu in an attempt to keep his attention as Edelgard crept closer to the Agarthan leader, axe raised.

"Ha! You think highly of yourself for a beast.” With that, he pivoted sharply, catching Edelgard’s falling arm overhead with his grotesque replacement hand. Byleth and Hubert watched in horror as he clenched his fingers and the metal of the steel bracer beneath crumpled like cheap tin. Her axe fell from her grip as Solon said, “And you. If you insist on turning your blade against me, then expect no mercy.”

Sothis' fury and fear stabbed in Byleth's temples, and Hubert was a blur in her periphery. “Unhand her!” he snarled, charging forward. Dark magic roiled dangerously around him, pulling the air taught like a bowstring. Byleth was hot on his heels, Sothis’ commands in the flex of her limbs alongside her own, their intentions twining like the braid of a rope—a lifeline.

Edelgard needed none of it. 

Pivoting her hips, she crashed her armored knee up into the caster’s abdomen, forcing a humph out of him as his fingers slackened. She twisted her arm free, and her other hand rose smoothly with the dagger she’d retrieved from her lifted boot following her attack.

“I would not expect anything from you akin to mercy,” she sneered, lashing out fluidly with the short blade. Solon dodged backwards, his confident smile faltering.

Byleth skidded to a halt. She’s not giving him the space he needs to summon a spell, Sothis observed.

But Edelgard was repositioning herself, pivoting around him as she attacked to get herself closer to her fallen axe—and to put Solon between her and her comrades.

The move was not missed by Hubert, either, and his Banshee screamed through the air and hit Solon in the back with the force of a charging bull, staggering him. Edelgard took the opening to duck down and grab her axe.

The Sword of the Creator hummed against Byleth's palms. Forward, Sothis demanded. The command needled the balls of her feet, but the professor stood her ground. She was within striking distance with the extended whip of her segmented weapon, and Edelgard and Hubert deserved this opportunity to face their demon. She would step in as necessary.

Solon was hunched forward as Edelgard prepared to strike again, and it was only when he straightened that the trio caught the glowing sigils cycling rapidly between his hands. Edelgard let out a shout of warning, slicing forward with her axe in an attempt to cut the spell's incubation short, but before she made contact, the sorcerer clapped his palms together and a powerful shock wave radiated out from him.

Hubert slammed backward into Byleth, narrowly avoiding being impaled on her blade as he bowled her to the ground. They scrambled to right themselves before Solon could strike a killing blow, but upon standing, it was clear they were not his primary focus. Edelgard had been knocked off the dais entirely, landing amidst the remaining skirmishes surrounding. Solon's eyes were fixed hungrily upon her prone form, once again separated from her axe, but far from defenseless. As he approached, she was yanking her bloodied dagger from the thigh of the Agarthan who'd broken her fall. The scream that accompanied this action was…concerningly juvenile, and Byleth scanned the face of the caster, twisted in pain. Now that she was looking for it, the roundness of his chin and cheeks were obvious—he could be Lysithea’s age, or perhaps even younger.

Precisely what I have been trying to call to your attention, Sothis said.

Hubert’s Mire B whistled past her elbow and engulfed the robed figure, eliciting a terrible, garbled cry and ensuring he would not follow Edelgard to his feet.  

Byleth could not afford to be soft in this moment. 

She had lost count of precisely how many times she had used the Divine Pulse earlier in her attempts to save Lorik, but she guessed she had just two uses left in her. Lorik had been the closest thing she’d had to a sibling—constantly underfoot and begging to practice with her sword. No matter what she had done, she couldn’t reach him in time. She’d even gone all the way back to that morning and set a frenzied pace with the riding party—it didn’t matter. Everything she tried ended in a corpse. She forced herself to give up, to save her power for her students. Now those same students fought for their lives while she ruminated on the body of a boy she did not know, felled by the hands of two she cared for deeply.

Before she could force the fingers itching to twist back time to return to the attack, the thunderous beat of wings interrupted the metallic clash of weapons, and Seteth's wyvern alighted clumsily between Solon and the recovering princess, one of its wings pierced in several places.

Green eyes burned with fresh fury, and Seteth’s knuckles were starkly white with the force of his grip on the lance he held. He slid from the back of his mount, letting it return awkwardly to the sky without him, his focus locked on the sorcerer. 

Edelgard shot Seteth a sideways look. "You are not the only one present with justice to see done."

The advisor's lip quirked, though he didn't remove his eyes from the approaching enemy, wrapped in dark magic like a shroud. A handaxe—much smaller than the one Edelgard had been wielding, but her preferred weapon nevertheless—appeared from beneath the tailored robe and found its way into her empty hand. "Together, then."

Solon lurched forward, his magic coiling out from his shoulders in serpentine tendrils. Edelgard and Seteth dodged to either side. Still shaky from her fall, the princess didn't quite make it out unscathed, a brush from the spell crumbling her left pauldron as if it were sand. A red wash carried bits of shredded metal in a slow river down the arm, and instinct kicked in like the shriek of a goddess. Byleth's feet pulled her forward, and she only belatedly noticed Hubert's grip on her upper arm, ushering her to Edelgard's side.

Her healing spell reached the wounded shoulder at the same moment that Solon reached the Agarthan child, still twitching in the dirt—not quite dead. His blackened hand tore through the boy's chest, and Byleth knew what was coming next. The spell from beneath the monastery…or something worse. 

Time shuddered like once still water between the twirl of her fingers, and when it resumed, she stepped between Hubert and the boy.

The professor must have overused her power. That was the only logical explanation as to why she would intentionally place herself between him and an enemy close enough to incinerate her highness. Surely, she couldn't seriously be turning to him with a severe frown and a shake of her head? This was her home, decimated by these monsters—why would she want them spared?

The rush of leathery wings interrupted their silent exchange, and they turned to see Seteth swoop down in Solon's path. Hubert scowled, surprising himself with the discovery of which wyvern rider he would have preferred in this moment.

Edelgard seemed somewhat wary of the Nabatean’s appearance, as well, cautioning him not to attempt to wrest control of this confrontation from her. As she did so, Solon was charging a new spell, and the tremble in the air heralded the power of the coming attack. He saw the tension in Byleth's forearms as she shifted the Sword of the Creator, preparing to lash out, calculating the correct reach to avoid their allies.

Understanding hit him like an arrow between his ribs—this was a correction. His instincts had led to an unfavorable outcome, one that Byleth had erased with a flick of her wrist and the power of a goddess simmering beneath her skin.

Something sharp scraped inside his chest, like a clawed creature tearing through the underbrush of a seldom used corner of his heart. He had never considered himself someone who was particularly open to criticism, even from Lady Edelgard, but Byleth was changing his relationship with his own patterning. There were too many occasions in which erased futures woke him shaking in the night, too much gratitude for the hands that cleared and corrected his and Edelgard’s mistakes, leading them forward to the path they sought without judgment or ulterior motive.

He reached beneath his robe to the leather case he wore like a sash beneath and retrieved a vial from one of the slots. “Wait. Use this,” he said, uncorking the bottle and thrusting it toward her. “Paralytic poison.”

She nodded once before upending the small vial over the tip of the Sword of the Creator. A flicker of understanding passed between them as she pressed the empty container back into his fingers—a silent acknowledgment of their growing faith in each other—then with a sharp snap of the segmented blade, she struck out at the sorcerer’s back.

The sword sizzled as it sailed through the haze of dark tentacles, draping themselves around Solon’s shoulders like a cloak, but the Agarthan’s reflexes proved unexpectedly agile. He swerved on a heel, while his magic coiled around the blade and began fusing together into a dark mass. Byleth growled and pulled at the hilt, but the weapon did not come snapping back to her as usual. Another forceful tug only awarded inches of progress out of the sucking force of black magic.

“Don’t seem so surprised, Fell Star!” the Agarthan cried madly. “Surely, you didn’t think we would have no defense against our own creation?”

Solon made a hand sign in the air, and Byleth cried out as her feet began to slowly slide forward, reeled in like a fish on a line. Despite the encroaching danger, she refused to release the hilt, firing off white magic attacks with her left hand while she held fast with her right, her boots grinding against the stone of the platform as she sunk her weight back in her heels.

Edelgard and Seteth were shouting and attempting to reach the sorcerer with their martial weapons, but the tendrils of magic that were not swathing Byleth’s sword had spread to create a semi-circle of protection at the caster’s back, keeping them out of range. The professor shot Hubert an uncertain look.

“Can you warp Edelgard?” she asked—too softly for him to hear properly, but he made it out all the same. 

Hubert’s stomach sank. He certainly didn’t have enough magic to make the trip twice—once to Edelgard’s side, then again to Solon’s back with her. With the clawing reach of Solon’s spell, it was uncertain that he could reach his lady’s side on foot before the spell had entirely swallowed the Sword of the Creator, and none of them could predict what horror might be released if that were to happen. 

He had a vial remaining of the paralytic he’d given Byleth and a dagger with which to apply it. That Byleth was even asking for his help rather than reversing time to try a different attack meant that the goddess’ power was waning—or spent entirely. Which meant he could very well be on his own if he was unable to subdue the Agarthan. It was a gamble to be sure, much riskier than going in with Edelgard at his side, but her voice danced in his mind, egging him onward.

What are you waiting for, Hubert? End this.

She was right—every moment of hesitation brought them closer to a loss he could not permit. His feet sprang into action, feinting toward Edelgard to remove himself from Solon’s eyeline while he applied the poison to his dagger. With the tinkling sound of breaking glass as the empty vial shattered on the stone, the battlefield faded to black, the white-knuckled grip on his weapon his only sensation as he traveled through the void.

Time seemed to slow as Edelgard watched Byleth being pulled gradually toward the mass of Solon’s spell. The tentacles that lashed out at her and Seteth were sluggish in comparison to the race of her hammering heartbeat, and she dodged them with little difficulty, though her efforts got her no closer to striking down the Agarthan. Seteth was calling back his wyvern to strike from the air, but Edelgard feared it was too slow to be of use to them now. He produced another handaxe like the one he’d given her and hurled it with a furious grunt, but the spell slapped it harmlessly away, and it collapsed to half-melted pieces with an acrid scent that burned her nose.

She whistled a piercing signal for aerial assistance from Petra or Claude, but neither appeared with the necessary immediacy. Hubert was rushing toward her, a mad look in his eye, a forest of wavering tendrils separating them. He would not be fast enough.

Hoofbeats heralded the approach of another, and Edelgard whirled to see Marianne leaping the step up to the dais on her horse.

Just as she came within range, there was a flash of purple light and Hubert appeared in the protective circle behind Solon. His dagger sank into the Agarthan’s back under his left shoulder blade, and the spell contorted violently at the impact. Edelgard and Seteth had to scramble back to avoid the brunt of the attack, and even then, Edelgard took a smoldering acid burn to her left calf, though her armored boot bore the lion’s share of the damage.

“Hubert!” she called out, unable to locate him in the remaining contortions of dark magic.

Marianne charged forward, skirting the edges of Solon’s spell to reach the place where Byleth had been moments ago. As she passed, Edelgard heard her chanting in a low voice—words of power she recognized from one of Manuela’s lectures.

A silencing spell.

As quickly as it had come into being, Solon’s attack flickered and then dissolved entirely into errant black wisps of power, blown apart by the wings of Seteth’s landing wyvern. Their dismissal left an open path to Hubert, who remained standing, while Solon fell stiffly to the stones at his feet. Edelgard quickly crossed to his side.

As she got closer, she could see that Hubert’s left arm was badly burned, trailing blood into a small puddle that soaked into the robe of the fallen Agarthan before him. Solon’s face was frozen in a triumphant smile, black eyes open and defiant, moving haltingly to meet hers.

“He’s paralyzed. You should…finish him,” Hubert wheezed, the effort causing his entire body to begin trembling, and he staggered back a step, stooping to grip his knee with his undamaged arm to keep himself upright.

Edelgard nodded, hoisting the diminutive axe Seteth had given her over her head.

For my people.

The first swing sunk halfway through the grizzled neck, spraying her face and armor with red. There was a dull squelch as she drew it back out, watching the lifesblood run from the wound as the power dimmed in the demonic ebony of her former captor’s eyes. The blackened hand that replaced the one Byleth had severed twitched violently, as if it alone could stop his coming death. 

For my siblings.

Another chop revealed the bony protrusions of his spine and unlocked a mournful fury deep inside of Edelgard. Silent tears ran twin tracks down her cheeks, turning pink as they mixed with the monster’s blood. This was a tough fight, but well within Rhea’s and other’s abilities. Edelgard had always thought that allowing her and her siblings to suffer was a choice made by those powerful enough to avoid its direct repercussions, but now that her seventeen-year-old arms hacked the head from the snake, she knew for certain.

For El.

Two pairs of hands swung the axe for the third and final time—the second set those of a boney child with dark hair and a bright smile. She severed the last of the skin and sinew like cutting one of many chains that kept a part of her—that kept El—trapped in that dark laboratory. 

She exhaled as the skull rolled away and the blood began to pool around her boots, swiping the back of her hand across the various fluids staining her face. Relief and sadness stewed inside of her as Hubert’s shaky hand cupped her shoulder.

Remembering herself, she gripped Hubert’s side and helped him across the dais to where Byleth was kneeling below Marianne’s healing hands. As they reached her, Edelgard noted the Sword of the Creator lying before her knees, the end badly mangled with some pieces of the tip gone altogether.

“Professor! The Sword…” Edelgard stopped herself, certain that Marianne did not know of Sothis’ relationship to the weapon. Byleth rose, shaking the healer off with a grateful smile and turning to Edelgard.

The princess smothered a gasp at the scabbed wounds decorating her chest and lower neck—almost as if Solon had been aiming for where the Crest Stone dwelt within her. The professor carefully scanned first Edelgard, then Hubert, before grabbing the latter by his right wrist and thrusting him toward Marianne for healing.

“You were all incredible,” Byleth told them warmly, though she barely spared a moment for the praise, striding quickly past to Solon’s corpse. She knelt and picked up the severed head by its hair, then went to the front of the platform, raising her voice over the remaining fighting with the dead-eyed, dripping trophy held aloft. “Children of Shambhalla! Your leader is dead. Surrender and you will not be harmed!”

Slowly, the roar of battle fell silent as the Agarthans and students turned to stare in shock at Byleth.

What is she thinking? Edelgard wondered, surprised that Byleth would be willing to offer mercy to those who razed her former home. Surely Rhea will execute them regardless if we return them to Garreg Mach.

“What assurance can you give of that, Fell Star?” spat one of the archers near Dorothea. “You serve the beast queen and her army of ignorant devout! Why should we trust you?” 

A murmuring chorus of agreement answered, and Edelgard moved to stand at Byleth’s side. The professor dropped Solon’s head to the dirt of the village square, spattering a circle of blood where it landed. “I am no friend to the Archbishop. I serve my students and friends you see gathered here, and my students serve the future of Fodlan. Our future does not include the indiscriminate slaughter of children,” Byleth paused to glance around at the burning buildings and bodies edging the square, “no matter what horrors they’ve been led to inflict.”

At Byleth’s second mention of the word “children,” Edelgard recalled her earlier opponent and took a closer look at the remaining Agarthans, seeing what her teacher did. Most looked no older than she was, which explained the surprisingly juvenile battle tactics many of those she took down had demonstrated. Her stomach churned sickeningly. 

After Solon’s forces were slaughtered below Garreg Mach, Thales likely didn’t trust him with another fully trained battalion, so he sent their young instead. A less costly loss to throw their bodies at Byleth like a barricade.

“She speaks the truth,” Edelgard added. “I am Edelgard von Hresvelg, heir to Adrestia and a victim of Solon’s experimentation. I wish to reforge our world into a place of peace where all can prosper on their own merit, not on the gifts of blood or birth. If you’re willing to talk, perhaps we can create a world for all our peoples.”

With a rush of wind, Claude landed behind them, and Edelgard heard a low, urgent conversation begin between him and Marianne. She was the only one present who would truly take issue with Byleth’s claim of being “no friend to Rhea.” Edelgard felt a seed of worry sprout and wither in a moment—she trusted that Claude could handle it.

The Agarthan archer who had spoken before piped up again. "You, Flame Emperor, were meant to be our hero, our ally, and you betrayed us! We would rather die than—”

“No, Phalereus, ” said another voice, this one with more authority than the last. “For too long we have whispered fearfully and plotted escapes we would never carry out. Now, someone offers us a path to freedom, and you reject it without consideration?” The speaker, a hooded figure carrying a longsword, stepped to the front of the forces. “Why is death preferable than a chance at a better life? Even if some could return to Shambhalla, would Thales welcome us back following this failure? We know how those who failed at Gronder Field were dealt with.”

Mutters of assent followed as the figure vaulted onto the dais and dropped their sword at Byleth’s feet. Edelgard caught Seteth joining them from the corner of her eye, his lance held loosely before him in preparation for treachery from this emissary. The Agarthan raised their hands in a placating gesture as they stood opposite Byleth and Edelgard.

“Please,” they said softly, “let me convince them.” The dark hood they wore was thrown back, revealing a bald head covered in intricate tattoos and emerald eyes that were almost the same shade as Seteth’s, something he seemed to have noticed as well. Edelgard shot him a curious look, and he raised his shoulders in a reflection of her confusion.

“You all know what happens when we cease to be useful to the Sages as we are,” the speaker said to the crowd. “We’ve seen it countless times—many of us have worked the bones ourselves. For years, I assisted Myson in creating the stones and implanting them into Agarthan children. Our lost Kronya was a result of that experimentation—a process which broke her mind.”

What do they mean by ‘worked the bones’? Edelgard wondered. Do they still have Nabatean bodies left to forge relics with?

Some of the Agarthans began to nod, following the speaker’s example and removing their hoods. The young figures were a mix of skin so pale it was almost gray and a smattering of dark and russet tones similar to those of the people of Duscur.

The dissenting archer who they had called Phalereus also lowered his hood, revealing a light, scowling face and dark hair. “Kronya was the strongest of us, and they cut her down. How dare you speak ill of her now, Aymr! Have you no shame?”

“Solon sent her—a violent, tempestuous soul at the best of times—into a hornets’ nest with nothing but a magical disguise and half-beast stone in her chest. Did anyone truly expect her to succeed on her own in a mission of subterfuge? I certainly did not.”

This context regarding Kronya put a lot of things into perspective for Edelgard, particularly why the Agarthans branched to experimenting on her and her peers. Perhaps the blood of the Elites had altered them in ways that made these enhancements more effective and less detrimental than they had been on their own people.

The low murmurs were growing. It was clear that this Aymr garnered considerable respect amongst the Agarthan youths.

Phalereus threw up his hands. “How does that defend her death at the hands of the Fell Star? Why should I believe we won’t meet the same fate? Better to go down fighting than to be tortured, then executed.”

The crowd grew silent once again, and Edelgard couldn’t blame them. She would wonder the same in their shoes. She had even used similar logic to justify many of her now scrapped plans.

Aymr gestured to the right of the assembly, pointing out an Agarthan healer crouching over the boy Edelgard had fallen on and stabbed when Solon’s spell knocked her off the platform. “The Fell Star is not who we’ve been led to believe. I watched her step between the Adrestian vassal and Cairn when he was downed, preventing unnecessary loss of life. You know that Remire was chosen for Solon’s experiment because the vessel grew up here. He set a trap with her home as hostage, and yet she offers us mercy in the face of that.” Aymr swept a hand out, calling their attention to the destruction and the dead surrounding them. “We made monsters of her people, and she spared ours. Does that sound like something Seiros would do?”

“But—”

“Please, listen! I was prepared to hate Seiros’ newest creature and came here with every intention to see her ended, but she may be our only chance to stop living each day wondering when we’ll be carved or cursed into weapons. We know the Sages lie to us, and they always have… We tell ourselves the sacrifices are worth it to cleanse the world, but if the ending is a world like this,” they gestured sharply to Remire, “I don’t want it.” 

“It’s time to choose our own path.”

Chapter Text

The Agarthans are in our camp. Hubert felt the intrusion like a parasite wriggling beneath his skin.

He had remained glued to Edelgard's side in derisive shock throughout the entirety of the after battle coordination and march to camp. A contingent of imperial footsoldiers had secured the area and erected the tents that afternoon, so there was little to do when they arrived but confine the outsiders and decide how to deal with them. Neither was being done with the severity or vigilance Hubert would have preferred. He and Byleth had drawn perilously close to shouting at each other over his insistence that they place more guards on the so-called defectors' tent. She claimed his mood was "not currently suited to the partnership she and Edelgard were attempting to forge," but had finally relented and agreed to Ferdinand and Dorothea joining the healers and Jeralt's lieutenants.

Hubert now stood guard outside of Edelgard's tent, watching the dusk smolder into the shadow of distant mountains. She and Petra were within, changing out of their soiled armor. He still wore evidence of the battle flaking into a red-brown crust, barely visible against his black robes, burned and mangled from the various spells they had weathered. Edelgard had attempted to convince him to visit his tent as well for his uniform, but he could not risk leaving her alone, even with Petra. No matter how competent a warrior the Brigid princess was, she did not know the enemy the way that Hubert did. 

No one truly did, save Edelgard…and perhaps Lysithea. A pang of regret that the young warlock was not with them lanced unexpectedly through his ribs, and he cursed himself for his recent confounding menagerie of feelings.

The rustling of the canvas behind him signaled his companions' approach, and Petra emerged in her cold-weather uniform with a colorful scarf from her homeland wrapped loosely around her neck. She tugged her braid gently out from beneath it as she met Hubert's eyes with her signature steady grace. "You have discomfort about those who once stood against the Empire." He nodded, and her mouth twisted a little uncertainly. "Do you also have discomfort about me?"

Edelgard appeared behind her, and Hubert heard the reassuring metallic shift of the chainmail shirt he'd urged her to wear beneath her uniform while the Agarthans were present.

"I would not allow you to be alone with Lady Edelgard if I thought you were a threat," he replied to Petra.

The corner of Edelgard's mouth lifted slightly. "He means that he trusts you, Petra." 

She relaxed slightly, shooting Edelgard a grateful look. Hubert rolled his eyes—this was hardly the time for self-conscious hesitation.

"Will you be joining us for our discussion with the professor?" Edelgard asked the other woman.

Petra shook her head. "I cannot be joining you. Bernie and I must be seeing to our arrow supply. Few were retrieved on the field of battle. More must be made to have preparedness for an ambush."

Edelgard inclined her head. "That is excellent planning… And have you spoken to Claude, as well? He may…"

Petra smiled then, as if at a private joke between the two of them. "Do not be with worry, Edelgard. Claude is who we have been most concerned about. He strikes with many arrows at a time. We will be making sure his quiver is also full."

Hubert blinked several times as Petra set off toward the armory tent, then snuck a glance at Edelgard's expression. Her lips were parted in a soft "O" and her eyebrows drew down at the corners, caught somewhere between unease and pride. He huffed a weary exhale, and her attention shifted to him, face sliding into something decidedly more disapproving.

"I know asking you to stop glowering would be pointless," she said, "but perhaps you could at least attempt to restrain your derisive sighs?"

He sighed exaggeratedly for good measure, earning him a smirk and an eyeroll. 

Edelgard swept past him, her fingers catching on the cuff of his robe and dragging him behind her by her fingertips. He realized too late they were heading in the wrong direction—toward his tent.

"Vanity is hardly of impo—"

She spun on him, a gloved finger pointed like a dagger at his heart. "You will not enter into this discussion drenched in the blood of the very people we are weighing how best to protect."

His eyes vacillated from the finger to her sharp gaze—hard as amethyst and brimming with renewed purpose. These Agarthan children…mattered to her. They threatened everything, could unseat their position within the monastery, and some of their hands may be the very same that contributed to her siblings’ deaths—how could she show them such compassion? Was it merely Byleth’s influence?

“I—” His jaw snapped shut and clenched around the anxious words that threatened to climb out of his throat, turning to severity instead. “I will not risk your safety for the sake of propriety! The others will merely have to—”

“I will be just outside, Hubert. If anything were to happen, surely you would hear and—”

“You should know as well as I do that a trained assassin kills silently.”

"Hubert…"

"Please." The word came out thick with desperation, and her eyes widened slightly at the shift. "I cannot lose you to them again. Please understand."

It was her turn to sigh. "I suppose your concern is not unfounded."

She turned brusquely, causing the canvas of the tent to slap him in the face as her iron grip dragged him in behind her. “I do not see what this solves,” he said petulantly, pulling from her grasp and crossing his arms. “I would never disrespect you,” he turned to face away from her, hiding how his cheeks heated at the thought, “by disrobing in your presence.”

She breathed a laugh. “I would argue it’s more disrespectful to deny my reasonable request that you make yourself presentable for this council. You know I will not look if that’s what you prefer.”

If that’s what I prefer? Surely, she could not mean that her preference would be lingering eyes and weighted breaths. "I would prefer to proceed on to our meeting," his voice wobbled with barely suppressed anxiety, "without further delay."

He jumped when her hands brushed the backs of his shoulders, coaxing him to turn and face her. "I cannot assure you that the defectors are trustworthy—"

"Obviously, not."

"—but I can say for certain that our allies will protect us, no matter the outcome. You know that."

He growled, dropping his gaze to the floor and hanging his head forward. "It is not their intentions I find lacking, but their competency that often leaves much to be desired."

"Oh?" There was something dangerous in the lilt of her voice as she drew closer, pulling him into a stiff embrace so his forehead rested against her shoulder. He could feel the ridges of the chainmail through the starched fabric of her uniform.

He held his breath as he waited for the hammer she was surely primed to drop. 

"Ferdinand told me about what happened during the mock battle."

Hubert jerked back, but Edelgard's axe-wielder arms steeled and held him fast. "I should have known better than to expect his discretion—"

"He was right to tell me, as you should have." There was a sharpness below the soft disappointment in her words.

Hubert stopped resisting her grip and let the weight of his head fall back to her shoulder with a sigh. "I apologized to Marianne."

She huffed another laugh, dispelling some of his tension before restoring it soundly. "I know. I also spoke with Claude."

Hubert's pulse began to throb in his head. "Of course you did."

Edelgard's arms tightened comfortingly around his waist, causing alarm bells to increase in their intensity. This wasn’t how they touched each other. This wasn’t how a vassal should be touched by his liege. The squeeze of a hand, the brush of a shoulder, the steadying palm over an elbow, perhaps, but not stomachs seamed together and the pressure of arms encircling his quaking ribcage, shuddering with tight breaths and the wild hammering of his heart.

"I only wish to remind you that your ruthless judgment is not always sound… And Claude was reluctant to disclose the details of what occurred,” Edelgard continued, sounding wholly unaffected by their current configuration. “He claimed that you two had come to an agreement."

Hubert humphed through a tense throat. "Something to that effect."

She released him with a half-smile and turned to face the wall, a clear signal for him to begin undressing.

Hubert stared at the back of her head helplessly, thoroughly ruffled by her actions—something she almost certainly intended. His voice drug itself roughly out of his chest, tight with anxiety. "Will you tell Byleth of this?"

Edelgard's shoulders stiffened slightly at the question, but her tone spoke of a soft smile. "I will not, but you should. Better to hear it from you than Ferdinand."

A noble who's unequivocal silence will be difficult, but not impossible, to negotiate, he thought.

As if she could hear his thoughts: "Scheming will not bring you closer to her heart, you know."

Edelgard had always had the power to take the air out of his lungs, but she was leaning on it rather heavily this evening. "You presume too much, Lady Edelgard," he replied hoarsely. 

"Do I?" she spun to pin him with a knowing look, before crossing impatiently to his cot and rifling through his things for his spare clothes. Rising with an armful of linen, she approached with warm eyes and pressed them gently into his stiff hands. "Perhaps I've pushed you too far in the wake of today." He must look quite unmoored for her to switch so quickly to mercy. Or perhaps this was merely the new Edelgard—as willing to embrace and forgive him as she was the Agarthans.

With several dry swallows, he did as she wished, passing her to lay the bundle on his cot. Shaking fingers lifted the robe overhead, letting the voluminous fabric fall in a heap at his feet and revealing the scarlet collared shirt, alchemy harness, and dark pants he had been wearing beneath. With the release of one buckle, the harness was lying across the bed. The pants were largely unsoiled, but the shirt had a shredded sleeve, stiff with his blood. Edelgard had not made it known that she was turning again toward the wall, and Hubert dared not check, in case his wild eyes met hers. Instead, he fumbled clumsily with the buttons, taking a noticeably long time to undo them all.

"Would you… Could I…" The direction of her voice was reassuring, and he hazarded a glance to see her facing the canvas with wringing hands. "Do you require any assistance?"

This wasn't an altogether unthinkable query—she was used to another helping to unclasp her many armor straps, so she might naturally assume he may need similar aid. Still, the question made his heart hammer uncomfortably against his breastbone as he struggled with the last button, finally freeing it. “Would it surprise you to know—” he hissed through his teeth as the fabric of his torn sleeve did not respond to the sharp tug he gave to remove it “—that I always do this by myself?”

Edelgard sighed. He knew her well enough to catch the upturn of her lips shaping the sound. “It doesn’t surprise me that you would want it that way, but I doubt that Ferdinand always honors that request.”

“Heh… You are correct as usual, Lady Edelgard." He gently pried the fabric, rigid with dried blood, from the freshly healed skin of his arm. “When we travel together, his unbearable nobility frequently calls him to invade my privacy.”

The shirt at last gave way and slid to the floor. He shivered as the chill of the winter air reached his skin, hurrying to pull the black linen undershirt over his head and button the jacket of his uniform securely overtop. Sitting hastily, he unlaced his boots and dropped them with a series of thuds. 

His hands froze as he stood, reaching for the buttons to the dark trousers he wore. This step felt altogether harder than the last, despite the wool leggings beneath, hiding the gnarled hatching of pale scars on his thigh from a particularly brutal training session during his upbringing. He could merely wear the pants he had on, but Edelgard would surely notice the lack of a complete uniform… He did not want to prompt further scrutiny on his nerves regarding this subject.

He exhaled roughly, resigned himself to the humiliating possibility that she would turn, and pulled the fastenings apart with jerky motions, tugging them frantically over his ankles.

"Are you certain that—"

"I am perfectly capable"—he grunted as the replacement trousers caught on the clinging texture of the wool leggings—"of dressing myself, Lady Edelgard."

She must have noticed the thinly veiled panic in the words, because she said nothing further until they departed his tent to meet the others.

Aymr's green irises locked onto Byleth like the point of a drawn arrow as soon as she entered the tent where the Agarthan children were being confined. The others quickly followed suit—the ragged collection of teenagers and young adults stiffening to statues with moving eyes.

Byleth raised a hand, though made no attempt to remove the silver longsword sheathed at her hip, nor to stow the damaged Sword of the Creator held loosely at her side. Sothis' accompanying silence needled her and she tried not to dwell on it as she approached the Agarthans.

"I come in peace," she said evenly, gesturing to the broken weapon with her free hand, "to request your expertise."

Anxious awe flickered in the expressions before her, churning the bile behind her ribs. Aymr's arms crossed slowly over their chest as the group's attention flickered back to them, awaiting their answer.

After a long, tense moment, they gave a sharp nod. "You're welcome to our expertise, as we owe you no less than our lives."

Byleth's lips pursed at this reply and the deadened agreement in the eyes of the surrounding throng. Lorik's dying breath shuddered through her memory, and she swallowed the poisonous questions it gave rise to—grappling the urge to search the crowd for every hand that hastened his demise.

I hope you wake up soon. Her soft entreaty echoed in the cavern of her mind, unanswered.

Fliss approached her from behind with measured footsteps, the barest hesitation of her left foot as distinct as a signature. The sorceress was spritely in appearance, but her iron voice was heavy and rusted. "Your father told me about Lorik. I'm sorry, little spark."

The old endearment grated at Byleth's already frayed nerves, even as the reassuring fingers pressed into her shoulder. She pivoted just enough for her right eye to catch Fliss', then gave a curt nod. The corner of the caster's mouth twitched with decades of fondness layered in the action, and she returned the gesture, slipping naturally into Byleth's periphery to guard her flank.

When Byleth returned her attention to Aymr, guarded interest lingered in the lines above thick, green brows. A pang shot through Byleth as memories of Edelgard and Hubert overlayed the expression.

"Have all of you seen a healer?" Byleth asked Aymr, scanning the group for signs of untreated injuries.

Aymr tilted their head. They didn't expect that, Byleth thought, sympathy vining through her ribcage.

"Yes," Amyr answered in a measured tone, underlayed with confusion, "though some of us were beyond saving." They canted their chin toward the rear of the tent, where Kevran and his trainee Dia carried out a body wrapped in stained linen. Flayn sat nearby, brow damp with sweat as she poured healing magic into a young woman struggling to breathe while the healer attempted to close a bone-deep laceration across her ribcage.

"That girl hasn't rested since we left the battlefield," Fliss commented. "I hesitate to call anyone a prodigy after training you, By, but she rivals even your skill when you were her age."

Byleth breathed something that might have been a laugh, thinking of how Flayn's age surpassed her own by centuries. "See to it that she takes a break after this healing, Fliss."

"I might need reinforcements to accomplish such a task…" the caster half-grumbled, ignoring the dismissal in Byleth's words.

"Do you bury your dead?" Byleth asked Amyr. "We can make arrangements for you to perform your last rites, within reason."

Green eyes widened noticeably at the statement. "We…well… Your kindness is noted, but the answer to that question is a complicated one, and perhaps best left for after we examine the weapon."

Aymr motioned for the professor to follow them to an empty cot, and Sothis' warped remains were laid out for inspection. The sword's final segment—once a versatile blade as long as Byleth's forearm—was twisted and crumpled like wet linen, with several inches of tip missing altogether. Byleth was stone-faced as the Agarthans gathered around, reverent whispers on their lips, fingers tentatively reaching to brush the golden bones of her friend.

"It's so pure," one said, commanding an authority on the matter uncommon for her age. Her tanned skin spoke of a child stolen from Duscur, but her eyes were almost the same shade as Rhea's—a clinging, piercing green. "Agarthium won't bind to this." She looked to Aymr as she spoke. "Well, it might but it would make the piece inferior. More likely to fail." Sharp and quick, her attention darted toward Byleth. "Vulnerable."

Lips pressed into a fine line, Byleth exhaled slowly through her nose. The rising unease was heavy on her tongue as she said, "Could materials be repurposed from another Relic weapon?"

The girl shook her head, causing the jade puffs of curls resting on either shoulder to bounce lazily against stern cheeks. "Unlikely. The Sages call it Umbral Steel, but it's not really a metal." She produced a pair of discolored mail gloves from a pocket and began to tug them on. "Most of it doesn't smelt because it remembers its shape. Hold this," she told Aymr, pointing to the grip, before turning back to Byleth. "That's why each of your Divine Relics are so different. They're as unique as the bones carved to create them."

Aymr sighed, gripping the hilt firmly as instructed. "She doesn't know about the bones yet, Hasha."

A tentative smile flickered its way into Byleth's expression. She hadn't expected them to be so forthcoming. "That the Relics were created using the bodies of Nabateans? Yes, I'm aware."

"Ah," Hasha said, shooting Aymr a pointed glance. "I see my deduction that Seiros would have informed you was correct." Despite this being not at all the case, Byleth inclined her head wordlessly, keeping Sothis and their peculiar bond under wraps.

"But she did not educate you on the maintenance of a weapon so precious to her?" Aymr's brow ploughed furrows across her expression. "Odd."

Byleth had to admit they had a point—it was strange that Rhea had not said a word to her about repairing or honing the blade that she had once razed half a continent to reclaim. 

Hasha gave a ponderous nod of agreement. "It's posssible Seiros doesn't know it can be damaged. It doesn't appear it's been repaired before,"she said, clamping her hands boldly below the warped section of the blade and throwing her body weight backward. The weapon emitted a soft humming sound as the segments whined then sprang apart, slowly unspooling like a fishing rod, the gaps between revealing the obsidian cord at their center. Hasha's lips parted with a soft gasp. "Myson's mirth, this is a fine piece of craftsmanship. And it appears the central support is intact—that's excellent news."

"Do you see it, Fell Star?" Aymr gestured with their chin toward the sword's missing tip. "This weapon was made from a tail or a spine. That which is damaged is merely one component, one that can be replaced with the proper preparations."

While Hasha gently released the sword to clank back together with a dull chhrrnnnng, the professor was careful not to let relief run away with her. "Do you know of a place we can source more Umbral Steel outside of your capital?"

Aymr's lips pinched into a cramped rectangle, and they exchanged looks with Hasha. "Yes," they said at last, "but it's in Sreng, and if the Sages discover that your weapon is damaged, they will be waiting for us there."

"The desert wasteland?" Fliss interjected, a tented hand rubbing her forehead. "I suppose that's a good hiding spot for a stockpile."

Hasha chuckled mirthlessly. "It's…more like a testing ground for Demonic Beast creation. There should be many powerful creatures from which to harvest."

"Demonic Beasts possess the same bones as Nabateans?" Byleth asked, earning titters from the crowd of old-eyed teens surrounding her.

"Not entirely, no," Aymr replied, shooting a chastening look over the others gathered, "most gain a scant amount around the Crest stone site upon transformation, but over time, more of their form converts to reflect the Crest's power. The oldest contain a fair amount of pure material, and the place we have in mind has been hosting the beasts for generations."

"Is this what you meant when you spoke of working the bones?" Byleth asked, recalling something Aymr had said when they were entreating their comrades to stand down after Solon fell.

A shadow passed over Aymr's eyes, and they dodged Byleth's gaze, theirs skittering toward the floor. "It is…similar, but not the same." Their expression flattened as a hard, cold laugh issued from the back of the assembled group, but they remained silent as the moon-pale archer from earlier parted a path through his comrades.

"Phalereus," Hasha began in a warning tone. "We agreed—"

"I agreed to let everyone keep their organs." A smile that was dancing with half-crazed grief curled his lips. "I don't recall saying I would be polite about complying."

Byleth's stomach twisted, dropped, and continued to squirm as she took in the expression he was giving her. It sparked with the same dissonance as many of her face-offs with Hubert, and the empathy that realization garnered was strong. Phalereus was terrified and trying to cover it up.

"You imagine us butchering Demonic Beasts and dissassembling their corpses, do you not?" He directed this at Byleth, but continued without pause. "That would have been a kindness, compared to the reality." Fingers whiter than parchment unclasped the front of his dark gambeson.

"We were going to explain that n—"

Phalereus silenced Hasha with a look as he shrugged the worn jacket from his shoulders, then lifted his undershirt to his chin to expose a narrow—and incomplete—ribcage. "Well?" There was a hedonistic challenge in his eyes. Despite their surrender, he still wanted to hurt Byleth, and with this, he thought he could.

Byleth didn't know what she was looking at. The skin overlaying the ribs was unmarred, but beneath, some of the lowest bones seemed to be warped or missing segments from their ends, not unlike the sword lying dormant between them.

With every ponderous breath, pulsing, cloud-thin magic puffed out of Byleth and swirled around Phalereus, gradually wrapping tighter like a dressing on a fresh wound. She closed her eyes and followed the magic in, building a hazy picture in her mind of the interior of this young Agarthan's chest. What she had observed from the outside was painfully correct.

The human body usually had only four floating ribs—two on each side. Phalereus had seven, though the lowest two could hardly be called that. They were little more than knuckle-length nubs protruding from his spine. Those that should have been tethered to his sternum had some sort of enchanted mesh spanning the gap, biting into their anchor points like two-headed serpents.

"This must be incredibly painful." Byleth's voice was soft as a caress, and Phalereus let out a low breath in response.

"You know nothing about what we've suffered."

"I know we're alike," she answered, concentration gently probing his chest cavity and finding a peculiar space for an absent organ. "We're both heartless." A mirthless chuckle shook the image in her mind, and Phalereus lowered his shirt, a signal for Byleth to withdraw her magic.

"Why would they do this to you? To their own people?" a quivering voice interrupted. Byleth had entirely forgotten Flayn was nearby, until she stood, fists clenched, directly behind her. "So many of them are the same, Professor. Were it not for the damage their bodies underwent prior to this battle, I could have saved"—the word seemed to steal all the air in her lungs and her volume fell to a whisper—"many more."

A hand slid into Byleth's view, fixing itself firmly on the shoulder of the young Nabatean. Fliss. Something soft throbbed within the professor at the sight.

Phalereus assessed Flayn warily, moving between her blood-stained hands and the righteous fury shining in her eyes. "They told me I could protect our way of life. That it was the highest calling," he said at last. "Most of those among us did not have the luxury of choice. Myself, however—" he smiled grimly "—I volunteered. Kronya and I both did, and now she's dead, and I can never again return home... So much for the Sages' grand design."

"Kronya," Byleth repeated the name solemnly, remembering the battle to strike her down—the crazed eyes of one no older than Edelgard. To Aymr, she said, "You said she had a half-beast stone in her chest. What is a half-beast?"

Aymr looked at Byleth like she'd struck them, before swallowing and motioning as if to tuck nonexistent hair behind an ear. A flash of pain etched their expression when they grazed bare skin. "It would be more accurate to ask who," they said, letting out a long breath.

"A half-beast," Hasha answered tonelessly, "is a humanoid born of beast blood and magic—a homunculus... It's an incredibly time-intensive and complex process to produce a homunculus, and the majority of homunculi fail. Even those that are successful rarely have any complex skills or wills of their own, but…the blood of Nabateans produces highly unusual results."

"Surely, you cannot mean…" Flayn began, but seemed to lose her nerve before fully uttering the thought that had clearly crossed both of their minds. The hair—so close to Seteth's shade, and the vibrant green of their eyes…

Aymr's attention was locked onto Byleth when they said, "An Agarthan crafted humanoid of Nabatean blood can produce bones almost as effective as Umbral Steel. The Sages call it Agarthium. It's," Aymr's voice trembled and fell as they crossed their arms over their chest, "highly prized in their war against Seiros."

Flayn gasped—a choked, wet sound. The fury of a goddess burned in Byleth's fingers, clenched tightly in the front of her robe. "They were growing you like crops for harvest to make relic weapons?" she asked.

Aymr nodded. "Not all of us are homunculi, but we were all weapons of war. We have lived for so many years on our ability to charm monsters into letting us hammer and grind the bones of our friends." Aymr's eyes dropped to their feet, and Hasha wrapped a familiar arm tight around their waist, pulling them flush to her side.

"You'll find that many of us here are a pet project of a Sage, one way or another," Phalereus scowled, "even those without the green." He gestured loosely to his broken ribcage. "My body was meant to serve Myson's hypothesis that Crest stones alone can create Agarthium or Umbral Steel in a host that has not taken a beastial form. He"—a cringe that he tried to pass off as a smile creased his lips—"was incorrect, but he insists that more time may change the results."

Hasha stretched her free hand toward Phalereus, eyes wide and entreating. With an insincere eyeroll, he took it and allowed himself to be tugged close opposite Aymr.

Phalereus had been right to assume this would hurt Byleth to hear. The discovery was as painful for her as the truth of her own Crest Stone heart and how it came to be there—perhaps moreso, without Sothis or her father present to help her through it. Her mouth hung open like the first time she took an elbow to the ribcage in a sparring match, and a shiver vibrated down her spine as she took in the throng with this new information. There were around a dozen of them conscious and upright, with another fifteen or so injured and bed-bound, and these were the survivors. How many more had there been? How many children had suffered and died gruesomely for this shadow war Rhea permitted?

"And the others here who don't appear to be of Agarthan origin?" Byleth asked. "Am I correct in assuming they were taken from their lands to use in similar experiments?"

Aymr exhaled a pained breath. "Yes. As you can imagine, the Duscurian incident was a prime opportunity for 'resource collection', as Solon called it."

Fliss exhaled, low and slow in Byleth's periphery. Knowing her as well as she did, the professor could feel the restrained fury in her mentor's locked knees and stiffened neck. "Was Remire a similar opportunity? Were prisoners taken before we arrived?" Fliss asked.

"No," Aymr replied, shame snaking through their tone. "We were instructed to round up any of the young who survived for evaluation, but that was assuming we won the battle and Solon lived."

Byleth nodded. "Good. That's…good news." Her eyes folded shut in a sharp flash of grief as Lorik's empty face slid across her mind. They hadn't even had time to bury him—just left him where he fell. Jeralt was with Lorik's mother, Yina, in the adjacent camp for the surviving villagers, but Byleth couldn't bring herself to visit, to face Yina's loss with her own so wide and hungry.

"I cannot forgive what was done to the people of Remire," Byleth began softly, "but I know victims of circumstance very well. If you prove true to your word, I will shield you as best I can during what is to come. What was done to you is as unforgiveable as what the people of Remire underwent, and the Sages will answer for both—as will Rhea."

Hasha and Aymr exchanged looks of surprise, then Aymr swallowed hard and said, "We have never been permitted to care for the remains of our peers as we would like, but the Duscurians among us do prefer burial, and as for the other fallen…"

"A pyre," Phalereus said. "Large enough to burn away whatever could be taken from them now."

The others nodded their agreement, and Byleth's stomach clenched in sympathy.

"We will see it done."

"I am far from convinced that bringing them here was a wise course of action," Seteth said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had just discovered that his dutiful daughter had not heeded his instructions and had instead spent several hours healing the former Agarthans.

"And what would you have done, then, Seteth?" Byleth's voice was cool granite, and the intensity of it raised gooseflesh along Edelgard's upper arms. "Should I have cut them down or sent them back to Shambhalla to be harvested?"

The advisor sucked in a breath with a sour expression. "There is no reason to believe—"

"The professor did the right thing, father." Flayn worried a damp towel between her fingers as she spoke, scrubbing the last of the blood from her nailbeds. "They were afraid of me. Several refused to let me or Linhardt touch them. Claude spoke with some of them and learned they believe us"—she gestured between herself and her father—"to be creatures from another world who drove them from the surface, so we could claim it for ourselves." A small foot stamped the ground. "We shall not prove them to be correct!"

Seteth's eyes flailed in a barely suppressed eyeroll. "The preconceptions of cultists are far from a worthy reason to endanger your safety, Flayn."

"It does not disturb you that mother's memory is being twisted to subjugate these people? To mutilate them like our kin?" Flayn's eyes narrowed, a far more dangerous look on her face than Edelgard would have expected possible from her.

"I—" Seteth's reply died in his throat, as he noticed a grinning Claude giving Flayn an encouraging nudge with the knuckles of his left hand at her shoulder. A curious series of emotions blew through the advisor's expression—before the silent tower of anxiety at Edelgard's elbow decided it was time for him to enter the fray.

"We cannot know who among them is merely waiting to strike. Caution is warranted, despite what we may wish to believe." This was delivered with all of Hubert's signature coldness, but it was far from the cutting protests Edelgard had expected from him. Perhaps he was shaken by Byleth's explanation of what their captives had undergone at the Sages' hands.

Like a moth to a flame, Edelgard's attention drew across the group to Byleth. Her teacher revealed so little sometimes, but the steady way her eyes slid up to meet Edelgard's, a pleased crinkle at the corners—it was like opening a book to exactly the page you sought. I noticed it too, Byleth seemed to say. A brief moment of wordless understanding and appreciation, but one that settled in the marrow of Edelgard's bones.

"I don't recall anyone suggesting we give them free reign of the camp," Claude answered Hubert's observation, his tone intended to provoke.

Edelgard felt her vassal bristle dangerously in response and quickly moved to circumvent the ego battle that could ensue. "No, but neither can we keep guard over them indefinitely," she said. "Bringing them back to the Academy is not an option. We need a place to send them where they neither draw the scrutiny of prying eyes nor pose an imminent threat, should any or all have ill intent."

"Do you not have allies in the Empire who would provide them refuge?" Flayn asked, turning wide eyes toward the princess.

Edelgard shook her head, unease bitter against her tongue. Was it time at last to reveal the depth of her involvement to more than Byleth? Claude's wry glance caught her hesitating, and he held her gaze with a raised brow.

"The intrusion of Agarthans in the Empire would put their discovery at great risk," Edelgard answered after a too-long pause, dodging away from the archer's probing eyes. "We know of several high ranking officials who are their agents or allies, and there are likely many others unknown to us."

"Which officials?" Jeralt asked. It was the first time he had spoken since the discussion began. Something about the direct steel of his voice made it a challenge she could not defer.

Edelgard swallowed the ashy taste in her mouth and squared her shoulders. The deep breath was taken with eyes to the floor, but she looked straight at Jeralt when she said, "My uncle, Lord Arundel, is the most notable. An Agarthan named Thales has worn his skin for close to a decade, and I cannot say how deeply he spread his corruption during that time. Ferdinand's father, Duke Aegir, is his ally, though I think he was more likely purchased than replaced, and…"

The last was not hers to tell, and her attention flitted to the sour twist of Hubert's mouth. He heaved a weary sigh, nodding to her silent request. "My father," he said, "Marquis Vestra, is one of them, though we have never seen his true face."

"Thank you, Hubert." Edelgard caught his eyes darting across the group to assess Claude's reaction to this information, and she had to stop the corners of her mouth from curling slightly. The impulse startled her somewhat—was she truly so confident in the Alliance heir as to be amused by her vassal's measured mistrust?

"Yes"—Byleth said, eyes sliding from Claude to Hubert to Edelgard—"you both have illustrated the complexity of the issue. The depth of the Agarthan infiltration in the Empire gives us an idea of their reach within the Alliance and Kingdom. Any assumed allies could easily expose Aymr and their cohort."

"As well as expose those who are trusted to the Agarthans' corruption," Hubert added, "should this prove to be a ruse. It's possible that could even be one of their goals in parlaying with us."

Edelgard inclined her head to his point. "That would be a sound strategy to replace our allies. It's a potential outcome we can't ignore."

"It sounds like we need some sort of neutral ground where the Sages wouldn't think to look for them," Claude said. "Where they could see to their own safety, rather than it being entrusted to others."

A low, "Hmmm," rumbled in the Blade Breaker's chest, as he gripped his chin with his thumb and forefinger, then shot a quizzical look toward Seteth. "We may know of an option worth exploring."

The advisor blanched. "I'm sure you cannot mean Abyss. Are you so quick to recreate the very situation Flayn endured earlier this year?"

Jeralt shook his head, eyes pivoting to his daughter as he replied. "I'm not quick to have them underfoot, no."

"Abyss? The society of refugees beneath the monastery?" Flayn interjected. "I have heard the priests speak of a cardinal who dwells there. They were disparaging about it—as if it were unworthy of his service, a hub for crime and chaos."

Seteth's brows lowered with a somber weight and a measured exhale. "I suppose I should be grateful you did not seek it out after such a description."

"Oh, I certainly attempted to discover more! Unfortunately, none who I spoke with could tell me how to get there," Flayn answered with a slight pout.

Claude's wide grin over her shoulder was echoed by a barely suppressed chuckle from Jeralt. Edelgard watched Seteth swallow this new information with a few twitches of his brow.

"The cardinal," Byleth directed this to her father, "would he report them to Rhea?"

Jeralt looked somewhat pained by her question. "It's unlikely, if we spoke with him. Aelfric's…an old friend of your mother's. He was the only one as broken up about her death as I was."

The mention of Byleth's mother was a sharp shock down Edelgard's spine, and the professor's face reflected a similar reaction.

"Have you been down there, then?" There was an indignant edge to Byleth's tone.

Jeralt keeps his own secrets, Edelgard thought, watching the deepening furrows in his brow.

"No. I encountered him leaving flowers at your mother's grave a couple of months ago. He told me about his new situation as the Church's representative in Abyss. He…" Jeralt grit his teeth, his hands curling to fists and then flexing out again in forced relaxation. "He was eager to meet you, Byleth, but you were away on a mission. He planned to seek us out the next time he reported in."

A hard look passed between father and daughter, and Edelgard caught the unspoken intention behind Jeralt's words—I wasn't keeping this from you.

The sharp edges of Byleth's tensed muscles softened slightly as she turned her attention to Edelgard. "What do you think? Sending them to this Abyss would keep their support accessible, but it wouldn't provide the separation"—her eyes cut to Hubert—"that we might prefer."

The princess folded her hands tightly over her stomach, considering the ramifications, but was interrupted by the soft murmuring of Claude pestering Flayn with questions about Abyss under his breath. She could make out little of what he said, but the earnest look of gleeful interest on the archer's face was clear. Edelgard so rarely saw Claude express himself in a way she thought was truly genuine to his feelings, and seeing it now felt like a warm hand on her shoulder—a reminder of what she had to gain by extending a little trust.

Hubert was statue-stiff at her side; he likely already guessed how she would answer and was suppressing his protests. She met his eyes briefly, sketching the dark circles that ringed them. He already sleeps so little, she fretted. That was sure to worsen if she forced him down this path with her. But he isn't the only one with haunted eyes—the deserters have them, too. With what Byleth had described, it wasn't difficult to see why.

A long exhale, hot in her throat like unspilled tears. "If this is a ruse, why reveal so much? The Agarthans' I've met guard their secrets like dragons atop a hoard. It does not prove that every member of the group is of the same mind, but…"

"Their fear is real," Claude agreed at Edelgard's hesitation. "I sensed it, too."

"Yes," Edelgard nodded, "and I am willling to risk giving them the chance to prove they can be trusted."

Chapter Text

When the sun had crept below the horizon and the refugees had ceased combing the wreckage of Remire, Byleth escorted the Agarthan deserters to the quiet battlefield to perform the last rites for their kin—including a funeral pyre stacked higher than Byleth's head and fed through the night by a rotation of their most trusted allies. Below a waxing moon, the stolen children shed their dark cloaks and hoods, exchanged them for the guises of imperial soldiers and servants, and the group that besieged Remire was truly snuffed out.

Seteth and Edelgard told their forces that the captives had attempted to escape, were killed in the subsequent struggle, and were burned with their kin.

With dawn hanging in the distant storm clouds, Byleth and Jeralt gave the Remirans the same news—their attackers were now cinders on a nameless field, fertilizer for future harvests. Byleth had worried the Remirans would cheer—or perhaps worse, applaud—but she had underestimated the place that raised her. They were decimatingly silent, many nodded, and the crowd broke up as quickly as it had come together, as if nothing more need be said about the strange children and ebony-eyed sorcerer who had torn their lives apart. Not if Byleth and Jeralt said the perpetrators had been dealt with.

Guilt burned in her stomach for deceiving them, but she had placed enough of a target on their backs already. This lie was a necessary measure of protection for all involved, and was, with any luck, implemented quickly enough to defer Rhea's suspicion.

"We must agree on what to tell Rhea we learned from this endeavor." Byleth spoke at a half-whisper to the robed man positioned caddy-corner to her. It was a dim midday, eastern thunderheads following the woolen grey of the current sky, and Byleth was posted near the still-warm coals of the withered fire, subtly overseeing several pretend imperials picking through the ashen remains. Seteth stood to her right, face impassive as he considered her comment.

"Allowing our prisoners to further recover in our custody on the journey back to Garreg Mach would increase the likelihood of casualties among the innocent refugees we intend to escort. It is for this reason that I moved forward with this plan of yours, Professor. Rhea…" He let out a low breath, his voice dropping to an even softer, melancholy timbre. Byleth shifted closer to make it out. "Think what you like about her—you surely have the right to do so—but she will care about what happened to these villagers. I have witnessed it before in her, many times. They were the moments I understood that she still retained the empathy I once so admired in her."

Apprehension gathered in Byleth's chest. What is he getting at?

"But where that empathy was once freely given, it is now propitiation," his lips snapped around the word, "delivered on the heels of unspeakable tragedies the Church made no attempts to prevent. She would order the care of those we bring to her, and she would extract and smite those we shelter from her gaze, but there is a rashness to her need for absolution… And perhaps that makes her vulnerable to our influence."

Byleth raised an eyebrow, attention flitting across the husk of the pyre to Hubert and Edelgard. The former seemed torn between standing slightly in front of his liege and standing exactly one step behind her, as the specters of lost children moved around them. Edelgard was tolerating his behavior, but the severe purse of her lips hinted that it was not without effort. A fond smirk flickered in the corner of Byleth's mouth, sliding her eyes back to meet emerald green.

"You believe she can be redeemed." The professor felt a hint of surprise stirring within her that she suspected belonged to another.

A soft yawn followed, coloring a corner of her heart in jade light. More the fool he is for such an ahh—Sothis interrupted herself with another yawn—assumption as that.

Welcome back, Byleth replied, relief softening the sharpness of her stance.

"I would not say redeemed," Seteth answered, unaware of the waking goddess within. "The lives that have been warped or destroyed because of our inaction cannot be restored to what they once were. I…see that now more than ever, and I believe Rhea could benefit from gaining such insight, or at least a portion of it."

"The truth, then?" Byleth crossed her arms, mentally dissecting Seteth's suggestion as she summarized it. "The cultist children's bodies were riddled with signs of invasive and horrendous experimentation?"

"Including the implanted Crest Stones, but omitting the strange resemblance many bear to Flayn and I, yes. Green hair and eyes are not so uncommon among the imperials that the young ones would be especially notable, under different circumstances, and the Crest implantation should be enough for Rhea to conclude that her research was replicated." Seteth swallowed. "She will not be pleased to learn of this."

He means to direct her efforts away from you and your little ones, Sothis observed.

Across the ash pile, Edelgard and Hubert had barely moved, but they were locked in a near-silent quarrel of dagger sharp brows and the slice of the princess' chin.

A shaking hand gripped Byleth's upper arm, and the familiarity of the gesture settled like a brick in a foundation. She looked back at him in askance. "I know this may seem a lot to ask, but—"

"You seek to draw her attention to locating the Sages' hub of operations—to divert her from me and those in my shadow." The hand opposite the arm he was holding came to rest over his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I agree that it may buy us a temporary reprieve, and that is all I have come to expect in this tension building between Rhea and I."

"Hmmmm." A whisper of the dragons his people were colored the sound, rumbling dissatisfied in his chest. She drew back from him as he said, "It may feel as though it is inevitable, but you must not break with her rashly, Byleth. The safety of all I hold dear will be at stake should Rhea ever understand the depth of our deception. We must all be prepared to retreat, should it come to that."

This drew a flickering smile from her, and Sothis hummed warmly in response. "I don't intend to leave anyone behind."

Shame blew through Seteth's features momentarily, leaving a pink dusting across his cheeks. "Forgive me. You have more than proven yourself to us."

Byleth shook her head. "Heh"—the laugh was Hubert's, etched into her as concretely as Edelgard's knowing smile—"I happen to find your tenacity surrounding Flayn's welfare endearing." She paused, recalling something Edelgard had asked her last night. "Is there any hope that my gift could be used to deceive Rhea, should it come to that? Is it something she may know to recognize?"

"Can your connection with the goddess not tell you that?" This was the first time Seteth had asked directly about Sothis since Byleth revealed her companion, and he seemed vaguely uneasy as he did so.

She laughed, surprising herself with the sound.

Do not belittle me to our allies! Sothis chided with a stomp of a foot. A bemused smile tugged at the corners of the advisor's mouth, almost as if he could sense her petulance nearby.

"She regains her insight in pieces, and this detail has not yet been among them. I might buy us enough time to flee, at the very least, unless Rhea can counter it somehow."

Seteth gripped his chin thoughtfully. "I did not know such a power existed, though it would not be the first time Rhea kept something crucial from me. The wisest course would be to only count on it for momentary confusion."

She nodded her agreement, fingers lifting to brush the weapon strapped to her back. "And what of the Sword of the Creator? I fear the damage will give Rhea cause to reclaim it."

Seteth's answering sigh was heavy. "You and I share that apprehension. If it could be repaired prior to our return to the monastery, that would certainly be preferable."

Sothis' confusion and unease stiffened her companion's joints, and Byleth pushed a memory toward her of Hasha and Aymr examining her earthly body and deeming it capable of repair. To Seteth, the professor said, "Obtaining the necessary raw materials would require a trip to Sreng. The journey to the border alone will take almost a week at this time of year. Can we justify a detour considering all that has occurred? Considering the refugees?"

The advisor gripped his chin thoughtfully. "If you and an elite team diverged from the main force, we could claim the pursuit of escapees, undisclosed to the full camp—this would perhaps even add weight to the story we give Rhea." He frowned. "She looks well upon most any action taken to paint the Church in the best light… However, the circumstances make it likely that you would be walking into a trap."

She nodded. "I know… Neither option is ideal."

With the soft crunch of boots over fine debris, a disguised Phalereus marched over to Byleth. He wore a sour expression and the seal of House Vestra on the breast of his livery—a modified trapezoid depicting the head of a horned lizard with a forked tongue splitting its face in an exaggerated "V".

It had been Bernadetta and Ferdinand's idea to alter the additional uniforms in the excess war supplies Edelgard's battallions marched with. Bernadetta thought the soldiers and servants would immediately recognize the former captives as not among prior members of their own company, and Ferdinand insisted that the Vestra forces were known for being terse and secretive, making them the ideal cover. Bernadetta, Petra, Dorothea, and—to Byleth's surprise—Claude had spent the better part of the night handsewing the emblems onto lapels. Petra reported that Ferdinand had made several attempts to assist them, but ultimately had his needle privileges revoked by an exasperated Dorothea. In a rare show of flexibility, Hubert voiced little opposition to the plan.

"We found something you should see," Phalereus hissed under his breath.

Fliss and Jeralt had followed the group's instructions exactly in preparation for the burning, with the intention to destroy any Agarthium that might be recoverable. Even so…

We range in purity, Hasha had told her the prior evening. True Umbral Steel like your sword…cannot be so easily destroyed, and it can be similar for those of us with the green.

Byleth nodded tersely to the fake imerpial servant, as if he'd merely reported a staffing rotation needed adjusting. There were no visible outsiders lingering near this edge of camp, but caution was still warranted. She straightened to her full height as she followed Phalereus, sliding the Ashen Demon over inquisitive eyes. Linhardt and Hasha crouched near the pyre's southern edge, the latter's striking hair covered by the hood and helmet of an Adrestian soldier. Linhardt looked remarkably somber for the discovery he was party to, hanging slightly back as Hasha shifted the cavernous husk of a burnt log to reveal what might have once been a femur, charred and faintly glowing with the lingering heat.

Linhardt moved forward and surreptitiously uncorked a small waterskin, directing a stream over the bulbous end of the intact bone—to reveal an opaque, striated material that almost seemed to glow phosphorescent with an eery, amber sheen.

Byleth's eyes locked with Hasha's over Linhardt's shoulder, and Hasha gave a sharp nod to the question in her face. "It is no accident this survived. It's too pure for us to destroy in the field. We must bring it with us."

Aymr joined the others, a solemn frown etching their features, shadowed by the hood of the uniform they wore. "I found some as well. Based on the positioning…these are probably what's left of Niurn and Azelis."

Hasha ducked her head. "We will need to do a Crest assessment to know for certain, but I concluded the same," she said to the coals. "They were the eldest of us, besides you—though the purity of this is beyond what I'd expect, even for them."

"Niurn's is not quite as refined, I would venture," Aymr said, a wistful half-smile coloring their voice, "but it's fitting those two should persist. Perhaps…" Aymr shot a side glance at Byleth, teeth digging into the flesh of their lower lip "…we consider alternatives to destruction. I know Niurn, at least, would want to see the Sages pay for those we lost in Remire."

"You can't be serious," Phalereus growled. "You mean to make weapons of them?"

Hasha slipped a hand around Phalereus' wrist, beckoning his snarl down to meet her even gaze. "What they will become is up to them, as it always is, but I will not destroy what's left of Azelis. Not if she could help us avenge her. Not if she could protect our futures!"

"So we should repeat the horrors the Sages' taught us now that we're free of them?" His tone was as sharp and cutting as an arrow thwinging past the alchemist's ear, though he kept it pitched for only them. "Is that truly what you dreamed of when you imagined leaving Shambhalla?"

The images and sensations from the fall of Zanado flickered through Sothis and Byleth in turn. What might these children experience, should they permit this?

"I dreamed of a life," Hasha bit out. "One we'll never have unless we can defend against the Thales-trained. You know as well as I do that this ruse only carries us so far"—a grim certainty weighed heavy in the corners of her pursed mouth— "if it does at all."

I doubt their consciousness would persist, as I have, said Byleth's resident goddess. Their Crest Stones are not intact, and the magic of these remains is…dissonant.

You did not think that the students would retain memories of their lost time. What if—

Hmph! Brazen as ever, I see! 'Tis true I have not always possessed the clues to our mystery, but we know much, if not all, now. Do not be so quick to dismiss my counsel.

Aymr had come between Hasha and Phalereus with steel in the lines around their narrowed eyes, but it was Seteth who broke the silence. "Nabatean magic is unlike the arts you were taught." His voice was low and unexpectedly rough. "It seeks to create balance, but the price is rarely certain. You can only know that a cost will be paid for harnessing power above your mastery."

Byleth's thoughts lingered on Sothis' oppressive exhaustion following each of their battles—the way it seeped through her into Byleth's bones, settling like a dull weight until she awoke again. Could I lose you like this? she asked, horror clenching the muscles in her jaw. Could I cause you to sleep for millenia and to wake in my corpse if you wake at all?

Sothis' fingers were a nebulous puff of air against her shoulder. In truth, I am unsure. You have pushed us past my sense of our current limit many times, despite my warnings, but lasting consequences have not yet caught up with us. 'Tis possible it's not merely luck—but an advantage of our predicament.

Byleth was unconvinced. Or we haven't encountered a catastrophe great enough to drain your innate power past its limit.

The sound of footsteps behind them—ones Byleth had come to know well. Edelgard and Hubert stopped a few feet from her back. They drew a nervous glance from Linhardt, but the remaining pairs of emerald eyes didn't break from each other.

"Then we will pay," Aymr answered Seteth with finality, taking Hasha's hand. It seemed that something had passed between the two of them while Byleth was distracted—wet trails down Hasha's cheeks and a new confidence in the cant of Aymr's chin. "The weight of unknowable sacrifice has always been ours to bear. Better it remain our burden alone, if the others can be spared."

Hasha flashed her counterpart a pained smile. "Why is safety something we always must buy in blood, my friend?"

"Such a discussion as the one you appear to be having requires more discretion than this setting permits," Edelgard said evenly, summoning the attention of the entire cohort. Byleth's stomach sank like a stone as she noted the anxiety winking out in the miniscule tension in her student's brow, the lines that appeared in ever-so-slightly pursed lips.

I should have been more careful.

"She's more than correct," Byleth practically winced, surpressing the urge to undo the error—better to save her power for the road. "Let us finish this when we've broken from the forces gathered here. We must bring the Agarthium with us regardless to see it protected from our enemies."

Later, sharing the full details of what had been said with Edelgard, Hubert, Claude, and Jeralt, the former cupped her chin in her hand and sighed low in her throat. "This threat of an unpredictable loss for the use of such power… I had not thought to apply Flayn's fate to your situation, Professor, but you may be susceptible to such things, as well, despite Sothis' protection."

Jeralt's expression tightened pointedly across from them, but he remained silent.

"A troubling consideration, but one that would align with some of what we know of Crest experimentation outcomes—the shortened lifespans of those who survived," said Hubert, brows drawn low over a shifting gaze. "And it makes the energy they spent in crafting these vessels more logical, if binding the materials greatly drains one's magic. Perhaps a certain degree of raw power is required for such a process."

"What if repairing the Sword presents a similar danger to them?" Byleth answered through an ashen throat. "Perhaps we should forego Sreng, afterall. Each time we revisit it, there appear to be more variables at play."

"I'm still unconvinced there is anything there but an ambush, so I would be supportive of this change in strategy," Hubert replied peevishly, though his expression suggested a deeper unease.

Edelgard shook her head at them both, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Regardless, the sword must be repaired. The risk of returning with these hidden accomplices is made even more perilous without the full might of the one weapon that could bring the Immaculate One to heel, should we be discovered. Either we journey to Sreng, or we seek out a Demonic Beast elsewhere. All other roads end in ruin for both parties."

Claude spoke up for the first time since greeting them. "I may have an idea. When I explained the situation to Marianne, she finally opened up about her Crest, and the story behind it involves an ancient Demonic Beast prowling a certain forest in the Edmund territory…"

Claude left the conversation with urgency in his steps, off to speak to Marianne about the proposed diversion to face her monster.

"Kid, a word?"

Byleth's foot paused at the entrance to the tent, held open by Edelgard ahead of her. The imperial leader looked back, eyes flitting between Byleth and her father. Byleth's exhale came quick and pointed, but she nodded her agreement nonetheless.

"Go on ahead and speak with the rest of the Eagles, Edelgard. Get them prepared to march for the Alliance at dawn." Her voice was cool and collected, but her gaze cupped Edelgard's with a warm intensity. "I will join you shortly."

The princess inclined her head uncertainly. "Of course, my teacher."

Byleth motioned for Jeralt to follow her to the rear of the tent, and his attention briefly panned to Edelgard behind her. There was a barely veiled disapproval in the cant of his chin, but he turned and followed Byleth's request without further comment.

Anxiety flared like a hot iron in Edelgard's stomach as she let the canvas fall closed behind her, taking long, inattentive strides in an attempt to make up the distance to Hubert ahead. When her face collided with his lapels, she realized with a stab of self-reproach—of course he'd waited for her.

Hubert caught her by the shoulders as she righted herself. "Does this conversation truly pose so little interest to you?" he asked at a half whisper. "It would be prudent to keep abreast of the Blade Breaker's plans."

Edelgard considered that, and the idea was not without its advantages, but ultimately, she shook her head. "We risk more with the professor than we could possibly gain by eavesdropping on them now."

"Only supposing that we are discovered." The blue glow of the rising moon outlined his accompanying smirk.

Her brows drew low, a thorny anger twining with the look she gave him. "It pains me to hear you speak with such easy disregard about betraying the trust of someone you care for."

Every part of Hubert froze, save his left eyebrow, which twitched violently toward his hairline. "I am endeavoring, as I always am, to ensure your protection. I cannot do that if you attempt to hamstring me at every turn with—"

"Then don't cast your unease as related to our teacher's private discussions, and direct your frustration where it belongs." Edelgard's chin lifted in challenge, and Hubert's eyes flashed with something unidentifiable in response. "You're unhappy with me for agreeing to let the deserters remain below the monastery."

A harsh laugh, half-choked and bitter. "Would I have preferred to limit the number of enemies congregating where we currently reside? Certainly. But my attempts to monitor the Blade Breaker's loyalties are another matter entirely, and you seem to be too enamored by the professor's approval to guard against the danger should her father oppose us."

Edelgard exhaled sharply. Hubert wasn't entirely wrong, but that mattered little. She could be enamored with Byleth's approval and be the only one approaching this with a modicum of sense. "I suppose I must be explicit. I do not wish to be protected in ways that alienate those we are closest to. If such methods are necessary, we will discuss them and come to an agreement beforehand, but in this case, I believe if you only asked her—"

The slap of canvas behind them cut Edelgard off, and she and Hubert turned to see Byleth stalking toward them, a flickering anger flexing in her brow. They were more than twenty paces from the tent where Byleth and Jeralt were speaking and had been using hushed tones. It was very unlikely that the professor overheard their conversation, but still, Edelgard's stomach lurched at the thought.

"Did something happen?" Edelgard asked when Byleth was almost upon them.

She stopped glaring toward their boots and met Edelgard's stare, but the princess had no idea what to make of the serious, pursed expression her teacher wore. "My father thinks it's time to quit the monastery," she said, tone scalding. "That throwing our support behind Aymr and maintaining our current proximity to Rhea is suicidal… He does not believe we can secret them into Abyss without someone's notice, much less the equipment they'll need to do their work."

Hubert couldn't help himself. "The Blade Breaker gave you wise counsel, it seems."

The women shot him similar looks of layered irritation. Hadn't he been insisting he needed to keep a close eye on Jeralt just moments ago?

A grim smile. "Fitting you should feel that way, considering his counterproposal—repair the sword, then make for Enbarr, route out those who slither there, and fortify your seat of power to face both enemies from a strong position." Byleth's words hung in the air, and though Edelgard's heart leapt at the idea of taking Enbarr with Byleth, she sensed a hesitation in the lines around her teacher's eyes. And truthfully, as Edelgard spent a moment interrogating the idea, it did not account for all the variables at play, as much of a fantasy as it may be for her.

She and Hubert had come here to find the Church's vault of Crest Stones, and the deserters' skillset could make the stones much more valuable than the uninformed half-measures she had come to accept from her Agarthan contacts. Perhaps more importantly, raiding the cache would limit Rhea's ability to come after them when they fled the monastery.

"If there's one certainty," Edelgard began, studying the creases in the rug at their feet, "it's that Rhea will always come after you, Byleth." The professor's cheeks glowed pink at the use of her name, dispersed all too quickly with a sharp nod of her head. "And I hesitate to lead our allies into a war waged on multiple fronts if we could ensure our swift victory with one opponent at the onset." Slender fingers tucked white hair behind the shell of her ear—the memory of Dimitri's bloodied grin after their victory at Gronder prickling beneath her scalp. "If we intend to abandon Garreg Mach, we must at least attempt to win over the Kingdom, first."

Hubert inhaled icily, and Edelgard directed her next words to his shocked expression. "With the united might of our nations, we could seize their stockpile of Crest Stones and weaponry and hamstring their military response before the first battle of this conflict."

Byleth's smile was both warm and uneasy. "I agree that our best outcome would require Dimitri's cooperation, but…"

"You are hesitant to utilize the stones," Hubert surmised tacitly, his expression making clear how little he thought of her moral conflict. "You fear the harm that may come to the self-proclaimed deserters."

Edelgard let a slow breath deflate her rigid chest, reaching across a foot of open air to graze Byleth's wrist with her fingertips. "It would not be the first time we took extreme action to protect our own, but even so, we need not use them to keep our enemies from doing so." This was true, although what Edelgard refrained from voicing was her abiding belief that Byleth would agree to use them, should circumstances turn dire enough.

Her teacher nodded, though the furrows in her brow did not smooth. "I will speak with Seteth to find out what he knows of it before we part."

The Wandering Beast proved to be everything Marianne had feared—and worse. One of the original Ten Elites who had lost his mind then his body to the Nabatean power, attracting a horde of smaller Beasts with its incessant roars. The fight up until this point had been harrowing, and Hubert's breath wheezed and rattled in his chest as he attempted to keep up with the punishing pace of Byleth and Edelgard. It seemed that as soon as he could locate them within the chaos of the battle, they were charging off to attack the greatest threat, while the smaller ones mobbed him and his classmates, forcing his progress to slow to a crawl as they poured attacks into waves of reinforcements.

Hasha was quick to create a barrier, smashing several round flasks in a line between their forces and filling the air with the pungent smell of unfamiliar spices. Hubert watched in fascination as the beasts reared back from the concoction, crashing into each other and becoming easy targets for a flanking party led by Ferdinand and Bernadetta. "The smell is a repellant for them!" Hasha called out an explanation.

"Fascinating." Hubert made a mental note to follow up on the details of her brew later, instead turning to skirt the carnage created by his allies and pursue the charging silhouettes of Edelgard and Byleth, lit from the side by a flash of Marianne's magic. He was vaguely furious with himself for being so easy to outpace—surely these two deserved more urgency from him. How could he protect them if he could not stay at their side amidst the fire and blood?

His lungs spasmed and ached with each harried breath of frigid air, the late fall weather having turned to winter as they travelled farther north. Casting with his right hand to drive back a recovering beast from his path of pursuit, Hubert's left pulled the scarf around his mouth taut and hastily tucked the excess back into his cloak, leaving him smothered in the scent of Edelgard.

She had emerged from dressing that morning, draped in thick furs and plated metal, with the ebony cashmere clutched in gloved hands. When she began to wind it around his shoulders, he'd attempted to reject it, to convince her to wear it herself or to let him fetch one from Ferdinand. Admittedly, the battle gear he had brought was too thin for the weather they were heading out in, but he would simply augment his body heat with the occassional flame spell.

Of course, his lady forced the issue, implying that improperly outfitting himself for this battle was in opposition to his stated goals, and she was soon pressing fabric to his lips that smelled of her soft breath and the oils she used on her hair. She touched him with a quiet care he rarely allowed, pulling the wrap up over his nose and tucking it behind his ears with soft fingers. The memory of that interaction alone would be enough to keep him warm in the face of the whipping winds, but the scarf certainly made it more potent.

The screech of the Wandering Beast quaked in his ears as he finally broke through the trees where Byleth, Edelgard, Marianne, and Claude were engaging the main threat. Byleth's preferred method for large creature battles was what she called "Dodge and Whittle"—the Blade Breaker's title, no doubt-—which involved a combination of the fastest and most heavily armored units moving in close to keep the attention of the beast and line up shots for their allies, while magic users and archers targeted weak spots from a greater distance. Edelgard and Byleth were perfectly suited to this type of combat, of that much he was certain, but with the frequent quips and congratulatory banter bouncing between them, they seemed to be enjoying themselves more than was prudent.

Byleth laughed as she dodged the swipe of one of the monster's enormous claws, and irritation began to burn like acid in Hubert's throat. How can they be so cavalier about this? He was still shaking off the chill from Solon's dark magic, their battle just mere days in the past. The professor was without her usual weapon, but she seemed even less unphased by it than she had in the mock battle months ago.

Hubert had only just come within shouting distance of them when Edelgard dodged backward, allowing someone to breach their line. He watched in wonder as Ferdinand rode full-speed out of the brush toward the creature, leaping from his horse at the last second and sinking a lance deep into a narrowed eye-socket.

The moan the creature let out as it collapsed was unlike any they'd heard a Demonic Beast make before. A desperate noise, but strangely not angry.

"He seems…relieved," said a soft, feminine voice to his right—Marianne. She was blood speckled and breathing hard, but she had weathered a fierce battle remarkably well to have been this close to the action.

"Ferdinand? I imagine he is relieved that his showboating finally—"

"Hubert!" Edelgard interrupted him. She sounded sharp enough that Marianne made a hasty retreat, while he reviewed his recent schemes to see what he might have done to earn such a greeting.

"Lady Edelgard?" he replied uncertainly.

She seized his left arm, and it was only then that he noticed the deep gash above his elbow. He must have sustained it during the initial wave of reinforcements, but hardly registered the pain. His sleeve was damp with clotting blood, and Edelgard's eyes were flat and unforgiving.

"You will let Byleth heal that at once," she said, tone brooking no argument. There was a desperation in her grip on his wrist, and he wondered if her thoughts were lingering on their last major beast battle, after which he had concealed an injury and nearly died.

He allowed himself to be led over to where Byleth and Aymr were having a quiet conversation. "…want the others to see the extraction process. It's…" Aymr let out a weary breath "…gruesome."

Byleth nodded, then turned her attention to Edelgard and Hubert. There was an intensity in her eyes that matched Edelgard's. Perhaps some of the merriment he'd noticed between them was actually an attempt to keep the other grounded, despite harrowing memories.

He allowed his wrist to be passed from Edelgard to Byleth, the latter sending waves of healing magic tingling up his arm. He swallowed dryly and ignored the way his stomach lurched at the press of her skin on his own.

"I will speak with Petra about taking the rest of the Eagles to make camp in that cavern to the west," Hubert said tightly, as Byleth slowly released her grip and drew back. "I would prefer to quit the region entirely, but I imagine this"—he motioned to the hulking body—"will take more sunlight than we have."

"Very well," said the professor, shooting her own tense look at the corpse of the Wandering Beast. "Make sure that Marianne goes with them."

Chapter Text

"You have been most generous to shelter us here while our forces gather strength for the return march to Garreg Mach, Duke Riegan." Edelgard was the picture of diplomacy despite her rising discomfort the longer they spent at Claude's grandfather's estate.

"I would not dream of missing such an opportunity to witness my grandson among his peers," the Duke replied, raising a goblet high over the table they shared with Claude, Byleth, Marianne, Petra, and Flayn.

Duke Oswald von Riegan made the hairs on Edelgard's arms stand on end beneath her uniform—so self-assured and brief, with thinning chestnut hair and a smile like an adder waiting to strike. He had the confidence and concision of a powerful, influential man, and used silence as effectively as Claude used nonsense. Edelgard was familiar with the type, and she found that she vastly preferred Claude's sparkling insincerity to the quiet cunning of his grandfather.

The former laughed good-naturedly and lifted his drink in response to the Duke's. "And good food and good company is always a welcome reward for a hard won victory. Did I tell you about how Marianne took down one of the beasts? She was amazing…"

Unsurprisingly, Claude managed to cut in with a half-fabricated anecdote about their epic battle driving off beasts in the Edmund territory, drawing his grandfather's piercing attention away from Edelgard and the rest of the party. It had become a common occurrence at these increasingly tense meals at the Duke's table—large enough to fit many more than were invited to dine there. A drawing room had been set up buffet-style for the remainder of their party, and Edelgard found herself thinking of it enviously, imagining Linhardt curled up on a couch with a scroll and a snack.

It was an hour later that they were finally released, twilight fading rapidly overhead. Claude led the group out into the grounds, past the stables to a small out-building situated by the lazy bend of a brook that formed a swirling pool at the building's rear. Guest servants quarters with abundant fresh water for washing—these were the touches around the Riegan territory that struck Edelgard the most. There was a certain care and kindness in the planning of the workspaces and living spaces of the Crest-less that was uncommon in the Empire.

At the door to the cottage, Claude knocked twice. "It's us!"

"I told you we should have set a password," Phalereus complained from within, while Aymr swung the door open to admit them with the hollow-eyes of someone who had been confined all their life. It was a look Edelgard thought she could understand—the weariness of trading one confinement for another, attempting futilely to barter to freedom.

"Good news!" Claude didn't miss a beat. "We finally sourced everything you requested, and the blacksmith's headed out to meet a supplier a town over. His apprentice is tending the forge while he's away, so activity in the smithy won't raise any brows."

"And the apprentice?" Aymr asked.

"Hubert's handling him. He won't disturb you, assuming you really can accomplish this in hours, as you claim." There was a teasing edge to Claude's voice that sounded more cutting than Edelgard thought he likely intended. He is risking much in harboring them here, though he pretends otherwise.

"What precisely do you mean when you say that he is handling the apprentice?" Flayn cut-in.

Edelgard rolled her eyes at the apprehension in the girl's posture. "He is drugging his wine, so he'll sleep until dawn and be none the wiser."

Aymr cleared their throat. "Then we should not delay with further discussion."

A jade-haired spirit hovered between Aymr and Hasha, brow creased with concern.

Are you worried something will go wrong? Sothis asked.

Byleth's clammy fingers were clutched tightly to the hilt of the Sword of the Creator, poised rigidly at her side. Hasha's waiting hands were extended, brow furrowed in confusion. What about the cost Seteth spoke of? the professor answered her companion.

The goddess moved to float at Byleth's side, ghosting a small hand down her forearm, attempting a squeeze that felt like a puff of warm breath on her skin. These children would know better than any one of us what this may cost them. Yet, they have still chosen it in pursuit of a safer future, understanding the role the sword plays in their protection… Sothis cast a warm look across the gathered deserters, and a sort of hazy glow began to radiate out from her. We must honor their choice.

"My teacher," Edelgard said, interrupting the long moment of silence with an apprehensive lilt to her voice. "Are—"

"My apologies," Byleth said, jerking into action again and laying the sword across her open hands to pass to Hasha. "I was simply worrying about your party's safety."

Hasha's focus didn't waver from the legendary weapon being placed in her palms, but Phalereus breathed an incredulous laugh from where he stood nearby, stoking the forge. "We survived Solon, remember?"

Aymr scoffed and shook their head. "You'll recall that we had quite a bit of help, then."

"As we do now," the archer replied, gesturing to their Black Eagle allies hovering on the fringes of the smithy to observe and support.

Hasha had placed the sword across the main workbench and begun to apply a foul smelling potion to the damaged area, but at her friend's reply, she looked up, eyes crinkling beneath her mask and oversized goggles in what Byleth assumed was a grin. "Yes, I supposed we do."

"Can you make out where the seam is?" Edelgard asked, peering over Byleth's shoulder at the freshly repaired Sword of the Creator.

"Barely. Only when it catches the light a certain way, and even then, I don't think it would stand out from the rest of the markings if I did not know about the damage." The professor shot a dazzling smile back at her student, whose face colored and folded into a bashful half-smirk.

Hubert turned his attention to the pair most responsible for the feat of arcane smithing. "This was impressive work," he said simply, locking eyes with Aymr and Hasha in turn. The former inclined their head in acknowledgement, and it was easily the warmest interaction between Hubert and the deserters thus far.

He thought he felt other eyes on him, but a glance around the room revealed little. There was too much rushing about as their party attempted to remove any evidence of the evening's activities from the smithy, tamping coals, sweeping shavings, and polishing anvils and chisels to remove the other-worldly bone dust draping everything in a fine coating. Hubert skirted the group and ascended the steep slat stairs to the building's loft, where the blacksmith's apprentice slept open-mouthed in his bed, still none the wiser. Removing one of his gloves, he checked the boy's pulse at his wrist, and, finding it to be satisfactory, slipped back to the main level.

Byleth was hugging a surprised Amyr, whose arms wavered uncertainly at their sides.

"The apprentice?" Claude asked, approaching from Hubert' side in mock silence.

"As expected," his reply was not spoken with the ire he usually expressed for Riegan. "The draft should hold until we vacate the building."

"Well done." The Alliance heir clapped him warmly on the shoulder, and Hubert looked down at the hand in distaste, but strangely, did not immediately pry it off him.

"The praise goes entirely to the professor and Lady Edelgard for planning this scheme."

Claude retracted his hand, and a surprisingly genuine laugh snaked out of him. "I thought you might say something like that." He shook his head, not meeting Hubert's eyes when he added, "Those two really have you all tied up, don't they?"

Hubert stiffened. Claude was painfully audacious to attempt to peer into his classmate's motivations and then openly state his conclusion for any to hear. A wary look around for attentive ears, then, "I'm afraid I don't—"

"Yeah, yeah, you don't want them to know," Claude interrupted without breaking his momentum, "but what you've missed is that they're the only ones who remain unaware. And they happen to be the only people who really need to know."

There was glass in his throat, grinding as he swallowed. "I am quite certain that Lady Edelgard knows of my devotion, and I support whatever may blossom between her and Byleth." It didn't feel like a lie, but a hollow inside him ached when he said it.

Claude crowded closer, forcing Hubert back a few steps behind the loft stairs separating them from the main area of the smithy…and appeasing Hubert's unspoken wish for privacy in the process.

"Please don't tell me you thi—" Claude threw up a flippant hand "—what am I saying? Of course, you do." The dark magic beneath Hubert's skin began to crackle at the condescencion in the other man's tone, but there was something sincere and urgent about Claude's body language that kept his fury from overtaking him. With an all-suffering sigh, Claude continued, "You think they'll have to choose and don't expect to win in either contest, right? But you haven't asked if they want exclusion, have you?"

The room behind them was growing quieter as the slap of wet rags and scrape of brooms slowed to an intermittent hum. Hubert could feel his stomach somewhere behind his kneecaps, dropping and twisting and attempting to follow Claude's influence to a land of fantasy. "Choose your next words carefully, Riegan." A shaky warning, at best, and his classmate was hardly intimidated, chuckling rather fondly instead.

"That's what I thought, Vestra. Look…" he shot a side glance toward where Edelgard and Byleth were returning tools to their starting points based on Linhardt's careful notes "…you're not the only one who's been less than subtle about their feelings, or I wouldn't encourage you. I know—" he raised his hands in a 'don't shoot' gesture "—you'll assume this is a trick, anyway, but I guess I hope you'll listen a little, too."

Hubert struggled to understand, insides writhing around the idea that many of the others may have picked up on something between himself, Edelgard, and the professor. "How could this benefit you—revealing your insight? You'd be wiser to use it to create a wedge and carve me out of their inner circle."

Claude didn't smile. Didn't laugh. His face hardly changed, but his eyes—for a moment—were warm and open amber, revealing a well of genuine empathy. Too deep for someone as veneer-like as him to fake effectively. "Call it a hobby. I have a soft spot for headstrong idealists. At least the ones who show they can admit when they're wrong." A reference—to when Claude twisted his arm surrounding the Marianne incident during the mock battle—and a challenge.

Hubert managed an eyeroll he was almost proud of, attempting to shrug off the floorless feeling Claude had given him—as if the Earth beneath his feet were merely a longheld illusion. Surely Riegan must be lying, meddling. Like Dorothea. Close-guarded schemes for advancement that could all end in Edelgard's ruin if Hubert didn't oppose them.

And yet…he knew Claude was correct in part. Byleth's feelings had been laid bare in his eavesdropping, and Edelgard's adoration of their professor was not well hidden on her most secretive day. It was even true that Edelgard had encouraged his connection with Byleth many times over…

But nothing was ever truly that simple. Not for him. Not for Edelgard. "It's a fantasy, what you're suggesting. I don't live in such a sentimental world," he said to Riegan, earning a weary smile.

"Edelgard deserves better than to do all the dreaming for the both of you," replied his classmate, winking warmly as he gutted Hubert, patting him consolingly on the shoulder as he walked away. "Just think about it. You'll get there, eventually."

Hubert breathed in rigid silence for several more moments behind the stairs, but the sounds of the tear-down were all but resolved and he could linger no longer than that. He emerged to find the room mostly empty, the party having filtered out in small groups so as to better go unnoticed. Edelgard and Byleth stood with their arms crossed, having a playful exchange with Riegan—who looked far too natural standing with the pair. Poised in every way to oppose Hubert…and yet he seemed to sincerely want to help him, instead?

Hubert's pulse throbbed in his ears and he felt almost as nauseous as when he listened to Byleth sobbing through the wall. He swallowed reflexively several times as Edelgard and Byleth each made their own silent appraisal of his poorly hidden discomfort.

"Is something amiss?" Edelgard asked.

Hubert shook his head, struggling to unlock his speech, and Byleth moved toward him with reaching fingers. "You're shaking."

"I assure you, I'm quite well, as is the boy sleeping above," he said, but it didn't stop the fingers from wrapping around his wrist. They slipped past the hem of his glove and feathered over his pulse point, layering healing magic into the touch. It calmed some of the pounding in his head, though he couldn't be certain if that was a result of the spell or the brush of her cool skin against his own.

"We need to return to our quarters the back way. Will you be able to manage the ladder?" Byleth asked, ignoring his prior assurances. In fact, both women looked far more vexed than the situation warranted.

"Of course I can. I believe you've misunderstood."

Edelgard snorted. "You mean to say you're certain that this time you did not poison yourself accidentally while brewing a toxin with unfamiliar firewood?" Her tone wasn't without fondness, but it was without mercy.

Hubert shot a perturbed look at Claude—who was watching the conversation play out with a cat-like smile. When he caught Hubert's eye, he inclined his head toward Byleth and Edelgard, as if to say: See what I was talking about?

Hubert didn't see, not really. So, tensions were high? They were staging a secret repair of an ancient weapon in a foreign land—that was to be expected. "I did not poison myself, and regardless, I brewed it yesterday, so the effects would have long passed."

Edelgard pressed the back of her hand to his cheek, then forehead, crowding close with Byleth and cutting off his view of Riegan entirely. "You're flushed, but you don't feel feverish." Raising a brow, she turned to speak over her shoulder, "Were you two arguing?"

"I wouldn't call it that," Claude chirped. "I think it might have been our friendliest interaction thus far. You know, Hubert's not the only one interested in brewing medicinal concoctions."

"Truly, Claude?" Byleth asked—with genuine interest, to Hubert's mild irritation.

"Of course! You never know when you might need an antidote." Claude flashed a half-taunting smile, and popped his head out of the side-door to look for passersby. "I'm headed to the far end of the compound to make sure I'm seen by the battlement guards. I'm known to go on night walks here, so it will smooth over any suspicions if someone was sighted."

Edelgard's face pinched. "We didn't discuss this."

Claude returned his attention to the trio, the smile widening to a genuine one. "Marianne's suggestion before dinner. I forgot to tell you after all the posturing for my grandfather, but it's a great idea."

The women shared a silent exchange, then nodded. "Be careful," Lady Edelgard told him.

"You, too." With a mock-salute, Riegan was gone, and Hubert was alone with the two people who he most needed to avoid to bury Claude's invasive words before they began to color his actions.

"If you will not explain your distress, I must insist you allow Byleth to assess you properly before we retire," Edelgard said, attempting to tug him by his sleeve across the suite they shared with Petra and Ferdinand to a small chaise. It sat below a painting of the sea that had a lifeless quality to it, as if bland to the point of offending no one. It reminded Edelgard of Rhea's sermons, in a way—the impact drained from the artwork, all the intent lost.

Hubert was protesting and struggling, but a sharp look from his liege got him to comply, sitting like a piercingly observant statue where she indicated. He was almost vibrating with tension, and she ran a hand soothingly down his upper arm. "What did Claude do to rattle you like this?"

A fist clenched over Hubert's bobbing knee, and his shoulders slumped in what she suspected was acceptance. Edelgard would not be letting this go without some sort of insight, and he knew her well enough to spot the battles he couldn't win against her.

"He…gave me perturbing advice," her vassal choked out. Edelgard sensed the danger then, adding Hubert's behavior to Claude's knowing smirk and soft heart—she could guess which paths the crafty archer might have tread.

Byleth perched on the end of the chaise beside Hubert and began gingerly removing soot-stained gloves from trembling fingers. "Did he drug you?" Byleth asked. There wasn't an accusation within it—just a calm acceptance that was a possibility.

"Worse," Hubert growled. "He was attempting to be kind."

Edelgard breathed a laugh at the distaste in her friend's voice. "You always were shaken the most by the softer things."

Byleth seemed to conclude there was nothing for her magic to repair and released Hubert's hands back to him. "It's easy to be shaken by something one rarely encounters," she said, rising.

"And what if I wish to be solid and confident in the face of this?" he shot back.

Edelgard went cold with apprehension, but she would never stand in Hubert's way. "Then speak of the feelings this has stirred and we will listen." Inviting the confession alone felt like a sacrifice, a piece of herself she ripped out and handed to him like a battlehorn. This was the moment he finally solidified the fraught attraction between himself and the professor and made it something real.

Byleth had gone stiff at her side, while Hubert's stare singed holes in the hem of her cloak. "Riegan shared information regarding our classmates' perceptions of our…dynamic," he began carefully. It was as Edelgard had theorized when Hubert introduced the topic—Claude was performing the well-meaning meddling that Edelgard was beginning to recognize as a Golden Deer signature.

"And you believe his assertions?" she asked, eyes flitting rapidly from her teacher to vassal, attempting to read any unspoken cues that passed between them.

Hubert shook his head, rubbing spidery fingers roughly over his creased brow. "Not on anything so foolish as blind trust…but he is not the first to make such comments."

"Oh?"

"Dorothea has tread similar paths."

"Ah, I should have guessed."

Byleth tilted her head, expression warming. "She usually hides how perceptive she is. She must have a soft spot for you."

An almost girlish giggle bubbled out of Edelgard, watching Hubert's face twist through several emotions in rapid succession. "That's what I've tried to tell him. He suspects that she's only scheming to secure herself a proposal," Edelgard said, nudging her teacher conspiratorially.

Byleth took the news with a sly and teasing smile, and Hubert swallowed, looking about, almost as if hoping Ferdinand or Petra would appear from their rooms and disrupt the power imbalance bearing down upon him. Petra, perhaps, was a light enough sleeper that their quiet conversation would disturb her, but she was unlikely to reveal that and interrupt. Edelgard weighed the risk of allowing her to overhear whatever confessions might be made, but the princess found few worries in her heart.

Petra can be trusted. This, she had seen time and again, and even Hubert, as miserly as he was with his good opinions, had agreed.

"What dynamic was it that Claude described?" Byleth asked gently, though the question still affected Hubert like a curse—locking every joint and clenching his jaw so tightly it trembled. The empathetic arm Edelgard placed across his shoulders, taking Byleth's vacated seat at his side on the chaise, was one of the most natural acts of comfort Edelgard had given as an adult. She hadn't theorized and schemed and selected a course of action, first. She began moving toward him before any of that.

He didn't give in to the touch at first, exhaling a terse warning to her that she ignored, migrating her hand from his shoulder to his neck, up into dark hair. When she pulled, he dropped all pretense and collapsed into her, hiding his face somewhere near her neck. This shift of position opened up enough space on Hubert's opposite side for Byleth, who followed Edelgard's lead and sat, attempting to rub soothing circles on his back.

"Are you certain Claude did not drug you? Did he tou—"

"He indicated that there was a possibility that you both…that you may want…" Hubert had started strong, cutting off the professor's worried inquiries, but he quickly lost his momentum beneath the weight of a crimson blush that crept from his collar to his cheekbones.

Why was this so difficult for him? Byleth already knew of his attraction and he knew she more than reciprocated it. With their impending exit from Garreg Mach, it should be a simple matter of confirming feelings and whatever came with that.

"Perhaps I should give you some privacy," Edelgard said, attempting to rise and retire to her quarters.

A long-fingered hand secured itself to her hip and held her in place. "Please, Lady Edelgard, allow me to finish."

She swallowed thickly, the steel in his voice and the urgency of the touch causing her stomach to drop and pulse quicken. "Very well."

"You know of my devotion, but I've long doubted you truly understand it…" He exhaled a shaky breath across her cheek as he turned his face toward her, almost too close for her eyes to bring him into focus. She hoped he also couldn't make out the flush she felt creeping up her neck. "I do not serve you for my family or position, and I would gladly cast off the House of Vestra if you required it. Just as I would cast off any attachment that might harm you…"

Edelgard's eyes narrowed, and the slow circles Byleth had been making on the back of Hubert's robe paused. "Even if the harm is anticipated only by you?" the princess asked.

"Heh—you have hit on the subject of Riegan's lecture." Byleth sucked in a breath, and Edelgard's hand ventured down from Hubert's shoulder to find her opposite's frozen fingers. "He believes I am…making too many assumptions when it comes to you both. And in the process, missing things that he claims are all but obvious to himself and the others."

"And what sort of things would those be?" Edelgard prompted, silently urging Byleth not to flee from the interaction.

Hubert shuddered a long exhale, rubbing his fingers anxiously across his brow. "Details that demonstrate an interest beyond the…er…platonic."

A laugh bubbled out of Byleth, brightening the mood, even though she followed it with a roll of her eyes. "Claude explained this to you?" At Hubert's answering nod, she leaned around him to speak directly to Edelgard. "I hadn't realized quite how dedicated Claude's loyalty to you had become. To extend to Hubert, who he's terrorized since the first…this could be a very good sign."

Edelgard returned Byleth's smile tentatively, while Hubert's teeth began to grind. "I suppose that does seem to be the primary discovery that has come out of this meeting," Edelgard returned, slipping just enough playful formality into her tone to make the grinding cease, as a smirk pulled at the corners of his lips.

"Ah. You believe this is not new ground." He removed the hand from Edelgard's hip to scrub both palms wearily up his face. "Very well. I will grant you that such prior discussions have taken place to establish some of the details I intend to address, but certainly not all."

Edelgard's patience was wearing thin, the tension so taught she felt like her spine might snap if he did not make clear his feelings soon. Byleth's thumb skated across her knuckles once, twice, three times—almost as if she knew the princess' nerves were coiled like a snake. She let the kindness in the action wash away some of the terror of impending loss. Avoided examining whether she had actually reached for Byleth in empathy or in need.

"Just tell her, Hubert." Edelgard tossed the sentence at him like one might lob a heavy stone.

He exhaled sharply through his nose. "Byleth is not the only one who needs to hear this, El."

The breath froze in her throat at the use of the endearment, and she reconsidered his statements thus far, his insistence that she stay, the intensity of his distress…

The soft, soothing sound of Byleth's low laugh tingled through Edelgard in a wave starting at where their fingers overlapped and ending in a fizzy halo at her temples. "You asked him to call you El," Byleth's tone was softly chiding, "and yet you're still in the dark about his feelings for you?"

Hubert didn't miss a beat. "I could say the same about your feelings for her and hers for you."

Edelgard stole a look at Byleth, finding her teacher's eyes narrowed in a glare directed at her vassal. "You know I don't intend to discuss such details while I still hold this role." Pale fingers tucked midnight blue hair behind an ear, while the ones beneath her own attempted to slip from her touch. But Edelgard would not be letting her escape that easily.

Quick as a diving bird, she grasped the retreating wrist and held it fast. "What does he mean, Byleth?" Anxiety and anticipation swirled in the pit of her stomach as Hubert repositioned himself, kneeling on the rug before her so he was no longer protecting Byleth from the full force of her stare.

"El," Byleth said her name like a prayer. "I can't. You deserve whatever semblance of safety and innocence I can cobble together within this mire. You deserve role models who don't take advantage of you. I can give you that much, for now, at least."

Byleth's last words were heavy, layered with duty and apprehension and all the things she rarely spoke of that Edelgard had begun to add up in her head. The woman before her lived an early life in which she left fields of broken bodies in her path, then Sothis awoke and unlocked feelings that had lay dormant for years. Feelings that consumed and terrified Byleth, and a history that made her certain that her terror would lead to the harm of those around her.

"Do not hide behind the lies we tell the Church and claim it's for my sake," Edelgard said, as gently as she could muster, "when you can merely admit to being intimidated by what comes next, instead."

Byleth's nose scrunched, and she wrenched at her captured arm while Edelgard held fast, and Hubert watched them in silent wonder. Blue eyes flared with anger at being restrained, attempting to repeat her earlier entreaty. "You deserve—"

"What I choose for myself," Edelgard finished, a self-satisfied smile pulling at her lips. "With a past like mine, having my choices honored by those closest to me is vital, wouldn't you agree?"

Sothis' laughter was warm and appreciative. Cleverness befitting a bearer of the Crest of Flames. How will you rebuff her now?

Byleth stopped struggling in Edelgard's grip, shooting an uncertain look toward Hubert, who watched them with piercing interest. She had never shared the extent of her blooming feelings for Edelgard with him, but she should have anticipated he'd work it out on his own. With all the time he spent staring at the two of them, it was only a matter of time. But she never could've predicted he would reveal her to Edelgard—not when she knew how terrified he was of Byleth coming between them.

This was a gesture. Prompted by Claude's influence, certainly, but genuine nonetheless. A high risk, high reward gambit from the man who hated to gamble in his battle scenarios.

"I do not wish to create barriers where you would see them torn away," the professor said quietly, free hand worrying absently at her cuticles. The dull sound of nails on skin preceded a new hand soothing over own.

"Nor I," Hubert added, and Byleth noted his other hand had stolen onto Edelgard's knee. "I…" he swallowed thickly and continued almost at a whisper "…I have been foolish about this… One should not attempt to hide his adoration from two so worthy of it."

Sothis smothered a quiet gasp, but the impact of the statement almost eluded Byleth, so caught up was she in the joy and relief on Edelgard's face. "Again, you seem surprised." The grip on her wrist finally slackened and she slipped her right hand out to cup the princess' cheek as she processed the extent of what he'd said.

When her attention pivoted to Hubert, his face split in a genuine smile—a rare sight, indeed. It melted something sharp deep within her. "Claude intimated that I was assuming you would prefer to be only with each other, when he believed that was not the case… Was he correct?"

Byleth nodded solemnly, meeting his eyes and sharing a wordless moment of silent promises. Her loyalty, Edelgard's safety, his trust…

"I would sooner sever a finger than see either of you taken from my side," Edelgard declared, sealing things.

Relief brightening his entire posture, Hubert rose from where he knelt before them, brushed himself off, then re-extended a hand to each of them. "Rest assured, Lady Edelgard. Byleth and I will be vigilant to ensure that never happens."

Edelgard glowed as she took the offered hand and rose, assessing Byleth out of the corner of her eye to see if she was following suit. Byleth winked when she caught Edelgard's gaze, attempting to tease her for staring. The princess missed the meaning entirely, slipped a hand behind Byleth's neck, and pulled.

With Edelgard's upper body strength, this would have sent most people crashing messily into her. However, Byleth stopped with ease half an inch from her face. "Now, who's being indiscreet?" she scolded, gesturing to the shared common area and the doors behind which Ferdinand and Petra presumably slept.

"I dare them to take issue," Edelgard answered, closing the final distance and capturing Byleth's lips with her own. The kiss was cool and chapped at first, smelling strongly of the forge they'd just vacated—and it quickly clouded her head with a low buzz at every nerve ending. Edelgard soon slotted their mouths together like she knew what she was doing, and Byleth sucked a trace of bitter soot off her lower lip and practically growled when Hubert wrenched them apart with an appreciative smirk.

"As enticing a picture as this is, Byleth is correct... Let us retire." Delivered with confidence, but Byleth caught the tremble where he gripped her shoulder, and she shot Edelgard a meaningful look as if to say: him next. Her wicked grin in response warmed Byleth's heart with the impact and intensity of a landing fireball.